Albern smiled. “Of course I was not there. But it has been many years since then. In that time I learned much of what happened, and I guessed at even more.”
Sun shook her head and straightened in her seat. “But … but why, then, do you not simply tell me what happened? You are making it part of the story—the words they spoke, this woman Tagata’s fit of rage, that other woman Nian and her terror at delivering the message. You cannot possibly know it really happened that way.”
Albern gave a low chuckle and sipped at his beer. “Ah, I understand. You are looking for a story you can believe.”
“Of … of course I am!” said Sun, scowling.
“Then I am afraid you will never find what you seek,” said Albern. “If you believe every story you hear, you shall live a false life. The same may happen if you believe any story you hear. But if you put your faith in the right tales—if you choose to believe in them, seeing how they may be useful—there is no limit to what they can teach you.”
His words hardly registered. Sun had a vague feeling she had been betrayed, as though she had come upon some beggar who tricked her into a game of chance that she had no hope of winning. “So your stories are lies, then.”
“Lies? Oh no,” said Albern. “But even the craftiest storyteller knows better than to trust every word coming out of their own mouth, for they know a story is simply something to be learned from.”
Sun could not help herself: she scoffed. “You cannot honestly think that is true. History is a story, too. But what good would history books be, if their authors simply made them up as they went along?”
“Historians are often the greatest liars of all,” said Albern. “I have read their tomes. I have seen their version of events that I myself lived through. They were far less trustworthy than I am, and far less accurate, I can assure you. But history is only a story that most people have chosen to believe in, without thinking they made such a choice. Like any tale, we use it to shape the future in the way we want, and darkness take anyone who wants otherwise.”
Though Sun had been ready with a retort, those words made her pause in confusion. Albern’s words had the sound of a deep wisdom, yet she could not understand them. And something in her still rebelled at the thought of hearing a story that even the teller did not believe.
Albern studied her, and a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, as though he could read her thoughts and found them amusing. He gave her a moment longer to think before speaking again.
“Should I go on?”
Sun nodded, though she was uncertain if she truly wanted to hear more.
Kaita rose and paced back and forth in the council chamber, her mind working. And as her thoughts spun faster and faster in circles, a blind rage began to build inside her, and it grew until it was like a wildfire ripping across her skin.
“Kaita,” said Rogan. “What is it?”
“The archer is Albern,” said Kaita, meeting his gaze. “It must be. And he is bringing them—Loren and the others—he is bringing them to Mag.”
Rogan paused, lifting his chin slightly as he regarded her. Nian and Tagata still looked lost, but in Rogan’s eyes there was a deep understanding.
Kaita strode to the table and slapped her hands down, leaning forwards intently. “Let me go to Northwood. I will … I will deliver justice for Trisken, and for all our siblings who fell in the Greatrocks.”
“Kaita,” said Rogan quietly. “I love you like all our siblings, and with that love comes a profound respect. Return that respect to me, I beg you, and do not lie to me. You do not wish to go to Northwood to deliver justice, but to extract vengeance—and not for Trisken, but for yourself.”
Kaita faltered only a moment. “And what of it? I have followed your orders for a long time, because you thought me too weak to seek out my revenge. But the time has come, Rogan. And it will mean the same thing, in the end. I have waited so long.”
Rogan spoke quietly. “I know you have. And I have never thought you weak. But that is not the plan.” Kaita began to flare with anger, but he spoke again quickly. “The time for lurking in the shadows has ended.”
Tagata looked taken aback, her scars appearing even whiter as a flush crept up her skin. “What do you mean?”
“I have had many words with our father of late,” said Rogan. “Now I must bring him news of Trisken, but I do not think that will change his mind. In fact, I think it will make him even more resolute. We cannot yet declare ourselves openly, but our period of subterfuge and intrigue is over. The time has come for war. We will strike from the shadows, as we always have—but we will strike with blades and arrows, and no longer with secrets.”
The effect on all of them was immediate. Nian looked at Rogan in wonder, her eyes shining. Kaita’s hand tightened on the back of her chair, and Tagata seized her greatsword again, as if she meant to march off to battle at once.
“Brother,” whispered Tagata. “Are you saying… ?”
“Yes,” said Rogan. “Nian, you have ridden far and long, but I must ask you to deliver yet another message. Rouse the captains. Order the troops to ready themselves. We make for war, and Northwood will be the first to fall before our might.”
“And I will have my vengeance,” said Kaita, her eyes shining.
Rogan fixed her with a look. “I do not think so,” he said.
She flared with anger. “Rogan, you cannot expect—”
“Unless I am very much mistaken,” he said, “Northwood will not be the end of your shadowed road.
