The Silent Tempest: Rite Of Exile Part 18

"All right, all right-give me a chance to get dressed. You don't have to wake the whole inn!"

A brief spell of quiet pa.s.sed, but they had barely dressed and made their way to the window when the pounding resumed. In a few moments they were all outside. Watchful and silent, they headed for the stables, creeping down an alley black as ink beneath a moonless sky. Warren clutched his father's hand.

After a sharp corner and a dozen yards or so they stopped at a wooden gate leading into the stable yard. Soren tried the handle, but the gate was locked.

"What now?" Caleb whispered.

"Go back the other way," Rennor suggested.

"We can't leave without our horses," Soren said. "We'll have to climb the fence."

Caleb gripped his arm. "But the main gate is locked, too. How will we get the horses out? Besides, they're probably just outside, waiting for us."

In the faint light, Caleb could barely make out the Master Raen's expression as he realized this. "By Hendra!" Soren muttered. "I never once dreamed I'd be running from my own soldiers."

"If they are your soldiers."

"Hush!" Rennor whispered. "I thought I heard something."

They all dropped to a crouch to listen. Footfalls sc.r.a.ped faintly in the straw-covered dirt beyond the fence. A horse nickered from across the yard.

A few seconds later they heard the murmuring voice of the innkeeper. "Hold on-I'll get you out. But you'll need to wait here until they're gone."

"But they won't leave when they find an empty room," Soren argued.

"I've taken care of it. Sit tight, and I'll be back with your horses all saddled and ready."

Her footsteps faded. As they waited in growing anxiety they heard folk pounding on the walls of the inn and shouting complaints. Of course this only awakened more lodgers, and soon they were all shouting at each other rather than the intruders. Soren, normally a man of action, fidgeted. Caleb, despite the innkeeper's words, feared some sort of treachery. The uproar went on for several minutes, then gradually subsided to the last few grumbles and slamming doors.

They heard a faint creak of hinges, and the unmistakable sound of slow horse steps. Keys jingled, a lock snapped open, and they all stepped through into the yard.

The innkeeper and one of her servants stood in the dim light of the stars, holding the reins of their horses. "You'd best stick to the alleys," she said softly. "The intruders are gone, but I can't stop them from watching the street from a dark corner."

Soren took the reins from her hands. "I don't understand. Why did they leave the inn when they knew we were in the room?"

"They knew someone was. My father bears a faint resemblance to you. He climbed in through the window you left open. When the soldiers eventually burst the door down they found an old man, but no Master Raen."

Caleb caught a twinkle in her eyes. "There's more to this story."

"A little. When they searched the room they uncovered an attractive pair of young ladies hiding under the blankets-and in rather compromising positions, you might say." She shrugged. "It's been a while since I've seen a grown man blush."

Soren tried to erase a sudden grin. "I never asked you your name."

She smiled like a bashful schoolgirl. "Jana."

17.

Escape and Revelations The full light of knowledge is uglier than ignorance; for nothing can hide in it.

- Garda, 18th and 20th Overseer of Ada THEY LED their horses back down the alley, Soren in front. A short distance from the street at the other end, they turned down another pa.s.sage branching to the right. It took much time and stealth and guesswork, but they managed to head for the west end of town and still keep mostly to the alleys. The few streets they crossed were dark and empty.

Once beyond the edge of the city they mounted. They rode through the chill air between rows of orchards and vineyards, hoping the innkeeper had bought them enough time. Slowly the miles pa.s.sed, until the pale dawn glow silhouetted the mountains behind. The fields lay more open now, and Soren abruptly changed course, heading south towards the distant hills and peaks of the Iendrai.

Within a few hours the fields ended at a long line of cedars: the beginning of a large swamp bordering the highlands along the south sh.o.r.e of Lrana. Though the morning had bloomed full, the swamp lay dim and dreary beneath the dense foliage. Soren led the way carefully, never once losing his head when the confusing maze of fallen logs and sprawling roots forced them to backtrack. He knew as well as Caleb did that a misstep by one of their horses would likely ruin their chances of evading pursuit. Yet the way became easier as he slowly turned west, until at last they climbed a high bank and reached drier ground.

By nightfall they had ridden deep into the highlands, a wide expanse of steep ridges and waterfalls, with ravines shadowed by leaning trees and precipitous rock. It was slow, excruciating work, and by the end of the second day in this broken country Caleb began to wonder if all this furtive wandering was worth it. But their stay at Enili had convinced Soren of the Raeni's-or someone's-determination to find them.

At last, in the afternoon of the third day of their escape, the travelers rode out of the hills to gaze upon the deep blue waters of Lrana. Only the faint smudge of an island broke the distant line of the horizon. Few folk lived this far west, so they camped early, and the lonely sigh of waves soon lulled each member of the exhausted party to sleep.

The next morning greeted them with a raw wet wind blowing off the lake. Caleb shivered in his coat as he followed Soren along the rocky sh.o.r.e, taking care riding amongst the stream-fed pools or creva.s.ses of gurgling water opening suddenly at his feet. The lake soon bent to the north, and by evening they reached the mouth of a wide river barring their way: Erthair.

Much of Lrana emptied into this river, and fording its swirling waters in the gathering dusk was a dangerous prospect. But Soren, still mindful of the pursuit, was determined to cross before making camp. They scouted down the bank westward until they found a shallower section of the river. They rode slowly at first, then with more confidence as the current rose only to the horses' flanks, and eventually reached the opposite bank in safety.

They set up camp in a tall stand of wind-shorn beeches, whose bare limbs offered little shelter yet provided an ample supply of fuel. To the south the ma.s.sive peaks of the Iendrai rose into the clear night sky, their spreading crowns as cold as the stars which brightened them. It was a lonely land, far from the smallest village or the lowliest shack. Caleb could not shake off a strange longing to see his ship again, a homesickness that felt like a stranger's now instead of his own.

Sleep eluded them, and they sat near the fire in brooding silence. A dark cloud had settled over the little company. Warren huddled against his father, a look of mild bewilderment in his face. The only one who seemed immune was Rennor, who kept asking Caleb about the "place in the sky" he had come from.

"It's called Earth," Caleb mumbled, in no mood to dwell on the subject.

"Was it a better place than this? Do you wish to return?"

"I couldn't if I wanted to."

"Of course. But what was it like? Was it more peaceful than this one?"

Caleb raised his head to see an uncharacteristic intensity in those steel gray eyes. Odd how he had picked this moment to ask about his home world. "I'm sorry, Rennor. I just don't have the heart for questions right now. Maybe later."

"You feel the distant threat of Gur'alyreiv," Soren murmured. "You must guard your mind, distract your thoughts."

Caleb nodded, and forced himself to answer. "It wasn't more peaceful, just the opposite. Even Tnestiri seems better, in a way. At least it's a more obvious threat."

"We're not that close yet," Soren said. "And don't forget-the First Lor'yentre still lies in our future."

"Oh, well, Kseleksten. In itself it might be worse-a.s.suming it's not broken like the other one. But I'm not talking about wars or weapons. Our knowledge had gotten to the point where only a few could understand it or control it. It defined our way of life so much, there was no place to get away from it, even for a little while. And the worst part is, n.o.body really wanted to."

Soren studied him for a moment, then turned his attention back to the fire.

Rennor shrugged, a somehow irreverent gesture. "Knowledge breeds power, and power breeds temptation-be it Kseleksten or an old book of proverbs. That doesn't make the knowledge itself evil. And your awareness of such things will help keep Ada and other lands from falling into the same trap."

Caleb, reminded uncomfortably of his laser, raised his eyebrows. "I don't have that kind of influence right now, I'm afraid. Anyway, the people of Ada aren't the problem, according to prophecy. It's one person-whoever found the Medallion."

Rennor glanced at the boy, who noticed and returned a hesitant smile. Caleb frowned: he hadn't told him of Soren's suspicions about Warren being the Bringer of Evil.

"That innkeeper made more sense to me than any prophecy," Rennor replied. "You won't find what you need in a book centuries out of date. You have to keep digging for the answer in many places, perhaps for a lifetime."

Soren was staring at him by now. "It's hard enough to tolerate disrespect from strangers or foreigners. But from someone who shares my food, and sleeps only a few feet away from me every night? That's something else altogether!"

"Soren, he meant no offense," Caleb said.

"No offense? You've stood in Gerentesk-surrounded by the works of Orand and many others. Knowledge spanning hundreds of years!" He pointed at Rennor. "He speaks as if every scribe and Loremaster who's labored to find those answers is an ignorant child, yet you say he has committed no offense."

Palms out, Rennor said, "Soren, I have nothing but admiration for those who have dedicated their lives to Ada, and to the library you've built. As Telai's a.s.sistant, how could I not? But knowledge just can't sit on a shelf and gather dust. It needs to be improved upon, added to. Even Orand's."

"What in great thundering Hendra do you think we've been doing all these years?"

"It's true, Rennor," said Caleb, anxious to absolve himself with Soren. "Telai's always following some lead that might increase her knowledge. I would think you would know that as well as anyone."

Rennor lowered his gaze, and Soren nodded. "Yes, indeed you should. And the Treth are simple folk who speak in simple words, like that innkeeper. I've never known any of them to be as interested in lore as you are."

"I've had good teachers, so to speak."

"Enough! Enough of your lies! I've never fully believed you to be a servant of the Grand Loremaster, but with each pa.s.sing day and with each word you utter I believe it less and less. Whether your intentions are good is one thing, but it is as plain as Gur'alyreiv that you've been deceiving us."

Soren jumped up and drew his weapon, which never left his side even in sleep, and held the point near Rennor's nose. "Speak! Who are you, and what is your real purpose with us?"

Caleb sat gaping. "What are you going to do, kill him if he denies your accusation?" he blurted at last. "I'll admit there's something mysterious about him, but he's not some kind of threat. Put that d.a.m.ned sword away!"

The old soldier kept his steely glare on Rennor. "Not until he reveals his true ident.i.ty. Or he can pack up and leave. It's his decision."

Rennor was looking at Caleb. "You don't believe me, either?"

"Just a feeling, Rennor. A choice of words here and there-like the other day when you didn't use my second name. Everyone else does. And you've avoided every question about your supposed relationship with Telai."

"If I'm so untrustworthy, then why am I here?"

"I've already told you," Soren answered. "To keep you from blabbing about our mission. That doesn't matter now with Gur'alyreiv close by, and I place little faith in your childish tales. State your true purpose and ident.i.ty!"

"My name is Rennor!" he said, punctuating each word. "I'm here to help you reach your goal, to find the Broken Lor'yentre at Graxmoar. Nothing has changed."

The point of the sword moved to his throat, and Rennor tensed. Soren grinned devilishly. "See, Caleb Stenger, how soon he abandons his n.o.ble quest to increase our knowledge? You will answer my question truthfully, stranger, and now."

A long minute pa.s.sed. Moisture slowly rimmed the younger man's eyes, as if he were about to commit some act of betrayal. "d.a.m.n you and your eternal suspicions!" he breathed. He looked from one to the other. "I came here to correct a mistake made a long time ago-a very foolish mistake."

Soren waited, then said, "You only deepen the mystery about yourself."

Rennor spread his hands to either side. "The only way I can prove myself is if you let me help you."

"Your burden, not mine."

Tears now coursed down Rennor's cheeks. Caleb squirmed, uncomfortable with the man's grief, as if it were somehow tied to his own.

All this while Warren sat with his mouth open, like a child amazed at the hypocrisy of adult arguments. Caleb knew better. His son would never interact in a meaningful way with these people, much less learn their language. And even if he could, how long would it last? For nine years, if even that long?

"Perhaps we should give him another chance, Soren."

The Master Raen shook his head. "May Etrenga rise from the dead and strike me down if I allow this man anywhere near Graxmoar."

Rennor seemed to be recovering, a familiar look of impatience kindling his red-rimmed eyes. "What is it you're so worried about?"

"I don't know. Whatever it is, you want it too much."

An inexplicable spasm twisted Rennor's face. "Soren, please put your sword away. You have my promise not to betray you or any of your people."

Soren appeared to waver for a moment, his blade withdrawing a little. Then his expression hardened. "No. I've lived too long as a Raen not to recognize the smell of danger."

"There is no danger here! My interest is purely academic. There's never been any compelling evidence concerning the powers of either the First or the Second Lor'yentre. It's probably nothing more than a myth!"

The words were out before Caleb could stop them. "I hope not."

Soren turned his head. "What?"

The sword drifted away from Rennor, and Caleb froze.

"Well?" urged the Master Raen. "You said I hope not. What did you mean by that?"

Caleb tried to shrug convincingly. "You know how badly I want to restore my reputation."

"Finding Kseleksten is one thing. Believing in its powers is another. You've been casting doubts on the Prophecy ever since we left Udan. Now you've changed your mind? Explain yourself!"

Caleb felt a strange urge to confess, but a cautious instinct held him back. "I read somewhere that not all of the powers of the Lor'yentrei are evil."

"How so?"

"You should know. You're familiar with Orand's writings."

"The writings of Orand are many. I don't spend all my time in Gerentesk!" Caleb gave no response to this, and Soren's fingers twitched on the hilt of his sword. "Do your reasons to find Kseleksten have anything-anything at all-to do with the Oath?"

Caleb faced him squarely. "Of course they do. I've spent almost three weeks with the Master Raen of Ada. I understand the Oath a little better every day." He shifted his gaze to the fire. "But I found a pa.s.sage in Orand's book about the healing powers of the Lor'yentrei. My hope is that Warren will be cured by it someday."

Silence fell. Finally he gathered the courage to raise his head, and found himself staring straight down the length of Soren's Fetra.

The Master Raen struggled to find his voice. "You understand? You've read Besir Orand'itee, and all the tales about our ancestors and the price they paid. How can you understand when you've placed some vain hope of healing above the peace and safety of Ada?" He bent his reddened face as if unwilling to look upon him. "May you bear the brunt of the evil to come, Caleb Stenger!"

With a jerk he drew back his sword. Caleb sat rooted to the ground.

He might have lost his head had it not been for Warren. The boy shouted and threw himself across his father, terrified by the sight of his impending death.

It was enough to freeze Soren right at the beginning of his stroke. As Caleb forced Warren away the old Raen stood aghast, shocked by his own reckless fury. Then Rennor leaped up and slammed him to the ground.