make a perfect assassin,” he growled, a certain amount of respect in his voice. The rest of the Phalanx went back to their tasks.
Aeren nodded. “Thankfully, he is not.”
Then he turned to Colin and said in Andovan, “I assume something has happened.”
Relaxing slightly, Colin nodded. “Something has happened, although I don’t think it has anything to do with your plans.” He told them about the Well, the disappearance of the Wraiths, and the expansion of the sukrael’s range in Alvritshai lands. He shuddered as he spoke, and Aeren saw something dark and haunted flicker through Colin’s eyes, the same haunted look he’d seen on the ship when he’d woken from the seizure, the same desperation he’d noted at odd moments since. But that initial look had been worn, old in some way, as if it were a wound that he’d learned simply to accept. This wound was new and fresh, still bleeding. Aeren could see it in Colin’s hold on the staff, in the way he unconsciously massaged the wrist of his right hand.
Colin swallowed as he finished and met Aeren’s gaze. “If the Well’s influence is spreading northward, then the Alvritshai will be the first affected by the presence of the sukrael.”
“It will affect the dwarren as well.”
“What are the Wraiths?” Eraeth demanded.
Colin shrugged. “They were part of the forest when I arrived, there when I awoke. They must have been people who wandered into the Well’s influence.”
“Or were driven there,” Eraeth said.
Aeren nodded slowly. “If they were created to awaken the Wells, so that the sukrael would have a larger hunting ground, then in order to find the Wraiths, we need to find the Wells.” An unpleasant pit had opened in his stomach, and a dry, sour taste filled his mouth. He shifted his attention to Eraeth. “We’ll have to inform the Order.”
Eraeth winced.
“What’s the Order?” Colin asked.
“The Order of Aielan,” Aeren answered. “Its acolytes are the keepers of the Scripts, the holders of the ancient texts and their knowledge. They interpret Aielan’s will, and they lead us all to Aielan’s Light. And most of their members have certain… talents.”
“Like Diermani’s priests in the church.”
Aeren smiled, the expression taut. “Yes and no. Like your priests, the acolytes have power. Nothing like what you have shown, but power nonetheless. But unlike your churches, the Order has direct political influence. In effect, they are a ninth House, except that they have no direct role to play in the Evant. But they can control it, if they desire, simply by manipulating those among the lords who are faithful. Your church does not have that power, at least not in the Provinces, although I’ve heard your church holds tremendous power in Andover across the ocean. It was a driving force behind the Feud that has torn Andover apart for the last sixty years.” As he spoke, he motioned for Eraeth and the rest of the Phalanx to gather the horses. “I do not think this news of the sukrael will affect the main reason that we go to Caercaern, but it will complicate matters. The acolytes are the only ones who would know of the whereabouts of any of the Wells-their locations may appear in the Scripts-but if we approach them, they will become involved. In everything.”
And that was what Aeren dreaded. He’d dealt with the Order before, had been an acolyte until his father had been killed on the plains. Forced to return to the House lands and assume the role of ascension beneath his brother, Aureon, he still considered himself one of the devout followers of Aielan’s Light. But he’d never appreciated their manipulation of the members of the Evant. Lotaern, the Chosen, leader of the Order, had been disappointed when Aeren left the Order. But Aeren was wise enough to realize that his return to the Rhyssal House gave Lotaern influence over Aeren and his House in the Evant, influence the Chosen would not hesitate to use. He’d seen it in Lotaern’s eyes the last time they’d met as Chosen and acolyte.
He would have to approach Lotaern about the Shadows and the Wells as soon as possible, to warn him of the possibility of attack from the sukrael if nothing else, and the potential aid of the antruel-the Faelehgre. But perhaps he could enlist Lotaern’s aid in approaching the Evant about the dwarren. Influence was a dual-edged blade.
Eraeth signaled that the Phalanx was ready and Aeren turned to Colin. “You should stay with us, now that we’re within Alvritshai lands. Ride if necessary, although we’ll be moving more slowly than on the plains. And keep the colors of the Rhyssal House you wear visible at all times. Few humans have traveled among the Alvritshai, fewer still across our holdings. And when we reach Caercaern…”
“Don’t draw attention to myself,” Colin finished.
Aeren nodded, then heard Eraeth mutter in Alvritshai under his breath, “That’s going to be impossible.”
And they moved, swiftly, past wide, flattened valleys and farmland claimed from the dwarren decades past. The acreage was broken up by mounds of earth with low walls of stone on top for irrigation and a complex system of stone aqueducts that brought snowmelt down from the mountains to the lowlands. The fields were mostly barren, only dead vines and vegetation left after the harvest. Late winter grains were being scythed and mounded to dry in some. The air held a frigid bite, settling in the evenings and growing colder through the night, a taste of the coming winter. They passed through towns, the buildings a blend of wood and stone, tiered, with curved, wooden- shingled rooflines up to the base of the next floor, rising at least three levels in height, the largest up to six tiers high. Chimes dangled down from the apex of some, rung at intervals throughout the day. Aeren couldn’t help comparing his own homeland to that of the humans, and he found the Provinces lacking. Alvritshai towns were cleaner, the architecture richer, the structures more pleasing to the eye. Hidden gardens and gurgling fountains were everywhere, with stone bridges crossing the streams and aqueducts at regular intervals, everything integrated into the surrounding land.
As they traveled, more and more roadways met their own, all paved, all in better repair than anything the humans had constructed. Handheld carts and baskets used by those in the outlying regions yielded to wagons and the occasional horse-drawn carriage. The Alvritshai clothing became more exotic than the rough uniforms worn by those working the fields. Men wore silken shirts and tunics, the cuts severe but with loose folds; women wore blouses with slim leather vests on top, a few with skirts, but most with more practical silken pants. Some wore conical hats woven from the reeds found near most of the streams. They passed through increasingly larger towns, Colin drawing attention everywhere they went, people pausing and pointing, murmuring with heads lowered and hands covering their mouths. They were stopped on more than one occasion by Ionaen Phalanx, the House guards questioning Eraeth and Aeren extensively while frowning and keeping their eyes fixed on Colin, but none of the Phalanx dared detain a Lord of the Evant.
As they neared Caercaern, Aeren motioned for the Phalanx to mount. He stared up through the edge of the thick trees to the mountains that towered above. They blazed in the sunlight, and he tasted the snow on the air, realized his breath came in plumes before him. He shivered, the roadway mostly in shadow.
Then they cantered around a twist in the road, and Caercaern came into view. “Welcome to Caercaern,” he murmured, and heard Colin gasp.
Caercaern rose up out of the trees, a colossal work of stone, tiered like the buildings below, cascades of water running down the mountain to either side. The first tier consisted of a wall built out from the stone face of the mountain; the road leveled off at the wall’s base, running nearly its full length before reaching the gate. Each tier above it acted as another wall, with gates at various positions as they ascended, no two in a direct line. Banners snapped in the wind, and Alvritshai were visible on the walls and rooftops and the bridges and streets that they could see from this vantage.
“All the buildings that you see, the roads and courtyards, squares and temples, all of it is a facade,” Aeren said as they approached the gates. “The real Caercaern is hidden beneath the mountain. There are enough halls and fountains and pools beneath the stone to house all the Alvritshai for years if necessary.”
“What do you think?” Dharel asked.
“It’s… huge.” Aeren watched the human struggle for a moment, then shake his head. “I thought the Faelehgre city was exotic, but it’s a frail beauty, made of white stone and narrow towers. And its beauty is fading, collapsing inward. But this…”
Aeren smiled. “Look behind you.”
Colin turned and gasped again. The entire valley spread out beneath the mountain fortress, hills and trees undulating away, covered in a thin layer of mist. A few towers stood out in the distance, on hilltops and promontories, and the occasional town or city peeked up from the rumpled blanket of forest. Much farther away,
