“Could take two, even four guards on my own,” Branwyn said. “Would have to leave the horses and sneak up, I’m guessing. Or they’d all be ready.”
“Right.” Zelen turned down an unexpected alley, and his words came back to her as they rode single file in the narrow gap between the houses. “Hoping some will have left for the city already, but can’t count on it.”
Half of the force waiting for them wouldn’t be professional, and most of them wouldn’t have seen a Sentinel. That might help. The grooms and footmen—maybe the guards as well—might break and run when she turned metal. It had happened before.
On the other side of the scales, the Verengirs had at least one wizard, maybe more, and maybe a demon. The possibilities were too wild to predict—and then there was the chance that, if pressed, the traitors would slit Tanya’s throat then and there.
Only way a hostage situation can get worse, Yathana agreed.Bring the bloody mages into it.
“I’d love a distraction,” Branwyn said. “Fire, maybe?”
“Too wet to burn well.”
They emerged from the alley practically at one of Heliodar’s lesser gates and slowed as the lone watchman there came forward to peer at them. “Name and business?”
He was young and alone, but the halberd he held was sturdy, and Branwyn didn’t doubt that he had a companion with a crossbow covering him from a nearby building.
“Zelen Verengir,” said Zelen, holding up the hand with his signet ring on it. “Urgent family matter.”
The guard didn’t even examine Branwyn closely enough to make out her form under the cloak or her face under the hood. “Gods speed you, m’lord,” he said, and stepped aside.
Amris would have had the man mending armor and chopping wood for a month for that, Branwyn thought, but Amris was commanding on the front lines, not in a rank-bound city. She followed Zelen through the gates and then drew alongside him on the narrow road beyond.
“You know,” he said, “I have a notion of how we might do this.”
Part III
Call:Who are the children of Sitha and Poram?
Response:They are three.
Eldest is Letar, the Queen of Shadows, lady of desire and death, healing and vengeance. With her, the elder gods gave mortals the gift of fire.
Second is Gizath, the Traitor, the Forger of Chains. Once he ruled over the ties between all things. Now he is the enemy of creation.
Youngest is Tinival, the Silver Wind, the Lord of the Scales. He holds in his hands true justice, that to which high and low alike have a right—and that which low and high alike should fear.
—Litany of Sitha, Part IV
The question remaining is this: Where did Thyran get his knowledge? We grant that the slaughter of his household sealed his pact with Gizath. A chance does exist that he acted simply in murderous rage and that the blood so spilled weakened the Veil of Fire enough to allow a direct connection or a demonic intrusion. It’s far more likely that he knew precisely what he was contacting. That suggests a teacher. And that in eighty years, we haven’t identified a likely candidate for the role…that worries me greatly.
—Letter from the Blade Caden to his superiors
Chapter 34
Rain started falling again as they were riding away from the city. It wasn’t a hard downpour, but the wind blew it past hoods and it kept the ground too wet to really push the horses. Zelen bent low over Jester’s back, wiped his brow with his sleeve until the skin chafed, and did his best to remind himself that they’d be later yet if an all-out gallop turned into a broken leg.
Even the comfort of having Branwyn beside him, an anonymous shape in the darkness but one he could have picked instantly out of a crowd, was mixed. He was taking her into danger, not two days since she’d been unable to stand on both feet for more than a few minutes. Zelen’s mind could repeat endlessly that she was fully healed now, that a Sentinel was worth any four or five normal warriors, and that Branwyn had thrown in with the plan before he’d so much as hinted at her coming along.
His gut, and his heart, were having none of it.
The darkness was full of demons and magic, evil sorcerers wearing familiar faces, and foul pictures from his imagination and memory both. He remembered Branwyn lying huddled in the alley and knew too well that her powers didn’t protect her against all threats. He considered how fragile the human body was, especially a child’s, and thought of all the methods of human sacrifice he’d heard of in lurid tales.
Zelen also thought of Hanyi, who’d occasionally looked the other way when she’d caught him sneaking back into the house, or brought him hot drinks when he was sick in bed, and who summoned demons now. No such memories of Gedomir came to mind. Perversely, that was itself painful—the man was his brother, and if there was nothing to mourn for on finding out where his allegiances lay, Zelen couldn’t believe the fault was all on one side.
He wasn’t divinely inspired. He hadn’t preternaturally sensed that Gedomir worshipped the Traitor. They’d just never liked each other, and Zelen had never had quite enough family feeling to overcome that.
The ride would’ve taken forever, even if they hadn’t been in a hurry.
