Colin dropped his arms, strode purposely toward Peloroun’s seat, gathering power around him as he moved. He felt a twinge of satisfaction when Peloroun flinched as he came to a halt two paces away, staff held to one side.
“I’ve discovered that the Wells hold the key to the entire balance of power on the plains. I’ve discovered that all of the freakish storms that rage across the grasses, all of the occurrences of Drifters, of what you call the occumaen, are the result of the imbalance of the Wells themselves. The reason that I have failed to halt Walter and his fellow Wraiths from awakening them is because if I do, then the storms and the occumaen will continue to worsen. We cannot halt the awakenings. The imbalance of doing so may tear the plains apart.”
“But the sukrael,” Lord Daesor protested. Colin turned toward him, recognized the son who had taken over Barak’s position after he’d been killed on the battlefield at the Escarpment. “If we allow the Wraiths to awaken the Wells, then the Shadows will have free reign over all of Wrath Suvane.”
“Not,” Colin said, “if we have another way to protect ourselves from them.”
He reached into the depths of his satchel and drew forth one of the seeds wrapped in muslin. Pulling the cloth free, he held up what looked like a scepter-a length of wood the size of his forearm, with a gnarled knot at one end larger than his fist. The shaft was sheathed in pale white bark, like that of a birch or beech tree, smooth beneath his grip but marred in places with black cuts, as if branches had once sprouted from the shaft but had been sheared off. Power pulsed through the wood into his palm as the muslin fell free, awakening the power of the Lifeblood within him, stoking the flames of the White Fire and swelling the waters of the Confluence in which he had immersed himself. It surged through his arm, tingling across his skin, and for a long moment he thought it would consume him beneath its weight, that it would overwhelm him here, within the Hall of the Evant, which would be disastrous. But he’d been carrying the seeds for far too long. One for each of the three races-Alvritshai, dwarren, and human. One each for them to guard and protect. And a fourth protected by him alone, its location secret from everyone.
He turned toward Lotaern, whose entire body stood rigid with tension. Colin wondered if he could sense the immense power straining to break free from the seed, wondered if he could see the power that poured off of Colin’s skin in waves now that he’d touched the seed directly. Like the Wells, the seed had been awakened by that touch. He had little time left now.
“What is it?” Lotaern asked, and everyone shifted restlessly at the brittle fear in his voice.
“It is a gift,” Colin said, and even he heard the power throbbing in his voice, threatening to break free. “A gift I give to the Alvritshai people to protect them from the sukrael-the Shadows-and from the Wraiths as well. No longer will the Flame be forced to provide the sole protection from their attacks. When this power is released, it will cast a mantle over Alvritshai lands. It will cloak the Alvritshai people with a barrier that the Shadows and Wraiths cannot pass, a barrier that the Alvritshai people will not be able to see. But this protection comes at a price. It has boundaries. Within its protection, you are safe; venture outside and you will be within the Shadows’ grasp. And it will require care and protection of its own. Neglect it, and it will fail.”
“And what do you ask in return for this protection?” Peloroun asked.
Colin turned toward the Tamaell, ignoring the lord. Peloroun did not wield the greatest power here; the Tamaell did. “Nothing. Nothing, except that you continue to honor the Accord established at the Escarpment. Will you accept this gift? Will you accept its protection?”
His voice cracked and broke with the strain of containing the seed. It wanted release, its need surging in Colin’s hand. He ground his teeth together, willed Thaedoren to accept as the Tamaell, as they had planned that morning.
“This is something that should be discussed by the Evant!” Lotaern shouted. “At length and in depth. What Shaeveran wields, what he holds in his hand-” he shook his head. “I can feel its power. We must be careful. It is dangerous, more dangerous than anything I’ve witnessed before.”
“I agree with the Chosen,” Peloroun cut in. “We do not know what kind of power he holds. We should allow the Order of Aielan to investigate it, to confirm its intent.”
“Your lands aren’t the ones being attacked,” Lord Saetor replied, an edge to his voice. “If it were your people dying beneath the sukrael’s darkness-”
Lords rose from their seat, some in protest, others arguing to accept the gift, the tumult rising. Colin felt his arm beginning to tremble and lowered his hand, cradling the seed close to him. Anger lashed through him, and disgust. He should never have brought the subject before the Evant, should have known that the decision would not be reached easily, even with the Tamaell’s support. He and Aeren had hoped that the Evant would seize the chance for protection without question, but there were still too many within the council who did not trust Aeren or Colin, even after the events at the Escarpment. They had assumed Lotaern would support them, even though it ate away at his newly won power with the Evant. They had assumed that he would see the benefits of freeing his warriors of the Flame for other purposes, and that it would more than likely fall to the Order to care for the seed.
“Fools,” Colin muttered under his breath, glaring around at the cacophony of noise, the power of the seed pulsing with his own blood. “All fools.”
The power would not wait for the Evant to come to a decision. It had already been awakened.
He turned toward the platform, caught the eyes of the former Tamaea. She reached out and touched Thaedoren’s arm, the Tamaell’s gaze shifting from the bickering lords to Colin.
His lips pressed into a thin line as they regarded each other-
Then he nodded.
Colin moved, not waiting for the Evant to be called to order. Permission had been granted; the wishes of the Lotaern and the lords no longer mattered. He headed for the stairs, saw a blur of blue-and-red motion out of the corner of his eye, Eraeth and four other Rhyssal Phalanx surrounding him a moment later. But they didn’t impede him. Two darted forward and cleared a path up the stairs to the hall’s inner doors, Eraeth motioning the waiting Phalanx there to open the chamber. They scrambled to draw the doors back, even as Colin heard Lotaern shout out a warning from behind them.
Colin and his escort spilled out through the main stone doors of the Hall, past the thick colonnades, and into the blinding sunlight of the marketplace. The clamor of the Evant became the roar of thousands of Alvritshai vying for attention or haggling for a bargain, the plaza packed with hawkers, carts, tents, and animals. Alvritshai in the conical hats of commoners wove through the makeshift paths toting baskets and bundles, stopping to inspect wares or chat with friends and family. Children dashed between bodies, and messengers and pages darted through every opening as they rushed to deliver their notes.
Colin halted on the edge of the morass of people, Eraeth coming up beside him.
“Where?” the Protector asked bluntly.
Colin drew in a deep breath, felt the power of the seed building, drawing upon the life-force of the crowd around it. He wouldn’t be able to control it much longer. But the seed couldn’t be placed just anywhere. It had to be within the walls of Caercaern so that Thaedoren and the White Phalanx-and Lotaern and his Flame-could protect it.
But it needed room. Lots of room.
“The center of the plaza,” he rasped. Eraeth shot him a questioning look, but he shook his head. “There’s no other choice. We don’t have much time.”
Eraeth barked orders, the Rhyssal Phalanx closing in tighter around him, and then they plowed into the crowd.
Eraeth drove straight toward the center of the plaza, ignoring the cries of protest as the Phalanx shoved people out of their way. At the heart of the group, Colin struggled with the seed, its pulse now locked into his heartbeat, threading through his body and drawing on his own power. He could taste its urgency, frigid and silvery, like snow, the sensation coursing through his skin, making him shudder with cold. Eraeth glanced back, caught the look on his face, then barked new orders. The Phalanx broke through the center of a tent, cloth ripping as tables were knocked aside and pottery crashed to the ground. They tipped over a cart laden with melons, nearly trampled a gaggle of old women, who shrieked and scattered like hens, and then Colin could hold the power within no longer.
He shouted a warning toward Eraeth, even as the Phalanx drew back from him. He could feel the power slipping outward from his grasp, glanced up to see shock and horror dawning on the faces around him. The crowd, Eraeth and the Phalanx included, pulled farther back as tendrils of light began flickering upward from the stone around him. As the light intensified, Colin scanned the area, saw that they’d nearly made it to the fountain, noted
