called Gaurraenan’s Pass, is here,” he pointed to a region of the mountains beneath where he’d indicated the Well lay. “It’s secluded in the reaches above Nuant House lands, but it is still accessible. Once we reach its edge, we can travel to the far side of the Hauttaeren through the ancient halls beneath.”
Vaeren stared at the map for several moments. “How long do you think it will take?”
“It depends on the storms and the snow, of course, but we should be at the Well within two weeks.”
Vaeren met his gaze, his expression hostile. “You planned this from the beginning. Why didn’t you tell the Chosen?”
“Because he did not need to know.”
Vaeren’s face darkened, his hand tightening on the hilt of the cattan at his side. Colin thought he’d confront him there, in front of Aeren and the rest, but instead he turned to Moiran. “Lady Moiran, if you would have someone escort me to my rooms, I’d like to retire for the night. The journey from Caercaern has been long and tiring.”
Moiran stood with a slow, formal grace. “Of course. I’ll show you to your rooms myself.”
Moiran led him from the room, leaving Aeren, Colin, and the others alone. Aeren waited until he heard their bootfalls die out before he frowned. “It does not appear that you are on good terms with the Order.”
Colin laughed. “Lotaern is still angry over what happened with the Winter Tree. He feels I should have brought the seed to him first, that it was obvious the Tree’s powers fell under the Order’s mantle, not the Tamaell’s.”
“But that happened over eighty years ago,” Fedaureon protested.
“This isn’t truly about the Tree,” Aeren said.
Daevon answered Fedaureon’s confused look. “It’s about the knife,” he said, nodding toward where it still sat on the table. They all looked down at it.
“I still don’t understand.”
Aeren reached forward and, with a wave of permission from Colin, picked it up. He frowned as he held it and Colin wondered if he could feel the power of the forest pulsing through it. He’d passed through Aielan’s Light, so perhaps he could. Then Aeren handed it to Eraeth, who hefted it in one hand, testing its weight as Lotaern had done.
“Colin came to the Alvritshai with an object of power once before and he used that object without Lotaern’s foreknowledge. The Chosen does not like to be surprised. He likes to be in control. If Colin had come to him with the Winter Tree, he would have used the Tree against the Evant, to gain even more power. The fact that Colin brought it to me, and then to the Tamaell, meant that he could not use it to his immediate advantage.”
“He adapted quickly,” Eraeth muttered.
“He did,” Aeren agreed. “Even though the Tree was never initially under his control, he’s gained control of it using the lords’ fears. For all intents and purposes, the Tree is now part of the Order. He’s walled it away from the people and uses it as a symbol of the Order’s strength.”
“That was never its intent,” Colin grumbled.
“No, but that is how it’s been used. And now you bring to Lotaern another object of power. One that does not have the same visual strength as the Winter Tree, but—if you are correct—is more deadly. The Tree merely protects us from the sukrael; the knife may be able to kill them. If Lotaern can show that the Order holds the power to rid the world of the sukrael forever…”
Fedaureon nodded his head in understanding. “The Alvritshai commoners will band around him even more. They’ll see him as a savior of sorts.”
“He wants the knife. He may even need the knife,” Aeren said. “The Winter Tree has been in Caercaern for over eighty years. The awe over its creation and its power has faded. For those that live in Caercaern, it has already become commonplace. Only those outside of Resue House lands find it striking. And those that have been born since it was planted, like Fedaureon, have never
Vaeren stared at the map for several moments. “How long do you think it will take?”
“It depends on the storms and the snow, of course, but we should be at the Well within two weeks.”
Vaeren met his gaze, his expression hostile. “You planned this from the beginning. Why didn’t you tell the Chosen?”
“Because he did not need to know.”
Vaeren’s face darkened, his hand tightening on the hilt of the cattan at his side. Colin thought he’d confront him there, in front of Aeren and the rest, but instead he turned to Moiran. “Lady Moiran, if you would have someone escort me to my rooms, I’d like to retire for the night. The journey from Caercaern has been long and tiring.”
Moiran stood with a slow, formal grace. “Of course. I’ll show you to your rooms myself.”
Moiran led him from the room, leaving Aeren, Colin, and the others alone. Aeren waited until he heard their bootfalls die out before he frowned. “It does not appear that you are on good terms with the Order.”
Colin laughed. “Lotaern is still angry over what happened with the Winter Tree. He feels I should have brought the seed to him first, that it was obvious the Tree’s powers fell under the Order’s mantle, not the Tamaell’s.”
“But that happened over eighty years ago,” Fedaureon protested.
“This isn’t truly about the Tree,” Aeren said.
Daevon answered Fedaureon’s confused look. “It’s about the knife,” he said, nodding toward where it still sat on the table. They all looked down at it.
“I still don’t understand.”
Aeren reached forward and, with a wave of permission from Colin, picked it up. He frowned as he held it and Colin wondered if he could feel the power of the forest pulsing through it. He’d passed through Aielan’s Light, so perhaps he could. Then Aeren handed it to Eraeth, who hefted it in one hand, testing its weight as Lotaern had done.
“Colin came to the Alvritshai with an object of power once before and he used that object without Lotaern’s foreknowledge. The Chosen does not like to be surprised. He likes to be in control. If Colin had come to him with the Winter Tree, he would have used the Tree against the Evant, to gain even more power. The fact that Colin brought it to me, and then to the Tamaell, meant that he could not use it to his immediate advantage.”
“He adapted quickly,” Eraeth muttered.
“He did,” Aeren agreed. “Even though the Tree was never initially under his control, he’s gained control of it using the lords’ fears. For all intents and purposes, the Tree is now part of the Order. He’s walled it away from the people and uses it as a symbol of the Order’s strength.”
“That was never its intent,” Colin grumbled.
“No, but that is how it’s been used. And now you bring to Lotaern another object of power. One that does not have the same visual strength as the Winter Tree, but—if you are correct—is more deadly. The Tree merely protects us from the sukrael; the knife may be able to kill them. If Lotaern can show that the Order holds the power to rid the world of the sukrael forever…”
Fedaureon nodded his head in understanding. “The Alvritshai commoners will band around him even more. They’ll see him as a savior of sorts.”
“He wants the knife. He may even need the knife,” Aeren said. “The Winter Tree has been in Caercaern for over eighty years. The awe over its creation and its power has faded. For those that live in Caercaern, it has already become commonplace. Only those outside of Resue House lands find it striking. And those that have been born since it was planted, like Fedaureon, have never
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