“Are you finished?” Pellin asked when the Chief paused to take a breath.
“Temporarily, Eldest,” she snapped, “but this isn’t over. You have a responsibility to safeguard the forest, and I fail to see how that duty entails going to the southern continent.”
“You will.” Pellin’s voice held notes of confidence Toria had seldom heard before. “With the help of the Honored One, we’ve learned how to cure Lord Dura of his vault.”
Toria’s heart leapt at the announcement as she caught his phrasing. “Cure, Eldest? Not break?”
“That’s impossible,” the Chief said.
“I’m surprised to hear you say that,” Pellin said. “Don’t we say that with Aer all things are possible?”
Toria’s heart struggled to find its rhythm. “But that means that it was always possible. Oh, Aer, what have we done? How many thousands have we broken and thrown away? We could have saved them.”
Either Pellin had already worked through his grief and culpability, or he’d shouldered enough guilt in his long life that more hardly mattered. Regardless, his voice came through the stone, weak with damage and distance, but commanding.
“Grieve later, Toria Deel,” he said. “Ealdor told me to find what was inside Lord Dura’s vault. We now have the means to do so. I need you to get word to him in Cynestol.”
The Chief of Servants muttered imprecations but managed to curtail herself a moment later. “That’s just the point, Eldest. Lord Dura is no longer in Cynestol. He’s on his way to meet Rymark and the rest of the monarchs. He claims he’s found the means to summon the Fayits’ help in fighting Cesla. He’s managed to convince them that the gift of kings creates a perfect circle. Desperate people will believe anything, it seems.”
“Where are Cailin and Brod?” Toria asked. “Surely, the regent of Collum has more sense than to take the heir anywhere near the forest.”
“Have you met Cailin?” the Chief’s voice grew brittle. “She is as reckless in her own way as Dura. We’re five leagues from the edge of the forest and withdrawing south and west as fast as men and horses can move.”
Toria leaned toward the stone as realization flooded through her. “Wait. If he has plans to create a perfect circle, that would mean he found Chora’s heir.”
“Yes,” the Chief said. “I received word from Bishop Serius. It seems Bolt has managed to add another historical footnote to the Book of Errants.”
Toria’s mind reeled, but before she could speak, Pellin’s disjointed voice came from the stone. “Where’s Ry . . . mark?”
“Treflow,” Brid Teorian said.
“Why is he so far from the forest?” Pellin asked.
“The Darkwater erupted,” the Chief said. “Every outpost on the inner ring was wiped out. Here in Collum they came within a hairsbreadth of breaching Cailin’s camp.”
Pellin’s voice came through the stone, shrill with the effort of making himself heard. “Cesla knows we have gathered the means to defeat him.”
“Doubtless,” the Chief said.
“Eldest,” Toria asked, “what happened to make him so desperate?”
Toria’s stone grew still, and she could sense the Eldest gathering his thoughts. “When we broke Elieve’s vault, we broke it from inside.”
“Whose vault?” Toria asked.
“A dwimor we discovered outside of Cynestol,” Pellin said. “Mark persuaded me not to kill her.”
“You left one of those things alive?” the Chief asked. “Have you been taking lessons from the reeve, Eldest?”
“You forget yourself, Chief,” Pellin snapped. “The defense of the forest is in my hands.”
Toria didn’t speak. She had never heard Pellin assert his authority that way before, not with any of the rulers or heads of the church.
“Your pardon, Eldest,” the Chief said. “Can you turn Dura aside from his plan? If we bring all the rulers together, the risk is unacceptable. If Cesla should manage to take or kill them, the north will fall into anarchy overnight.”
“No,” Pellin said. “The risk must be taken. Ealdor told me the secret to defeating Cesla was hidden inside Dura’s mind. If he can call the rest of the Fayit, the knowledge Ealdor placed within his vault will defeat Cesla. The evil in the Darkwater knows this, Brid. The Honored One and I, along with another member of the southern Vigil, fought the evil in the Maveth for the duration of an entire night within Elieve’s mind. And we won.”
“I have to tell Cailin to get in contact with the other rulers immediately,” Brid Teorian said.
“Before nightfall,” Pellin admonished. “Cesla won’t wait before he strikes again. If Dura is correct, then Cesla only needs to capture one of the monarchs to prevent the call.”
“Speed, Eldest,” the Chief said. “Rymark cannot hold. Without the inner cordon the foolish and the greedy are flooding into the forest. Cesla will have all the reinforcements he needs.”
A moment later Toria caught the barest sound of sighing through the stone. “My heart tells me we are in midst of Cesla’s last desperate gamble,” Pellin said. “Secrecy avails us little at this point. What did Ealdor tell you to do, Toria Deel?”
“To keep the forest defended for as long as possible,” Toria said. “We have a weapon, Eldest, but we need more men. I don’t know how long we can hold at Treflow. Cesla has been teaching blacksmiths how to make tools stronger than aurium.”
“Do whatever you must,” Pellin said. “So long as the six are safe and Dura lives, we have the means to fight. I will come to you as quickly as I can.”
The stone went silent. Toria turned to see Fess looking at her, his expression inscrutable. “Lelwin is the weapon you spoke of,” he said.
His tone had been neutral, but she couldn’t help but read condemnations into it. She pushed it aside. Grieving and guilt would have to wait. If she lived, she would make time for both. “Come, we must gather what forces we can and make for Treflow.”
Chapter 56
Hours later Toria Deel held a leaf in her hand, working to think against the panic that made her heart race. Black spots disfigured the oak leaf—and every one of its kin
