Colin frowned and met Eraeth’s eyes. “I need to see the army up close. We need to know who has betrayed the Evant, and I need to see exactly what creatures the Wraiths have managed to bring to their side.”
Something flickered in Eraeth’s gaze, but he finally nodded. “Be careful. There are likely Wraiths and sukrael down there.”
Colin heard what Eraeth truly meant. Even with time slowed, the Wraiths and the Shadows could find and attack him if they sensed him near. Their presence on the plateau may have been what had made him uneasy earlier.
He stood and stepped away, the world going still around him as he headed toward the army encampment. As he moved, he thought about all of the creatures the Scripts had described, all of those that the dwarren had insisted were part of the Turning, that would make their presence known in the world again. The orannian, kell, urannen, terren, others-all at one point were part of the dwarren Turnings in the past. He already knew the urannen-the Shadows-were part of the army, and now they had the orannian. How many of the others had the Wraiths found? How many of the others still existed?
And where were they coming from?
Except he already knew. The three races had only explored part of the continent they called Wrath Suvane. The humans were still exploring the lands to the south, had barely settled Borangst and Yhnar at their farthest edges. And the Thalloran Wastelands had impeded settlement to the east. Common sense told him that the Haessari likely came from the desert, with their snakelike skin. And what lay beyond the Wastelands? Men had risked the desert to find out; none had returned.
With the planting of the Seasonal Trees, the Wraiths and Shadows had been forced into the desert and the northern and southern reaches. They’d been driven there. And they’d had over a hundred years to find and coerce or force the creatures they found to their own ends.
All except for the Alvritshai. How had they come to be part of the Wraith army?
Colin’s intense frown darkened as he reached the flat and neared the outskirts of the encampment. He halted as a figure appeared among the scrub of the rocky flat, huddled down to make a smaller target, cloak and hood drawn up over his shape to give the impression of a boulder. Moving closer, he realized it was another of the Haessari, its beady eyes staring out into the nightscape. Colin suddenly wondered if they’d been chosen as guards because they could see in the dark. He didn’t recall reading anything in the Scripts about that ability. He shrugged, unwilling to test the theory, and pushed on. Within a hundred paces, he came upon the edge of the Alvritshai camp. He moved swiftly among the men and women, noting their clothing, their tents, the armbands that a few of them wore and the emblems on necklaces and bracelets, trying to determine their House affiliation. He saw numerous pendants of white gold in the shape of flames and other images of Aielan. Many of the armbands had an eagle’s talon etched into the metal, more such markings on tent flaps and the few banners he saw. But none of the current Houses of the Evant used the talon-
He halted abruptly in the vivid orange light of a fire, surrounded by ten of the Alvritshai.
None of the
He scanned those seated around the fire, caught in mid-motion as they gambled, most laughing, one scowling at the outcome of the dice he’d just rolled, another clapping him on his back in commiseration. They all wore black and gold, the colors of House Duvoraen.
Khalaek’s House.
It was as if someone had plunged a knife down deep inside Colin’s chest. He staggered beneath the blow, felt his grip on time slip, the crackle of the fire and the raucous laughter of the group of Alvritshai bursting through his control. Even as he seized time again, sweat breaking out on his skin, he noted one of the Alvritshai’s gazes flick toward him, a frown beginning to touch his face.
At the same time, he heard Vaeren’s voice from months before, beneath the Hauttaeren Mountains, before they’d climbed to the pass and Gaurraenan’s halls:
Vaeren had joined the Order rather than become part of Uslaen. Others had done the same.
But not all. Vaeren had said hundreds had simply vanished, had abandoned their service to Uslaen and disappeared. No one knew where they had gone.
Until now.
Colin grimly scanned the tents that stretched into the horizon, seeing the men and women who had not been able to abandon Lord Khalaek. They had become khai-roen, had exiled themselves rather than face what Khalaek had done. They still claimed allegiance to the Duvoraen House, still bore its standard into battle.
There were more than simply a few hundred men and women here, though.
He silently cursed the Alvritshai pride and tradition that forbade them from public declaration of dishonor. How many of the Alvritshai had truly abandoned their lands? Not hundreds. At least a thousand, if Eraeth’s estimate of the size of the Alvritshai contingent here was correct. Was this all of them? Were there others?
He didn’t know, and there was no way he could think of to find out. Not without abandoning his search for the Source. He couldn’t even contact the dwarren to warn them of the army, not even through one of their trettarus. They hadn’t seen any of the small war parties they used to hunt the creatures of the Turning since they’d separated from the main dwarren army and emerged onto the plains. Most of them had been recalled once the Gathering had been summoned.
He swore.
A sense of vertigo enveloped him, the world tilting beneath him, uncontrolled. His heart quickened, hammering in his chest, blood rushing in his ears. Nausea washed through him and he sank into a crouch, one hand reaching for the ground for support, to halt the dizziness. He sucked in a sharp breath. Everything was happening too fast, too many factors in play, some of them he wasn’t even aware of. He couldn’t control them all, couldn’t be here, be with the dwarren, be facing whatever the Wraiths were doing in the south, all at the same time, even with the powers of the Well coursing through him. He couldn’t send word to King Justinian in Corsair, or to Theadoren in Caercaern-not in time to aid the dwarren against this threat.
He dug his hands into the rocky soil, ground the stones into his knees where he knelt, using the pain to push the vertigo aside and seize control again. He managed to retain his grip on time as well, holding it tight. The world steadied around him, the sense of being overwhelmed retreating.
When he felt stable again, he pushed up from his crouch and stood, glancing around at the army of exiled Alvritshai one last time before pushing on. He couldn’t warn the dwarren, or even the human Provinces, couldn’t summon them help. But he could determine exactly what they faced, what he might face once he reached the Source.
Then he’d return to Eraeth and Siobhaen and gather their horses and get as far from this army as possible, even if they had to travel at night. They’d have to risk it.
Because suddenly time weighed heavily on Colin’s shoulders.
18
“Gregson!”
Jayson jerked up out of his half-sleep in the saddle at the shout, to see two of the Legionnaires who’d been sent out slightly ahead of the column of refugees charging down the road on their horses. Gregson rode at the front, with Terson and a small entourage of Legion. Behind walked the survivors of the attack on Cobble Kill and nearly a hundred other refugees that had joined them as they fled toward Patron’s Merge. Some were farmers and others who lived outside of Cobble Kill, driven out by the Alvritshai army, but others had come from outlying villages in the surrounding area, like Gray’s Kill. Jayson scanned the group of ragged and weary people, shaking off his own grogginess from the last week of slow travel as he searched for Corim. He found the youth-he could no longer think of him as a boy-with Ara, both of them trudging along at the edge of the hundred and fifty men, women, and children Gregson and the Legion had taken under their wing. Two lone carts, pulled by workhorses, trailed behind, reserved for whatever food and supplies they’d managed to scavenge from isolated farms and cottages along the
