Syenna stood in front of Aren, and tapped the base of her ceremonial spear against the great double doors that were the main entrance to the audience hall. The doors opened outward, pushed by two Etceter guards clad in the same odd formal guard uniforms as Syenna.

Aren lifted his chin and strode past Syenna into the audience hall.

An audible gasp greeted him.

Tall pillars on either side of the room supported the beautiful arched ceiling twenty feet overhead. In front of the pillars were set six enormous chairs"three on each side"where an unusual collection of people were sitting. Two were in some sort of military uniforms, while others seemed to be in more ceremonial dress. He a.s.sumed they represented various organizations, nations, or states, although he did not recognize any of them by nationality let alone by name. The dark, stern-looking man in the bright robes farthest from him on the right was flanked by two large men who were obviously his personal guards. Aren noted in his mind to be particularly wary of them.

There was a seventh chair situated at the far end of the hall opposite the doors he had entered. There sat a woman in a gown. Aren a.s.sumed she was the baroness. Standing at her side was an oddly dressed older man"possibly an adviser but certainly no threat to him. There were guards in the room but those were situated at the perimeter of the room, well back from the chairs. The guards were listless and, undoubtedly, bored with the machinations and debates that had recently filled the room.

Aren continued to stride into the room, his gaze fixed on the eyes of the baroness. They were intent embers looking back at him in outrage. His uniform, he thought with an inward smile, was having the desired effect.

In a moment, the eyes of the baroness shifted suddenly, fixing to Arens right. The look on her face suddenly softened from its outrage, and her jaw began to drop.

Whether he saw it from the corner of his eye or sensed it in the air, Aren became aware of movement behind him to his right.

Aren spun around, turning his head and raising his arms in front of him.

The older man in the black mantle and the crimson tunic lunged at him with a saber. Aren instinctively shifted his left arm, sweeping it downward. The metal vambrace of his Obsidian armor swung against his opponents blade, deflecting it outward and away from the captain.

Aren was vaguely aware of shouts and cries rising around him. He stepped into his attacker, turning to his left and trying to arrest the mans sword arm under his own.

His opponent antic.i.p.ated the move, leaping backward and using the deflection of the blade to swing it back to a ready position. Aren reached down as he turned, the fingers of his right hand wrapping around his swords grip. He pulled the blade free just as the older man lunged again. Aren shifted the sword in front of him again to deflect the thrusting blade. Steel shivered against steel as the edges of their blades slid down each other until they clanged to a stop at the swords guards.

In that instant, their blades locked, Aren looked into the eyes of the hatred looking back at him.

Arens own eyes went suddenly wide.

Aren knew this man.

The captain felt his attacker pressing all his weight against the locked blades. Aren responded by suddenly stepping to the side, turning out of the direction of the mans push. The attacker, suddenly with nothing to push against, fell forward. Aren kicked out with his leg, tripping the man as he tried to regain his balance and sending him sprawling face forward to the floor.

Aren quickly stepped over him as the man tried to roll to his feet. The captain kicked away the mans sword at once, bringing the tip of his blade down to his opponents throat.

The tip of the Avatar blade hung unmoving, less than a fingers width from the mans neck.

The silence in the room felt as though it were charged with lightning. No one moved as time itself seemed to hold its breath.

Miles Shepherd, Aren murmured.

The amba.s.sador lying on the floor had been staring with hatred up at Aren, but now he blinked, his features softening. What? What did you say?

You are Miles Shepherd, Aren continued, his voice quavering slightly as he spoke. You loved the spring and the fall in Midras as your favorite times of the year. The city seemed to be the most alive to you then. You saw them as times of renewal and harvest. There was not a day gone by when you looked upon the old ruins of the city and saw them not as they were, but as what they might become through the love and work of the people.

Syenna, her own sword drawn, walked carefully toward her prisoner. The other guards in the hall, awakened abruptly from their stupor, were closing in on him as well.

You loved the priestess and were honored to serve her as a Guardian of Midras. Aren sighed. Thats why you accepted when she asked you to call for aid. Thats why you left the city.

On the ground, Miles gazed up at the Obsidian captain in wonder. How how can you know these things?

Your beloved family was there when the attack came, Aren continued, a sadness coming into his voice. Your children and your grandchildren and here you were, too far away to help or protect them.

A tear fell from the corner of Shepherds eye.

Syenna was nearly ready to strike.

Wait! The old man who had stood next to the baroness suddenly appeared next to Aren, his arms raised against the approaching blades of the Etceter guards. I am Gerad Zhal! In the name of the baroness, stand back, I say! Stand back!

Youre wondering if I know what happened to them. Aren sighed as he looked down at Shepherd. I am sorry, Amba.s.sador, I do not. The siege was a difficult one, and there were many dead on both sides. But many in the city survived, and your family may well be among them. Yes, there are Guardians who still live, although I cannot tell you the fate of your priestess. We never found her.

Aren pulled the blade slowly away from the throat of the amba.s.sador. It hung in his hand, loose at his side.

Most remarkable, Gerad Zhal said breathlessly as he gazed down at Arens sword.

Aren turned slowly, gazing about the room. He at last faced the baroness. His breathing was heavy as he bowed slightly to Gianna. My apologies, madam, for disturbing your court and your deliberations.

Captain Bennis! Gianna spoke suddenly, as though her breath had just come back to her. You are a servant of the Obsidian Cause, whose grievous crimes against our allies are unspeakable and whose conduct in my own court merits"

He must take the sword at once to Opalis, Gerad Zhal exclaimed.

The hall was suddenly filled with half a dozen voices.

Loremaster Zhal! Gianna sputtered. That is out of the question!

Hear me! Hear me now! Zhal shouted, his hands raised over his head, demanding attention. This may, indeed, be a blade of the ancient Avatars. From what I have seen of it, it has all the legendary markings befitting such a find. These artifacts were powerful, and their powers specific to each blade. The question in my mind is not if this blade is of Avatar origin"for I certainly believe that it is"but rather which of the ancient blades has been uncovered. So many of the books and writings of the past were lost to us in the horrible chaos that followed the Fall. My own collection here, even as loremaster, is so slight that I cannot possibly make a determination about this weapon. However, Opalis is ruled by the t.i.tans"beings whom, by their very nature, know more of the past than any mortal human"and who have been working tirelessly to recover the knowledge of the past. They will know about this sword and what it portends for us.

It is only a blade! Sir Arthur protested.

It is not only a blade, but a symbol of our glorious past! Zhad countered. By itself it may not be terribly significant; how much can one warrior do? But in the hands of the right leader, it could inspire armies to do what no single warrior ever could.

Then take the thing from this Obsidian whelp and be done with it! Tribune Marcus demanded.

But this blade is cursed, Zhal said, his hands open wide before him. It has chosen this man"this vile man"to be its bearer. What if the blade itself is evil and must be destroyed? We cannot know this until the loremasters in Opalis have made a learned and proper examination of the matter.

So he nearly kills an amba.s.sador to my court"Gianna glared at her loremaster"and you want to send him to Opalis?

But he didnt kill him. Dont you see? Zhal replied with a smile. Syenna has brought to us"to all of us"a tremendous enigma and an equally tremendous opportunity. If we could regain the powers of the ancient world, the magic that once was, then we would no longer have to fear these Obsidians. I dare say that having brought her prisoner this far, she could get him safely to Opalis. Wouldnt that suit everyones best interests?

I thought that went well, Aren remarked to Syenna as she shoved him back into his stockade cell.

Syenna slammed closed the ironbound door behind him and locked it without a word.

Aren turned and gazed out the small, barred opening in the door. He could see the stockade wall and the keep just up the hillside beyond. Syenna was stomping off in that direction, most likely to let her baroness know how badly she hated the decision of the Council of Might. Aren suspected it would make her feel better but not change a thing. The council had spoken and, it seemed, in two days time, they would be leaving Etceter.

The bearer, Aren thought smugly to himself, is to bring the sword to Opalis.

Aren carefully removed his armor and, once rid of its burden, sat back on his cot. He relished a moment or two before he once again began whistling his familiar, odd tune, the same tune he had been whistling since they had left the Blackblade Mountains.

He paused, thinking he had heard something.

He whistled the tune once more.

A shadowy head peered at him from beneath the edge of the cot.

Well, my dear Monk. Aren smiled broadly. Its about time you found me.

The homunculus flapped its leathery wings joyfully and came to perch at once on the extended arm of the captain.

Im afraid you cannot stay, Aren said, and nodded, rubbing his finger under the small monsters chin. I have a message for you to deliver, and it cannot wait.

Aren gazed into the eyes of the homunculus.

Personal message to Obsidian Evard Dirae, Aren said. Captured by enemy force and taken to Etceter. Am being taken to Opalis in South Paladis northeast of Jaanaford on West Jaana River. Arriving in eighteen days. Come and get me there.

Aren thought for a moment and then continued, frowning.

Ive met the leaders of the Council of Might"and I now absolutely know how to defeat them.

CHAPTER.

15.

Bay of Storms The Cypher set sail from Etceter the day after the council had p.r.o.nounced their decision. Given the size of the ship"she was a rather large ship with three masts"it was remarkable to Aren that they had managed to provision her in so short a period of time.

Aren was not by any definition of the word a man of the sea. He didnt know a belay from a barnacle, though he did recall hearing both terms while aboard the Mistral; especially the last, as it had often been applied to him. Even so, he could read a map and knew enough about the world as to make reasonable estimates about distance. They had come aboard the Mistral along the coastline somewhere south of the Blackblade range, and it had taken the ship eight days to arrive at Etceter. He had seen the port in Quel on a chart in the captains cabin once, as well as the position of Opalis in South Paladis. If they sailed eastward from Etceter and back along the same coast they had stayed with while coming here, it would take those same eight days to get back to the mouth of the Fang River and, given the distances involved, another five or six days to reach where the Jaana River emptied into the Bay of Storms. Then, given the overland distance into Opalis, another four days before they arrived.

As the ship slowly drew away from the dock at Etceter, Aren leaned against the rail and congratulated himself on a brilliant plan. Eighteen days more or less, at sea and in transit, to learn all he could from his captors. Eighteen days and his friend Evard Dirae would come for him. Eighteen days and then he would be free to return to his service in the Obsidian Empire, deal at last with General Karpasic, and figure out the most profitable way to be rid of this ridiculous sword.

Aren looked around the deck of the ship. Syenna was gratefully back in the more familiar garb of trousers, high boots, and tunic and was gazing back over the opposite railing at the port town receding in their wake. She seemed particularly melancholy today, and nothing Aren had said seemed to raise her spirits.

Standing near her was that strange old man he now knew as Gerad Zhal. He had a round, jovial face rimmed in white whiskers that extended up over his ears to form a ring around his shiny, bald head. Aren remembered him as the broad-shouldered man who had stood next to the baroness Gianna when he was brought into court. He had apparently packed away his blue mantle and cap for a leather vest worn over his simple, linen shirt and cloth pantaloons. Others in the crew had referred to him as Loremaster, which Aren a.s.sumed was his t.i.tle. Aren was most curious about this man, as he had been the one who had suggested this little journey in the first place, and was now apparently coming along for the ride as well. Aren had thought the suggestion of taking the sword to Opalis was one that would have instigated another near-riot among the delegates of the Council of Might but, to the captains astonishment, all parties quickly came to agreement.

Well, Ive got nearly two weeks on this boat to find out why, he thought to himself.

The Cypher was, according to the loremaster, a barque-cla.s.s vessel and significantly larger than the Mistral. Zhal had also gone into a rather lengthy explanation as to just how this barque differed from the caravel on which he had arrived"whose crew had apparently amused themselves by convincing him it was actually a brigantine brig"and why the barque was a superior choice for travel. Zhal had continued speaking long after Aren had lost interest in the subject, but the captain did learn one thing from their conversation: the loremaster loved to talk.

Arens stomach lurched slightly. He frowned. The ships motion across the waves was not nearly as abrupt as that of the caravel but was nevertheless disquieting.

I am a warrior of the Obsidian Cause, Aren reminded himself. My will conquers mere physical discomfort. I will corner this loremaster Zhal and make him spill his guts before this voyage is over!

He drew in a deep breath, his fingers gripping the railing a little tighter.

We are far enough away from the coast, he thought. They will be turning the ship to the east any moment now.

But the ship continued its northward course toward the dark, lightning-streaked horizon beyond the Siren Isle.

Evard Dirae, Craftmaster of the Cabal of the Obsidians, stood once again before the four thrones of the generals at Hilt. General Karpasic was intentionally keeping him waiting. It was a vain display of authority on the part of the general, which was at the moment, of considerable inconvenience to Evard.

Just another knot in your noose, dear general, Evard thought, trying to keep his impatience in check.

At last the general arrived, striding into the room from one of the numerous doors situated behind the thrones. He was, as usual, clanking about in his full armor.

Does he have more than one set of armor, or do they just peel the general out of it every night? Evard mused. He would hardly have been surprised if the vain commander claimed to sleep in the monstrous thing.

My apologies, Master Sorcerer, the general began speaking even as he stomped toward his throne. Im certain you understand that the pressing duties of my command"

What I understand is that you are a general, I represent the Cabal of the Obsidians, and that your obedience is required, Evard spoke in loud, clear tones that echoed through the otherwise empty enormity of the hall. Not requested. Not asked. Not hoped for nor begged, but required.

You have no right to talk to me that way! the general sputtered.

I apparently have every right, as I have obviously just done so and no one has done, or will do, anything to prevent me from doing so again. Evard spoke as though stating a fact of nature.

The sorcerer calmly mounted the three steps leading up to the throne platform, then turned and sat down on General Karpasics throne.

The general glared at the sorcerer but did not move.

I have orders for you, General, from the Cabal of the Obsidians, Evard stated as he looked back at the general with cold distain. You are to organize your armies with the reinforcements we have provided you this week and prepare to march within three days time. You will then proceed west through the pa.s.s into South Paladis and turn your force north. That would be on your right"

I understand which way is north! Karpasic fumed.

Then your ability to astonish me continues, General. Your objective is to find and secure a five-league-wide region around the junction of the Sanctus and Fortus Rivers at all cost.

May I ask what is there?

You may not, Evard replied.

Well, is it a city or stronghold or"

Its where the Sanctus and Fortus rivers meet, General, the sorcerer said. It is vital to the success of the Obsidian Cause, and you will carry out your orders as instructed. Is that clear?

A river junction? General Karpasic sputtered. Where is the glory in conquering some piece of farmland?

I a.s.sume youll know its value when you see it. Evard smiled darkly at the general. Have no fear, General. Ill be back soon enough to help you do the right thing.