wanted to be close
enough to inherit the blame. While a few were searching the bodies the others
went around the gathered crowd to gain an account of what had happened. No one
seemed to know what had occurred, however. The many tales that were told were
all baffled ramblings, and many simply contradicted one another.
Among the crowd of watchers was a small girl and
a tall, rigid man. They watched the Guard search the bodies, and then watched
as the deceased were carried away on the back of wagons.
“The boy and the other Legionnaire escaped,”
said the girl as they walked away. “I should have kept a better watch.” Her
dark hair fell to her shoulders in straight waves, framing a small heart-shaped
face with large green eyes, tilted as were the man’s. She wore a loose tunic
and carried a wicker pack on her back.
“Yes, you should have, but not to worry,” said
the man. “They cannot go far.” His dark hair was closely cropped and looked
disheveled, as though he had just awoken that moment. His small, tilted black
eyes scanned everything with a perpetual tightness that made onlookers shy away
from his gaze. Lean and tall, he moved with the intensity of a wolf.
“We don’t know where they went, Amon,” the girl
said.
“I said not to worry about it,” the man growled.
“We have plenty of time to catch up to them. And when we next meet ...” he
sighed deeply as if tired, “... they will wish they had died this day.”
Chapter 8
King
and Seer
1
The water was calm and quiet, the king saw.
His own face stared back at him from the black
water, illuminated by the lamps on the walls. The green eyes were the only
features that he could recall from his youth. His face had grown fuller with
age, and he had a beard now which covered the lower half of his face, a light yellow
tinged with gray, as was his hair.
Aeiron Methoran wondered then how long he had
been there, forestalling all his other duties to stare into the plinth of black
water, hoping it would wake and show him a glimpse of what was happening, or
what was to come. Anything to prepare him or help him. But there was only the
blackness of the still water. He resisted the thought that perhaps that was the
answer the Krillen wished to show him and that he should simply accept it.
“My lord?”
Aeiron turned to find Nemar standing in the open
doorway to the small room. Behind the seer he could see the guard on duty.
Nemar entered cautiously, reading his face.
“It hasn’t shown anything?”
Aeiron straightened from the plinth and looked
to the seer. “Nothing.”
“A sign that nothing has gone wrong, perhaps?”
“Perhaps,” said Aeiron, though he didn’t believe
it. What he did believe was that the Krillen showed what it wanted and only
when it wanted to. God knew the damn thing didn’t have a mind of its own, but
that was how it felt to Aeiron. And how else would something from the Ruins
work? He wondered if it was desperateness or foolishness that had led his
ancestors to steal this small bit of water from Urd’s Well, before it was lost
completely to the Ruins. A little bit of both, he decided as he left the lone
chamber with Nemar at his heels. Aeiron nodded to the small boy that stood
outside in the hall. There was always a page waiting outside with the guard, to
run and fetch Nemar or the King should the Krillen light up. An important but
dull duty, the king knew.
“Have you had any word from Hamar?” Aeiron
asked.
“Not since the last, your highness, before they
left Port Hope.”
Aeiron sighed inside. He hadn’t expected much,
but it was difficult to be unaware of what was happening. They had sent their
plan rolling into motion, now they waited to see if it would succeed or veer
off course and crumble. The halls they walked were pure white with bass
carvings and paintings of scenes from the Great Book along the walls. Sunlight
poured in through the fluted colonnades along the outer wall. From outside and
below
enough to inherit the blame. While a few were searching the bodies the others
went around the gathered crowd to gain an account of what had happened. No one
seemed to know what had occurred, however. The many tales that were told were
all baffled ramblings, and many simply contradicted one another.
Among the crowd of watchers was a small girl and
a tall, rigid man. They watched the Guard search the bodies, and then watched
as the deceased were carried away on the back of wagons.
“The boy and the other Legionnaire escaped,”
said the girl as they walked away. “I should have kept a better watch.” Her
dark hair fell to her shoulders in straight waves, framing a small heart-shaped
face with large green eyes, tilted as were the man’s. She wore a loose tunic
and carried a wicker pack on her back.
“Yes, you should have, but not to worry,” said
the man. “They cannot go far.” His dark hair was closely cropped and looked
disheveled, as though he had just awoken that moment. His small, tilted black
eyes scanned everything with a perpetual tightness that made onlookers shy away
from his gaze. Lean and tall, he moved with the intensity of a wolf.
“We don’t know where they went, Amon,” the girl
said.
“I said not to worry about it,” the man growled.
“We have plenty of time to catch up to them. And when we next meet ...” he
sighed deeply as if tired, “... they will wish they had died this day.”
Chapter 8
King
and Seer
1
The water was calm and quiet, the king saw.
His own face stared back at him from the black
water, illuminated by the lamps on the walls. The green eyes were the only
features that he could recall from his youth. His face had grown fuller with
age, and he had a beard now which covered the lower half of his face, a light yellow
tinged with gray, as was his hair.
Aeiron Methoran wondered then how long he had
been there, forestalling all his other duties to stare into the plinth of black
water, hoping it would wake and show him a glimpse of what was happening, or
what was to come. Anything to prepare him or help him. But there was only the
blackness of the still water. He resisted the thought that perhaps that was the
answer the Krillen wished to show him and that he should simply accept it.
“My lord?”
Aeiron turned to find Nemar standing in the open
doorway to the small room. Behind the seer he could see the guard on duty.
Nemar entered cautiously, reading his face.
“It hasn’t shown anything?”
Aeiron straightened from the plinth and looked
to the seer. “Nothing.”
“A sign that nothing has gone wrong, perhaps?”
“Perhaps,” said Aeiron, though he didn’t believe
it. What he did believe was that the Krillen showed what it wanted and only
when it wanted to. God knew the damn thing didn’t have a mind of its own, but
that was how it felt to Aeiron. And how else would something from the Ruins
work? He wondered if it was desperateness or foolishness that had led his
ancestors to steal this small bit of water from Urd’s Well, before it was lost
completely to the Ruins. A little bit of both, he decided as he left the lone
chamber with Nemar at his heels. Aeiron nodded to the small boy that stood
outside in the hall. There was always a page waiting outside with the guard, to
run and fetch Nemar or the King should the Krillen light up. An important but
dull duty, the king knew.
“Have you had any word from Hamar?” Aeiron
asked.
“Not since the last, your highness, before they
left Port Hope.”
Aeiron sighed inside. He hadn’t expected much,
but it was difficult to be unaware of what was happening. They had sent their
plan rolling into motion, now they waited to see if it would succeed or veer
off course and crumble. The halls they walked were pure white with bass
carvings and paintings of scenes from the Great Book along the walls. Sunlight
poured in through the fluted colonnades along the outer wall. From outside and
below
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