Page 57

While the desert outside the wall made the land hostile and impossible to survive, Everrun was an oasis with the water resources sufficient for five times the amount of acolytes, priests, and priestesses in the Order of Vala. Gandrett never failed to admire the lush vegetation framing the buildings of the priory, the small fields where she, among other acolytes, worked regularly to ensure the order was self-sustained and independent from the outside world.

As she rushed out the door, leaving Nehelon locked in his cell, her fellow acolytes didn’t hide their curiosity, most of them halting whatever they had just been about to do, some of them nodding at her as she made her way up to the citadel.

“The Meister won’t be pleased if you disturb his alone time.” The bell-like voice came from the doorway of a side building. Surel moved away from the door and fell into step beside Gandrett, her onyx eyes full of excitement.

Of course Surel had heard a stranger had been brought into Everrun. Nothing slipped her notice.

“I will have to risk it,” was all Gandrett replied to her friend, her mind on the tall warrior she’d left behind.

She wasn’t certain what annoyed her more: that he had almost defeated her, or that he had managed to get under her skin. She shook her head at the thought, at the tightness that spread in her chest when she was reminded of her homeland, the last memory she had of her parents—weeping and pleading for them not to take her.

Them.

Gandrett inhaled a steadying breath, her eyes on her target as she made her way along the cobbled road, and shoved aside whatever was left of her memories from before Everrun—which were few and happy ones, mostly. So happy, the thought of them made the present even more painful. But she wasn’t the only one. Every acolyte in the Order of Vala had endured a fate similar to hers.

The sun had dropped low enough that when Gandrett glanced at the pond at the foot of the citadel, she found it tinted in a pinkish-orange.

The truth. The twinkle in Nehelon’s eyes when he had sent her off. A challenge. She had been training with the other acolytes in the priory for too long to not recognize a challenge. And now?—

Now she found herself storming right into the Meister’s time of reflection just to satisfy her own curiosity. She rolled her eyes at herself, hoping no one was watching her too closely.

The Meister wouldn’t be pleased; Surel was right about that. And yet?—

The girl tugged along as Gandrett entered the shade under the arches behind the columns of the citadel, her words almost drowned out by the splattering of the waterfall. “Kaleb said the guy is wearing the Brenheran coat of armor.”

Gandrett shrugged, keeping her head high despite the spray of water that blew in through the arches as she neared the entrance. “One more reason to hate him,” she said, her voice hard as stone.

She didn’t need to look at Surel to know what the girl was thinking. Anything that wasn’t the daily routine was exciting to her, a welcome distraction. Where Gandrett was a dedicated fighter, skilled with almost any type of blade one could find across Neredyn, Surel was of the gifted group of the acolytes, the few blessed ones who possessed the magic that kept Everrun inhabitable in the middle of this unforgiving land. Water magic. The ability to shape and command the element of life. The element of Vala.

Magic, not usually a human trait. And while in the beginning, even knowing that she shouldn’t, Gandrett had observed the Vala-blessed with envy, she had learned to embrace her own talent—even though swordsmanship wasn’t half as glorious as the sight of what some of the priests and priestesses of Vala did with water magic. She had honed it and perfected it as best she could, sparring with anyone she could get to pick up a sword and fight—until she had stopped losing. Until the Meister and some of the high priests and priestesses were the only ones who could keep her occupied for more than two minutes with a weapon.

As they turned the corner into the citadel, cool, moist air touched her face. Unlike the wind whipping over the barren land outside the walls or the calm breeze inside the walls, in the citadel, the temperature was always a couple of degrees lower than anywhere else. The Calma Desert didn’t compare to the slat deserts of Phornes at the southern end of Neredyn. It didn’t even belong to one of the territories of Neredyn anymore. Even if Everrun had once belonged to the Fae at some point in history, the Calma Desert had been unclaimed for a thousand years.

Surel was still at her side as Gandrett made it through the long, stone hallways, past ornately-decorated carvings that told of Neredyn’s history. Gandrett didn’t pay attention, not anymore, not after countless walks into the heart of the citadel.

It was only when Gandrett stopped at the gate to the courtyard garden that Surel raised a thin, black eyebrow, her golden-tan skin glowing in the sunset light that filtered in through the windows which framed the door—and crossed her arms over her chest, indicating she was going to wait here rather than face the Meister’s wrath. He wouldn’t punish her with violence. Not for this. She had contained a potential intruder and strictly followed protocol.

With a slow hand, fueled mostly by the annoyance at Nehelon that was still swirling inside of her, Gandrett turned the brass doorknob, the ruffled metal cool under her touch preparing her for what she was about to experience, and stepped into the windless, square space.

The Meister, perched on a small dais made of the same sandstone as the rest of the priory, didn’t look up at her approach. His face was turned south-west, the direction Gandrett had entered from, and his hands rested on his knees. Meditation , Nehelon had said, as if he knew exactly what the Meister did in here.

Again, her mind raced back through her years at Everrun—and came up blank. Neither the name nor the face was familiar. Only the Brenheran symbol on his chest…

“It must be important,” the Meister noted without opening his eyes, without any movement other than that of his lips, “if you came all the way from your run to bother me during this most sacred time of the day.”

Sunset. The hour of Vala. Where the life of this day goes to rest to make way for the life of tomorrow.

As she stepped forward into the oasis of blossoms and bushes, Gandrett felt whatever force had driven her—curiosity to find out what Nehelon had to tell her—to come here at once, without even giving herself a moment to think it through, subside, leaving a mild tremble in its wake.

“Apologies, Meister.” She bowed low, eyes on her dusty boots, knowing from experience that even if the Meister wasn’t using his eyes, for now, he had other ways to be aware if she had followed protocol or not.

When the Meister didn’t immediately react, Gandrett lifted her head just enough to glimpse at his timeless face. A face smooth yet ancient with a crown of white hair atop. A face she had gotten to know as well as her father’s and mother’s, better even. Only without the affection she held for the latter. And it rarely appeared as peaceful as today. Even if his eyebrows knitted together in a frown indicating she had disturbed him while he’d been pondering the fate of all of Neredyn.

Well, this was important, too. Even if now, facing the Meister, all urgency had ebbed away.

“Speak, Gandrett.” His eyes remained closed as if he refused to dive out of wherever his mind had retreated to. Nobody knew, not even the high priests and priestesses, what the Meister truly did during those hours in the afternoon.

So Gandrett spoke. “Someone tried to breach our walls this afternoon.”

The Meister’s eyebrows rose, but he still didn’t blink his eyes open or release Gandrett from the bow. A punishment, perhaps, for disturbing him in his ritual.

“When I confronted him, he attacked, and—” she searched for words, avoiding mentioning she had laid in the dirt before the man, “—when I was able to disarm him, I brought him into Everrun and locked him in a cell.” She stopped, waiting for the Meister to react, but he didn’t. Her bent back was starting to bother her even if it had been only a minute. It was the weight of the Meister’s disapproval that made it so uncomfortable. Anything to not let him know his best warrior had almost failed to contain a threat’s potential attack against the Order of Vala. “According to protocol,” she added, shaping her words in a steady breath.

For a moment, the low sound of water trickling from stones set in all four corners of the courtyard was the only noise. Then, the Meister lifted his hands from his knees and folded them in his lap. “Did you ask him what business he has breaking into Everrun?”

Gandrett nodded to herself. Of course she had. It had been her first question, long before he had delivered the first blow with his sword. “Yes, Meister.”

“And what did he say?”

Gandrett stifled a groan as the muscles in her spine began to hurt.

“He didn’t tell me,” she truthfully answered.

At that, the Meister’s eyes burst open, icy cold burning in the blue of his irises.

“Rise,” he commanded, his voice not inferior to a military commander, the only thing giving away his wrath. The wrath Surel had warned about, the wrath every one of the acolytes got to know sooner or later. The temper of the Meister who demanded nothing but impeccable performance and manners. The Meister who had replaced her loving home.

Gandrett straightened, almost releasing a sigh of relief, but at the expectant gaze boring into her eyes, she repeated what Nehelon had instructed her to. “He told me to tell you Nehelon is here.”

The Meister leapt off the dais in a gazelle-like hop, his cold eyes melting at the sound of the name. “Why didn’t you tell me right away?”

Despite the relief that the Meister’s anger had passed, Gandrett felt a certain unease creep up on her in its wake.

He stood, the hem of his linen robes still on the rock behind him, face expectant for her to continue.

There was nothing to continue. So she stared at the Meister, unsure if his momentary change of mood was going to backlash.

“What are you waiting for?” He beckoned with one hand, dismissing her. “Bring him to me.”

The cells were nothing unusual. Nothing he wouldn’t be able to find a way out of, Nehelon decided as he assessed the iron-barred windows with professional fingers. Sunk into the rock front more than a couple of inches. Not solid but hollow, a tap of his index finger informed him.

Outside the windows, Everrun was as busy as he remembered it. Even the same, dull clothes on the acolytes as he remembered. The girl swaggered over the cobbled path she’d escorted him along. He couldn’t help but notice that despite her young age, her body was—as far as he could judge through those linen garments—that of a fully-grown woman. He rested his shoulder against the wall, observing her movements as she disappeared from view, studying, he told himself, what it was about that girl that made her the best fighter Everrun had to offer?—

And came up blank.

Average height. On the lower end of the scale, even. As he had fought her outside the wall, she had impressed him with her feline movements, her focus as she had tackled him from below, bringing him to the ground the way hardly any opponent had been able to. Not even the strongest of them. And she, for Vala’s sake , was only a girl. Trained by the best instructors in all of Neredyn, but still a girl. Something in his male pride curled up and licked its wounds, bracing itself for her return.

As some of the acolytes assigned to farm-work strode by, carrying rakes and shovels and buckets of seedlings, he couldn’t help but feel a little bit homesick. How many years had it been since?—

But that wasn’t why he’d come here. He’d come to get the best from the order’s stable and convince her to help him. However, he needed to do it now that she already hated him. He had seen it in her eyes—as skilled as she was with disguising it, he was better in reading it.

Nehelon stood like a statue and watched, watched the sunset. Watched as the last of the acolytes hurried off the small fields and vegetable patches. Watched the cobblestones as they emptied of life with no sign of the girl returning. Watched the last rays of sun sink behind the wall, the waterfall of the citadel a hum in shades of purple, as the first doubts bit at him.

What if he had misread her? What if she wasn’t curious at all regarding what he had to share? What if the Meister didn’t truly care after all these years…

“You seem awfully cheerful.” Her voice, heavy with sarcasm, startled him.

He growled.

Nobody startled him. No one. If anyone startled anyone, it was him. Him, who crept up on people, surprising them when they assumed they were unobserved. Him, who had the advantage of having his sword ready when others were still comprehending what was going on.

“No need to get all worked up,” she flashed her teeth. “The Meister says if I don’t get your ass over to him before the sun sets entirely, I’ll have a problem.”

Nehelon returned her gesture and bared his teeth. “It was starting to get a bit frosty in here…”

Gandrett raised her eyebrows as if daring him to have meant that she was the source of the frost. Then, she grabbed the key from her pocket to unlock the cell.

“Stay back.” The girl balanced her sword in one hand as she lifted the other to open his prison.

He watched her with a frown. “You still need this ,” he asked and gestured at the blade, “even if the Meister confirmed he knows me?”

The girl didn’t seem convinced. “The Meister may have been delighted to hear your name,” she said, smoothing her expression over once more. “Doesn’t mean I trust you.”

Her attitude almost made him bark a laugh—almost. Then he remembered he needed her.

Nehelon’s face was tight except for that tiny pull on the corner of his mouth that made Gandrett want to shut the cell door in his face the moment she had opened it.

“So I am not getting back my sword?”

Was he honestly asking that? She felt the reassuring weight of Nehelon’s weapons, which she had strapped to her belt, leaving her to carry her own sword in her hand. “Not if it is up to me. You might backstab me the second I turn around.” She stepped back to let him march out the entrance and cocked her head as he stopped right where she was holding the door, less than a foot from her. “You surely tried earlier,” she added with a shrug, referring to their initial encounter.

“And… is it up to you?” he asked, unimpressed.

Gandrett mentally stomped a foot in response and beckoned him to get moving. “The Meister can’t wait to see you.” Her smile was as false as she believed herself capable.

As she escorted Nehelon back through the now-empty street of the priory, the winds of the Calma Desert had turned the sky thunder-cloud gray, laced with the first shades of night. Small windows in the residential quarters on the western side of the citadel flickered on as the acolytes and priests returned to their rooms to clean up and change for the common dinner they had every night.

Nehelon's strides, powerful and graceful, gave Gandrett the impression she was walking next to a force of nature. But however much it tugged on her nerves, she didn’t turn her head to take a real look at him. She wouldn’t grant him the satisfaction of seeing her curious or even intrigued—for even with all of the dust and grime from traveling distributed on his clothes, his hair, there was something fascinating about him simply because he had almost defeated her. She frowned.

“Doesn’t suit you, you know?” Gandrett felt Nehelon’s gaze as if someone was holding a torch close to her face. “Leaves wrinkles.”

Gandrett suppressed the urge to use the sword in her hand to get him to stop talking.

As if feeling her irritation, he fell silent and didn’t speak until they entered the citadel.

“This is as cold and unwelcoming as I remember it.”

At his unexpected statement, Gandrett’s head involuntarily turned, and she found him gazing at the torch-lit hallway with carvings of Neredyn’s history, the thundering of the waterfall a constant background melody.

“You’ve been here before.” Not a question.

Nehelon’s head turned, and he faced her for a moment, his eyes muddy-gray in the mixture of fading daylight and orange flames. He gave her a brief nod before he returned his focus on the walls again. “You could say so.”

“When?” Gandrett prompted.

A low chuckle was the only answer she got before they made it to the courtyard at the center of the citadel.

A breeze, unusual for the heart of Everrun, touched her face as she stepped outside, half an eye surveying Nehelon at her heels and the sword in her hand—appearing loosely and casually gripped to the untrained eye—ready to flick into the young man’s thigh should he turn out to not have good intentions?—

“My friend!” The Meister threw his arms open, immediately rising from the stone dais.

How very unusual it was for the Meister to show emotions like this. The smile on his face, wide and welcoming, was as alien as the rush in his footsteps as he moved to meet Nehelon—who had picked up pace and was now walking in front of Gandrett, who was still deciding whether he was a threat or just the greatest fool in the world.

She watched the two men embrace between the blossoming greenery and again felt the urge to comment when the Meister caught her eye over Nehelon’s shoulder, his gaze saving her from embarrassing herself and, worse, from potential punishment had she not been able to hold her tongue. “Leave us, Gandrett,” he motioned with one hand as he clapped Nehelon’s back. “But stay close.” He slowly pulled out of the other man’s embrace, his eyes full of the dancing light of the band of fire lighting the courtyard from the edges of the gravel which enclosed the vegetation in the square space. “My friend and I have matters to talk through.”

With a low bow, Gandrett retreated back inside and paced the hallway for a minute, debating whether or not it was acceptable to spy on the head of the Order of Vala and his mysterious visitor, before she settled at the windowsill next to the door and peered inside through the stained glass.

The small clear segment that was low enough for her to see through opened the view on an animated discussion. Nehelon, expression so tight earlier, was smiling broadly and openly, an expression which turned his already handsome face into outright beautiful. Gandrett bit her lip and scowled.

Who was this man to simply be allowed to upturn the rules that were valid for everyone who traveled to Everrun? How could he attack one of the Order of Vala and yet be welcomed with a hug by the very same Meister who had set those rules in stone?

As she watched them, the Meister, his face so unusually bright, pulled Nehelon down by the arm as he sat on the edge of the dais, suddenly looking old. His back, normally straight and unyielding, his shoulders, now slumped. While beside him, Nehelon’s muscled body, forearms resting on his knees, dark hair falling in his face and hiding those piercing eyes behind a wavy curtain, displayed the epitome of strength and youth. And as they spoke, both faces slowly grew weary. What were they talking about?

Gandrett’s head grew heavy as the sky turned darker, and she played with the plain iron pommel of her sword, which she had laid down beside her on the windowsill. She was still in her sweaty clothes, dust and dirt making the sand color appear darker in places. Her stomach growled. On a normal day, she would sit across the table from Kaleb and next to Surel, digging into whatever stew they offered for the evening, quietly smiling at Kaleb’s grin’s and ignoring Surel’s jabs in her ribs at every one of them.

Life at the Order of Vala was easy, in a way. Every year at Vernal Equinox, the Fest of Blossoms—Vala’s holiday—four children joined the order. And four left to take on their duties wherever the Meister assigned them. The children were collected from the territories of Neredyn. One child from each human territory except for Sives, the north. Gandrett’s homeland. Sives usually sent two children: two symbolic, for each of the twin capitals—Ackwood in the west and Eedwood in the east. Gandrett shuddered and shoved the thought far down into the black depths of her memory.

Life at the order was obedience, training, worship. Obedience toward the Meister and his rules, training in swordsmanship or, for the gifted ones, magic. And worship of Vala. Every chore, every lap around the city, every sharpening of her blade, was in worship of Vala. That was the life she’d been sent into, and that was the life that had shaped her, sculpted her, inside and out.

Her calloused hand picked up the sword and weighed it while she watched reflections of flickering firelight dancing on the worn metal. Fancy swords were for nobles, not for members of the order who were destined to serve their entire life. Their lives a sacrifice on behalf of each ruler in Neredyn to Vala, the goddess of life and water. A glance at Nehelon’s sword at her hip told her enough to know that he came from a bloodline worthy of setting jewels into the hilt and pommel of their swords. She ran a finger over the crimson crystals and frowned.

Gandrett didn’t count the minutes the two of them spent conversing between the greenery, lost in her own thoughts, and pushed away from the windowsill only when the Meister called her name loudly enough to make it clear she’d been summoned.

“Get our guest to more suitable quarters for the night,” the Meister ordered, his face returned to normal, as Gandrett popped her head into the courtyard, ducking under the short palm tree at the side. “And give him his weapons back.”

Behind the calm posture of the Meister, Nehelon smirked at Gandrett, the look in his eyes letting her only guess that whatever their discussion had been, it had been to the young man’s satisfaction. It made Gandrett want to stick out her tongue, but she bit it instead, preventing herself from falling out of grace with someone who seemed to be favored by the head of the Order of Vala.

“Thank you, Meister.” He bowed low as the Meister glanced over his shoulder, a serene expression decorating his timeless face.

“We will talk tomorrow, my friend,” was all the Meister said before he nodded a silent dismissal.

Gandrett didn’t wait for Nehelon to join her at the threshold before she started out the door after a hurried bow. And even if her face was smooth and emotionless, she heard it in her own footsteps crunching on the stone floor, expressing how the tension was there, how she couldn’t stand to have him out of sight even if, for now, he was unarmed. It went against her nature to turn her back on an opponent—even if technically he wasn’t an enemy. Not if the Meister had welcomed him with open arms. She had never seen him do that in ten years.

“You could have taken the front gate,” she hissed when she felt him close enough behind her to not have to speak up. “I am sure the guards would have let you pass…” she searched for words that wouldn’t make her sound so bitter “…you know, if the Meister is a friend of yours, I am certain you’d have gotten immediate passage into our sanctuary.”

A low snort was all the answer she got, and her mind instantly spiraled into what might have made him choose to make that sound rather than parry with words. He had certainly exceeded doing so earlier.

“You don’t think so?” She prompted.

And got another sound that this time wasn’t entirely identifiable—and had Gandrett peeking over her shoulder.

Nehelon’s face was unreadable, tight again, all hints he was capable of the smile she had seen him flash earlier wiped away.

For a while, they walked in silence, the only sound the waterfall before the entrance arches, rolling like a harbinger of the storm that was brewing above the priory.

When they crossed the yard, leaving the pool at the foot of the citadel behind them, the first drops of rain speckled the ground, making Gandrett choose the long route along the side of the citadel that had the shortest distance to the residential building, and crossed through the tightening rain in a jog with Nehelon catching up to her side in a few elegant strides.

“You must be someone special,” she sniffed, letting her own features distort at the gesture, a sign of how little she cared—tried to, “if the Meister welcomes you to Everrun with open arms… and without insisting on a cell.” They ducked under the roof of the residential building.

Nehelon chuckled, a sound that mixed with the noise of the thick blotches of rain now hitting the building from a sharp angle, forced by spikes of wind that usually remained outside the wall.

Inside, after inquiring with Nahir—the housekeeper and one of the few who had been there for decades to comfort the new arrivals every spring—where to best bring the Meister’s guest, Gandrett led him up the stairs to the second floor, where the ceilings were higher than at the other floors and the rooms equipped with more comforts.

“This might not be what you are used to.” She opened the carved, wooden door and gestured into a room with an antechamber and an adjacent bathing room. Simple but more than double the size of her own chambers. Not that any of the acolytes had the luxury of their own bathing chamber. “But it’s the best we’ve got.”

She half-expected to get a mocking comment, but to her surprise, Nehelon stepped past her, careful not to brush against her side as he slipped into the room, and inclined his head. “It’s more than I expected.” His face loosened a bit as he strode through the pale blue antechamber, and he peeked into the spacious bedroom. “Better than the cell, for sure.” He turned and leaned against the doorframe.

Gandrett eyed him for a moment, unsure of what to make of him, half-anticipating he might still attack her. Then, tense to the core, she reached down to her side to free his sword from her belt and held it out to him.

“I brought you to the Meister,” she said, voice terse. “Now you owe me the truth.”

“You can put that over there.” Ignoring her request, Nehelon jerked his chin at the slim, wooden table next to the door and, much to Gandrett’s relief, not showing any signs he was going to grab the blade and leap at her. His face remained unreadable, controlled, as if he had spent a lifetime hiding his emotions.

“The truth,” Gandrett reminded him as she took a cautious step then lowered his weapon onto the scenes of Neredyn legends painted in pale blue and shades of brown.

Nehelon pointed at her own blade. “Yours, too.” His mouth tightened as he watched her hesitate then lower the second blade beside his.

“Worried I’ll attack you?” she asked with the mildest satisfaction, but didn’t even get a chance to gloat as Nehelon responded, “Even with both of them, you wouldn’t stand a chance.”

There it was again, that mocking grin and cold eyes—not cold, cautious, calculating. Distant.

“Our short history suggests otherwise,” was all Gandrett said as she dumped her blade onto the table, closed the door, and dropped into one of the wooden chairs beside it, crossing her arms.

And that was that.

“So, the truth,” she repeated, keeping her face indifferent.

Nehelon’s sharp eyes weighed on her, sizing her up, measuring, reminding her of her dirty, sweaty clothes and making her unfamiliarly self-conscious. She knew that when she took the effort and combed her hair and—for the holidays and ceremonies at the temple-rooms of the citadel, wore her only dress—she cleaned up well. But right now, what Nehelon must be seeing was a wildling in linen rags.

As if he’d heard her, he averted his gaze and strode over to the small window at the wall to Gandrett’s right where he observed the splattering rain.

“The truth is, Gandrett Brayton, I have come to get you out of here.”

End of sample.