Blackmark (The Kingsmen Chronicles #1): An Epic Fantasy Adventure Page 48

  And she had not once come back through.

  As Temlin set the torch in a bracket upon the wall, Eleshen rounded on him. “What is going on? What is this place? Why have you brought me here?!”

  “Peace, girl.” Lhem rumbled. “Be silent. Temlin. What's this all about?”

  “This girl just told me that Olea den'Alrahel's been imprisoned! By the Dhenra! Elyasin has removed her sole obvious Alrashemni protection! And more than that, the girl here knows a fucking True Seer, suffering from the exact same headaches and seizures Molli had. And the seer had a vision of Elyasin at her Writ Signings! Getting gutted by an unknown swordsman!! The Khehemni are moving, Lhem. They’re plotting murder, a strike against Elyasin that would solidify their position in the Chancellate. The coronation's only three days away! We need to move to get Olea back on the Dhenra's guard. Now.”

  Lhem cursed, his ample mustachios turning downward, fixing the girl in his gaze. “You tell me about this vision and the news you heard. Everything.”

  Eleshen began to fidget with her braid. She shut her mouth and looked to Temlin. Temlin suddenly realized she was wary of Lhem. “You can tell our Abbott,” Temlin prodded. “If you wish to help Kingsmen, girl, well you're standing in a closed room with two of them. Two old farts of Kingsmen who haven't fought in years, but Kingsmen all the same.”

  Eleshen seemed to soften to his words, her wariness eased. She paused, then repeated everything she’d said to Temlin. Lhem scowled through it all, chewing his mustachios, his face acquiring the plethoric rage of a thundercloud. “Aeon fuckitall!” Lhem barked at last, stroking his mustachios. “We can’t interfere. We have to leave her be.”

  “What?!” Temlin roared, incensed.

  Lhem nodded decisively. “Leave Olea where she is. We can't risk exposing our network during such a crucial time. And if the Dhenra threw her Guard-Captain in the cells, they're most likely having a spat. Let Fenton smooth things over. The man's got a patient nature and a slick tongue, he should be able to talk the Dhenra out of whatever's got her incensed. If not, well... Fenton's as capable at the helm as Olea. He's got good instincts, and he'll make sure the Dhenra's well-protected at the Coronation and the Writ Signing. So we leave it be, Temlin. Unless we can confirm proof of any plot and the persons involved, we have to wait until the Khehemni make a blatant move.”

  “Blatant move?!” Temlin roared, setting his hands to his hips, his fingers brushing over the nap of his robe's fabric. What he wouldn't give for a sword right now to go protect his niece. “We can’t just sit here! We need to do something! The True Seer had a vision of Molli, too, and the goddamn Abbeystone! What more proof do you need that my niece is in danger?!”

  “You will do as the Shemout says Temlin!” Lhem barked back, ferocious. “I am still your superior, old man, in the Shemout and out of it! Olea will stay put. Lenuria and I will send word to Fenton to make certain the Dhenra is safe for her coronation events! That’s the best we can do for now, my friend. She’ll be safe, I promise it.”

  “Lhem.” Temlin pleaded, desperate. “This girl also is the one who visited with the young man with the golden Inkings.”

  Lhem's beady eyes swung to Eleshen. His presence went scowling, deadly, honed. “Tell me, girl, where is your companion with the Golden Ink?”

  “Olea's brother has gone to guard the Dhenra in her stead.” Eleshen quipped.

  “Olea's brother?! Are you telling us this Goldenmarked man you travel with is den'Alrahel?” Temlin gaped at the girl, shocked.

  The feisty young woman huffed. “Yes, her twin! Elohl den’Alrahel. He served in the High Brigade until recently, and he's come back to Lintesh looking for his sister.”

  Temlin reeled.

  Abbott Lhem voiced his terrible mistake for him. “Fool, Temlin!” He cursed brusquely, chewing upon his ample white mustachios. “You had the Rakhan of Alrashesh’s son in your office, Goldenmarked, and you let the man go! All for want of asking his name! Dammit, fuckitall, fuckitall! So they've all gone to the palace, you say?”

  The girl nodded. “They are going to masquerade as Guardsmen during the coronation, to protect the Dhenra’s person.”

  Lhem chewed his mustachios longer. “She’ll have extra protection, then. Good.”

  “Not enough protection, Lhem.” Temlin argued.

  “Anything else needs to wait, my friend.” Lhem turned, subdued, starting to pace his ample bulk before the blood-tinged Abbeystone in the quiet darkness. “If we try to place more agents in the Guard, Elyasin will question too many new faces. If we withhold the final deliveries of ale to delay the celebrations, it will likely spark riots, which will only destabilize Elyasin's hold over her subjects. If we come forward openly as Alrashemni, we might be slaughtered. My hands are tied. Fool Fenton! He should have come to us first, not gone running off to men with no plans. Dammit! Dammit, dammit!”

  “Lhem.” Brother Temlin prodded, feeling the raging tiger of his own urgency. “First thing is to send word to all our remaining Shemout Alrashemni cells. Let everyone become aware of the situation. Some of us who have been hidden so long must come forward. We can put pressure on any Khehemni who might take advantage at the coronation, but we have to be united to force their agents to make a mistake. We must assume the Dhenra is being pushed to wed a Khehemni-allied noble. If she lives long enough to wed, we will discover alliances quickly. But if she dies, we learn nothing.”

  Brother Lhem chewed his mustachios, staring at the blood red half-eye upon the Stone. “Agreed. But ravens and hawks will never get to our agents outside Lintesh fast enough. We’ll have to rely upon this Elohl den’Alrahel to halt a probable assassination attempt in the meantime. He'll have Fenton and Aldris at his side in the Small Hall. They'll fight for Elyasin to the death.”

  Temlin scrubbed a hand over his beard, fuming, thinking about the man with the golden Inkings. “But we have more problems than just this, Lhem. The True Seer that Eleshen knows could be of use to us, if she saw something as important as an assassination attempt. But she has the headaches, the seizures, the bleeding, just like Molli did when she was young. Molli almost died before she got her gifts under control.”

  “Is she going to die?” Eleshen’s whisper was very soft.

  Temlin reached out, taking her young, smooth hand. “Not if we can help it. But True Seers are more than rare. We need to bring her here. If anything can help her, it’s the Abbeystone. Physicians can do nothing.”

  “She has a friend with… pain-easing abilities, when he puts his hands to her head.”

  “Pain-easing abilities?” Lhem frowned. “In his hands? One of the King’s Physicians, then. I've only ever heard of the Lhorissian line having that. It could be young Luc den’Lhorissian. He slipped from our agents in the palace before he could be confirmed in his position after his mother died. But with the deaths of his brother and father, it seems he's returned to Lintesh.” His attention returned to Eleshen. “A Lhorissian might be able to keep your friend alive. For a little while, at least. But a True Seer will continue to wither unless trained properly by the Abbeystone.”

  Temlin turned with fire in his veins, fixing Eleshen in his gaze above the rim of his spectacles. “You, girl! We shall send a few Brothers to collect your ailing True Seer. She must be brought here so we can protect her. Such a treasure is nearly as important to the Kingsmen as protecting our future Queen. We will send a litter for her, immediately, with an escort of our trusted agents.”

  “You mean Kingsmen agents?”

  Temlin grinned at her, hard and ready, though Lhem’s response to his news had been far less than adequate. “Technically, we’re Brothers. Got it? And I think I don’t need to tell you how very secret all of this information you just heard will remain if you want to keep your friends safe.”

  CHAPTER 31 – OLEA

  Olea had spent her evening tracing sigils in the dust upon the stones of her cell, trying to ignore the creeping feeling of being watched in the torch light. Her fingertips circled ar
ound again, as a tingling sensation lifted the hair upon her neck. Olea ignored it. Even if she was being watched from behind the wall, there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it. And rising to alert every time she felt that tingle was making her as paranoid as Uhlas had been at the end. The Upper Cells were swept regularly, and the straw of her pallet was fresh, but there was nevertheless a light coat of byrunstone dust that settled over everything this far beneath the palace, and it made for an excellent distraction. Moving in a light meditation, she traced, each sigil remembered from the etchings on the clockwork that she had examined from her little white pouch night after night, year after year.

  A scraping sound caught her attention suddenly, just a whisper in the darkness. Olea sharpened her hearing, waiting, then heard it again. A scrape with a slight crunch, like a soft leather boot over grit-covered stone. After a moment, she felt a shadow by the bars of her cell, just out of the torch’s light. His breathing was soft and fluid, a sound normal ears wouldn't have noted. She could just hear the beat of his blood in his veins, steady and slow. In the darkness, his scent held the vague touch of pine musk with his oiled leather.

  Elohl's stealth had improved over the years. Olea smiled, relieved that he’d come. She glanced though her bars at the guard, three cells down by the stairs. A normally sharp man by the name of Khenner den’Ihs, he was bored, staring straight ahead, slumped at the wall with arms crossed and a vague scowl. He hadn’t noticed a thing.

  “Elohl.” Olea's whisper was soft. She knew Elohl could hear her.

  “Olea. What can I do?” His answer came just as soft, hardly a breath.

  “I’m fine. I need you to protect the Dhenra.”

  “She’s being watched. Fenton, Vargen, and your man Aldris. Olea. Did you know Fenton was a Kingsman?” Elohl breathed.

  “Not until last night.”

  “How many more of these Shemout Alrashemni are there… in hiding?”

  Olea paused. “I don’t think they’re in hiding, Elohl. I think they operate outside the Oath. Outside the Crown. A secret sect of Alrashemni with no liege. But I think they were assigned to us, to keep Kingskinder alive all these years.”

  “Then why help the Dhenra, if they don’t serve the Crown?”

  Olea chewed her lip. “Elohl… there’s a dangerous game being played here. It's bigger than the Crown, whatever it is. And I think we’re the pawns. We always have been. The Summons was a deliberate move by someone, to eradicate Alrashemni. And it wasn’t King Uhlas.”

  Elohl snorted softly. “So we have enemies we know nothing of. Maybe Ghrenna will be able to see something.”

  “Ghrenna?!” Olea startled. It was all she could do to not turn to stare at the shadow of her twin in the darkness. “You’ve seen Ghrenna? Where? When?!”

  Elohl paused for a long moment, and Olea knew something was wrong. “She’s alive. She’s here in the city.”

  “Just alive?” Olea breathed. Elohl's words had an ominous ring to them, and if Olea knew her brother, which she did, he was leaving quite a lot out.

  Elohl’s next words were strained. “She’s bad, Olea. Really bad. I can’t even touch her. She spasms if we touch, and the headaches devour her. They're worse than ever...”

  “Elohl…” Telling him she was sorry wouldn’t help. It never did, with Elohl. He would grieve and grieve until it consumed him, and not utter one more breath about his love, nor how it tore him to shreds with claws and teeth. He had always suffered that way, with the silence of a glacier.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Elohl continued, mastering himself. “Fenton’s set me up as a guard now. How do I approach the Dhenra to tell her what’s happening?”

  “You don’t, not unless you want to be in here with me. She’s got a temper, Elohl, and she had reason to use it upon me, not to mention on some nobody she's never met. Don’t try to approach her. Don’t try to speak with her. Just stay on her ass like a leech and spread your senses wide. Don’t let anything slip through unnoticed. Fenton and Aldris are sharp swordsmen, Elohl. But they don’t have what you have.”

  She saw the shadow nod. “I’ll do my best. I love you, Lea.” And with the faint swish of air where he’d been, Elohl slipped away.

  “I love you too, Elohl.” Olea breathed, but she knew he was already gone. Olea sat back from the bars, settling cross-legged upon her pallet. Leaning her head back against the cold stone wall, she allowed her senses to still, ignoring her paranoia, her mind drifting in the darkness behind her eyelids. Images became sharp, her thoughts and memory turning to her last time alone with Alden nearly two years ago.

  In her memory, she saw the palace practice-yards. The way the dust swirled in the hot summer sun when it was kicked up by Alden’s boot. She heard his throaty laugh as she got a jab with her practice-knife right into his ribs. A light wind was in the trees, the oaks and cendarie at the wall where the practice grounds met the forest whispering of summer. Cicadas whirred lazily as Alden regained his breath and strode in again, sword and longknife ready, never to be undone by the number of times Olea had killed him in the dirt ring.

  Olea remembered their last conversation together, etched into her mind.

  “I've had two letters, Olea, sent by hawk.” Alden was breathing hard, slipping through Olea's deft parries.

  “From Arlen den'Selthir?”

  “No. It's been so long since we sent that one, I think that hawk might have gotten shot and eaten. No, I've had two letters from Amlenport.”

  “What do they say?”

  “The Amlenport Harbormaster's letter arrived first. He illuminated the dock-keeper's trial we asked about, the one that happened right before the Summons eight years ago. Apparently it was a very odd affair.” Alden huffed between parries of his sword and a jab at Olea with his longknife. She slid out and blocked with ease.

  “Odd, how?”

  “Well, the man was put to the question at the time by some of our Guard, Fenton den'Kharel and Aldris den'Farahan. Interestingly enough, I don't know how those two were chosen for the duty, but they were. And the dock-keeper broke quickly. Too quickly, so the Harbormaster thinks. Gave up the name of a Thuruman pirating vessel that made spoils off the attack that night, raiding the Dauntless of their shipment of emeralds. I took the liberty of asking Fenton about the interrogation while we were drinking together last night. He said the same thing. That the man broke too easily under torture. Two minutes of water-dunking, that was all. The man was barely wet when he babbled everything about the pirates. And something else. Said they planned the attack at Amlenport's Alranstone.”

  Olea stepped back, ceasing their duel. “What? Why? Wouldn't a deal with Thuruman pirates be made upon their own ship? They're cagey bastards...”

  “So Fenton thought, too. And when it came time to execute the dock-keeper, he started shrieking, I don't know these thoughts! And babbling about his mind being broken by someone.”

  “Mind being broken?” Olea held up hand, passed it over her eyes. “Like what that man in black herringbone armor did the day all us Kingskinder were captured. He broke into our minds. Gave us all so much pain that none of us could fight back.”

  “Yes, except the dock-keeper was screaming that it was a woman who'd broken his mind. And that she was at the Alranstone. And that she was under the sway of a tall, genteel man. The man in grey and the woman of slow sighs broke my mind! Were his exact words, as the Harbormaster recalls them.”

  Olea lifted an eyebrow. “Who are they?”

  But Alden shook his head. “The dock-keeper was put to death before that information came out. Fenton and Aldris weren't there when he was lynched. Fenton was livid about it. Said the local judiciary of Amlenport had been hasty with the noose. They were apparently supposed to wait to hang the man until Fenton was there as King's Witness. Fenton and Aldris were still getting dressed to attend the hanging when they heard the gallows drop in the square. Judiciaries just showed them the body afterwards as proof of the man's demise.”

  “Some
one was trying to cover up the man's last words, so Fenton wouldn’t witness them.”

  “So Fenton thinks, also.”

  “And it was a woman and a man in grey who broke into the dock-keeper's mind?”

  “Apparently.” Alden cocked his head at Olea. “Do you know anyone who might fit those descriptions?”

  Olea sighed. “Well, it's vague, but it's a place to start. What did the second letter you received say?”

  Alden put a hand to his sweaty black hair, tousled it. “It was a follow-up letter from Amlenport, from Vicoute den’Jhenn. Apparently, the Harbormaster at Amlenport has been killed. Just two days after sending the letter he wrote to me.”

  Olea blinked. Slid her sword slowly away. “How?”

  “Knife in the night.”

  “Harbormaster Lugol den'Fhillian was Kingsman-trained, Alden, in Valdhera. The den'Fhillian minor nobles are an old family that followed the tradition of sending their sons to train with the Kingsmen so they could be Harbormasters. He wouldn't have been easy to kill.”

  “So someone with equal or better training killed him. You know, Olea, the more we look into this ball of yarn, the more it feels like we're dealing with a massive network. To pull off something of this size... of killing so many trained Kingsmen in a single night and all these strange dealings since... you'd have to have thousands of people!” Alden planted his sword tip-down in the dirt with an exasperated huff, something young Elyasin was already copying him at. “Did you talk to Fenton about his search through the lists?”