The Endless Hills: The Water Road Trilogy, #2

By JD Byrne

The Second Great Neldathi Uprising has begun, setting the world of the Water Road on fire.

United by Antrey Ranbren, the Neldathi clans have attacked across the great river, laying waste to the metropolis of Innisport. Now they hunt the Triumvirate army in the Endless Hills of Telebria. Antrey knows a crushing victory in pitched battle is what they need to win this war. The Neldathi have swept aside everything in their path, but time is not on their side. That’s why she’s sent Naath and Goshen on desperate missions to find help.

Trapped in Oberton by the negative reaction to her book exposing the Triumvirate’s treatment of the Neldathi, Strefer wonders how the Neldathi have been so successful on the battlefield. She leaves the safety of the city in the trees to find the truth. Along with Rurek, she traces the evidence back to the last place she ever expected. 

A world torn apart by war and a dwindling sense of hope for the future - the next chapter in the epic saga of The Water Road.

• Language: English
• Publisher: JD Byrne
• Release date: Aug 31, 2016
• ISBN: 9781386976073

JD Byrne

JD Byrne was born and raised around Charleston, West Virginia, before spending seven years in Morgantown getting degrees in history and law from West Virginia University. He's practiced law for nearly 20 years, writing briefs where he has to stick to real facts and real law. In his fiction, he gets to make up the facts, take or leave the law, and let his imagination run wild. He lives outside Charleston with his wife and the two cutest Chihuahuas the world has ever seen.

Book preview

Prologue

Have you met him before? Yiro asked as he paced. He hadn’t bothered to look up from the floor as he studied its pattern of interlocking diamonds, laid out in a dozen shades of marble. The king, I mean.

Olrey looked up at the young counselor, unsure how to answer. This child is who they sent to represent him? Here? Now? Of course I have, he said. I take it you have not?

Yiro stopped and looked past Olrey, over his shoulder through the large oval window behind him, where one of the palace’s inner courtyards was bathed in golden sunlight. Not personally, no, he said, shaking his head. However, I have been in His Majesty’s presence before. He was there when I and several of my colleagues were admitted to the bar.

When this was all over, Olrey was going to be forced to have a long talk with Lavos about sending this underling to do his work. He knew the situation was not ideal, but Olrey thought their shared history still counted for something. He was paying the same fee, naturally. He looked up at Yiro and did his best to smile. I have met His Majesty on two prior occasions. Once only briefly, at a royal reception for someone else, and once during a more intimate gathering. But those were both years ago, just after he took the throne. I doubt he remembers me.

Ah, well, good, Yiro said, returning to his study of the floor.

Olrey could feel a lump growing in the pit of his stomach, as if part of him had decided it didn’t want to be there and was going to do something about it. Look at me, Yiro, he said, but to no effect. Look at me! The second attempt ricocheted off the marble, glass, and hardwood that surrounded them.

Yiro came to an abrupt halt, as if he had been grabbed by a large invisible hand. His arms hung loosely at his sides, dangling back and forth. Yes, Mr. Olrey?

Are you ready for this? Olrey knew the answer, but he wondered if his attorney did.

Before Yiro could answer, a stern-faced guard stepped through one of the enormous wooden doors at the end of the hall. He wore the kind of formal colorful armor that would get him killed on a real battlefield, and carried an impressively large spear. Is there a problem, sirs?

No, Olrey said, knowing there was nothing more to be done. Thank you.

The guard closed the door with a soft, deep thud.

Do not worry, Mr. Olrey. I am prepared for this, Yiro said, walking over to his client. At university, the history and procedure of a royal summons was something of a hobby. Not many people focus on it as an area of practice anymore.

Is that so? Olrey hung his head.

Yes, sir. Yiro was clearly more comfortable talking about the past than the very near future. Over the past century or so, as the assembly gradually took more power from His Majesty, these sorts of things fell out of favor. Really, it is only in situations that involve a royal charter that the king still has the authority.

Olrey glanced back down at the double doors. So, if you received a royal summons on a matter that did not involve a charter, would you feel free to ignore it? This was a test, one that Olrey had to know Yiro could pass. History and theory were one thing, and real-world practice was quite another.

Yiro pondered for a moment. I think so, Mr. Olrey. Unless there was some legal reason that I might have overlooked.

Olrey sighed just a bit. He tried to remember all he didn’t know when he was Yiro’s age. The gravity of the situation kept him from being completely empathetic. If that university taught you that the only thing you need to follow is the law as written down in books, you should seek a refund.

Sir? Yiro cocked his head to one side, like a dog trying to understand its master.

Never mind, Olrey said, waving him away. He was on his own. He should have known that when Lavos said he was sending his best young mind in his place. It was all he could do to keep from laughing.

~~~~~

There were several rooms in the royal palace where His Royal Highness King Ibel IV, Ruler of the Bonded Realms of Greater and Lesser Telebria, carried out his public functions. One was used for formal proclamations of feast days and other observances. Another served as a site for honoring the heroes of the kingdom, both military and civilian. Still another was set aside for mourning the death of public figures. Yet another was used when the king needed to affix the royal seal to an act passed by the assembly, formally making it law. Olrey had been in that room before, small but very elaborate and bristling with the artifacts of jurisprudence.

The room into which Olrey and Yiro were led was twice as large as that one. As in the corridor, the floor was made of marble, but with an entirely different set of interlocking shapes. To the left of the doorway, behind Olrey, was a series of huge windows nearly twenty feet tall, running from floor to ceiling, each topped by a semicircle of colored glass. The sunlight poured in and filled the room with a rich amber hue. Opposite the window, bathing in the full light of the sun, sat His Majesty on a throne of the same light wood as the walls of the corridor outside. Compared to the ones Olrey had read about, this throne seemed old and rather plain. It was functional, instead of ostentatious, which fit the mood. This was not about ceremony. It was about business.

A number of attendants, perhaps a dozen in total, flocked to either side of the throne. All stood around His Majesty, except for the scrivener who sat, pen in hand, ready to record what was about to occur.

The man who had called them into the room announced their presence. Your Majesty, as summoned, Hemero Olrey of Sermont on the Sea, and counsel, now appear before you. He bowed and quickly stepped away, disappearing.

Olrey stepped up in front of the elevated throne. Even while standing, Olrey looked up at the king. He was such a small old man to be able to command such authority. Your Majesty, he said, bowing. Yiro skittered to his side and did the same.

Mr. Yiro, said the man standing directly to the King’s right, just next to the throne. He looked nearly as old as the king himself, but maintained a rigid, powerful stance. I am Tervaso, His Majesty’s Minister of Laws. I do not believe we have had the pleasure.

No, Minister, Yiro said, beginning a bow but catching himself before he gave the same courtesy as he had the king. However, you did lecture at my university several years ago. It was fascinating.

Tervaso’s lips curled ever so slightly, as if he knew he was going to enjoy what was to come. Indeed, he said, turning his attention to Olrey. You know why you are here, I take it?

I am aware of what was set forth in the summons, Minister, Olrey said. I am here to answer for Strefer Quants and the book she has written about the Triumvirate and the Neldathi situation.

That is correct.

Then I assure His Majesty, as well as yourself, Minister, that I had nothing at all to do with that book.

This Quants woman was employed by your newspaper, was she not? Tervaso asked.

Olrey began to raise a finger for emphasis and almost immediately thought better of it. "Was being the correct term, Minister. She is no longer employed by or welcome at the Daily Register or any of its affiliates throughout the realm."

Regardless, Tervaso said, unfazed, "at the time this book was published she was, in fact, still employed by your newspaper, correct?"

Olrey had no good answer to this. "She disappeared shortly after the murder of Alban, clerk of the Grand Council of the Triumvirate. Until her book was published from Oberton, we had no idea of her whereabouts. She was not on assignment for the Daily Register, I can assure you of that."

But she was still on your payroll, according to your records.

Olrey bit his tongue. He had castigated Tevis for not getting her off the books when she disappeared, but he had stalled too long. He insisted that reporters sometimes dropped out of sight while working on a story. That is technically correct, Minister, Olrey said through gritted teeth. However, once we knew of her flight to Oberton, her employment was terminated immediately.

That is very convenient.

Do you have any idea what this woman has done? asked another man, younger, from the opposite side of the throne.

What War Minister Kinara is saying, if I may be so bold, Tervaso said, pausing for the objection that he must have known wasn’t coming, is that your Strefer Quants has turned this Neldathi situation into something much more complicated than when Halbart crushed the First Rising more than a century ago. We are not just fighting those blue savages, Mr. Olrey. Thanks to that book, we are fighting our own people, as well.

"Not our people, Kinara said. It is the Guilders and the Arborians. The people of this kingdom are united behind His Majesty and will do whatever it takes to win this war."

Tervaso returned his gaze to Olrey. It is quite a problem.

Olrey knew he could play this game. Like all good citizens, I mourn the loss of our brave men in the field and despair at the destruction visited on a great city like Innisport. However, I —

Kinara cut him off. "But unlike all good citizens, Mr. Olrey, it was one of your employees that helped bring about the current situation."

And that causes me great pain, Minister, Olrey said, trying to remain civil. "However, the crimes of Strefer Quants are her own and have nothing to do with me or the Daily Register."

Nevertheless, you can understand why it is necessary for His Majesty to take some action in order to show your fellow citizens and our allies that the situation has been dealt with, Tervaso said, looking at Kinara, who nodded his assent.

Olrey did his best to look offended. I am sorry, Minister, but am I being accused of something?

Do you not understand? Kinara asked. "If it were not for this woman you hired a dubious decision at best, I think we can all agree – we would not be fighting a war on two fronts."

Olrey found himself momentarily at a loss for words. Yiro, as expected, was providing no assistance. This is preposterous, Minister.

I am sorry you think that, Mr. Olrey, Tervaso said. Of course, you will be able to fully defend yourself against these allegations at a later date. But until then —

What is the charge, Minister? Olrey interrupted Tervaso, seeing no point in standing on ceremony now. It was very clear what the end game was, and it was not going to work out in Olrey’s favor.

Treason! Kinara said, eyes bulging, obviously stepping on Tervaso’s cue. Sedition! Aiding and abetting the enemy! You will hang for this, sir, I will see to it!

Tervaso grinned slightly, but remained steady. A more formal charge will be drawn up in the next few days. Until then . . . his voice trailed off, and a pair of the guards moved in on Olrey from either side.

Olrey’s knees went weak, and it felt like the world was going to open up and swallow him whole. His heart started to pound so hard that he thought it might drown out everything else. He needed to stall some time to figure out a way out of this. There was only one way. Minister, I must confess one thing.

Tervaso raised his hands and the guards stopped precisely where they stood, close enough to grab Olrey but not yet on him. Yes?

Before this book was published, many months before, the Quants woman came to me. She came to me just after the murder, just after she found the notebook that was transcribed —

"Allegedly transcribed," Kinara said, interrupting him.

Yes, Minister, allegedly transcribed, Olrey said. "She came to me with a story already written, intended for the Daily Register. She knew it would take my approval to run something so sensational."

You read the story? Tervaso asked.

Yes, Minister.

What did you do about it?

Not enough, Minister, I realize that now. I threw it into the fire, right in my office, without a second thought. I knew it could not be published. The admission had the benefit of being true, but Olrey wasn’t certain that would mean anything now.

And what of Strefer Quants? Tervaso asked. Did you just let her go on her way?

Yes, Minister, Olrey said, hanging his head. I had no idea she would take the matter any further. Without my approval, the story was dead. I do not have any idea how she learned of Oberton, much less found her way there.

Another minister, standing to the right of Tervaso, leaned over and said into his ear, but loud enough to be heard, That would be the Sentinel, Rurek, who aided her.

Tervaso took a moment to absorb that information. So you admit you did not contact anyone about this when Strefer Quants came to you?

I did not, Minister, Olrey said. And that is a failing on my part. But it is not treason. It is not sedition, or anything else. I have always been loyal to His Majesty and this kingdom.

That will be for His Majesty to decide, Tervaso said, gesturing toward the guards. They took a step closer.

What is he talking about? Olrey turned to Yiro, who was paler than usual, with only a hint of green on his face.

Charges of treason are a crime against His Majesty, he said. Only the King may render a verdict. It is one of the few powers left specifically to him by the assembly.

Can you do something? Olrey asked as the guards grabbed him by the arms.

Yiro shook his head.

It was not lost on Olrey that Ibel IV, who sat right in front of him and in whose name this was all being done, had not yet uttered a word. He was no more than a vessel through which the others were working. Olrey racked his brain for something, anything, that might save him.

I demand combat, Olrey said. Under the laws of Greater Telebria, the land of my ancestors, I demand to resolve these heinous accusations through duelas honorem.

Everything in the room stopped. All sound evaporated like fog in the morning sun. It was perfectly quiet.

Until Tervaso spoke. We are a modern people, Mr. Olrey, and have put aside such things.

By the Act of Union, the ancient rules of duelas honorem of Greater Telebria have not been forsaken or abolished, Olrey said. My counsel can confirm this.

Yiro was silent for a moment before his voice quivered to life, slowly finding strength. My client is correct, Minister. As someone born in the region of Greater Telebria, once a sovereign nation, Mr. Olrey has the right to demand duelas honorem to resolve charges that, if proven, would lead to execution. As I believe Minister Kinara pointed out, should he be found guilty, Mr. Olrey will hang. It is his right.

Olrey did his best to fight back a smile. The boy had come through after all.

Then we must recess to consider this request, Kinara said.

No, Minister, Yiro said, begging your pardon. Once duelas honorem has been invoked, only two things may happen. Either His Majesty withdraws the charges or they are resolved by combat. There is nothing to discuss.

The men that were fanned out around the king began to murmur to each other, the buzz occasionally punctuated by demonstrative gestures toward Yiro and Olrey. The room filled with the persistent rumble of mixed voices until the king raised a trembling hand.

The law is the law, the King said in a breathy, shaking voice. The charges will not be withdrawn. Duelas honorem it is.

Tervaso cleared his throat. His Majesty has spoken. Combat will take place in the morning, on the south lawn. We will need to find someone to stand for His Majesty.

Again, Minister, begging your pardon, Yiro said. It was you who made the accusation. Therefore, the responsibility is yours.

The King turned and looked at his Minister of Law. He is right, he said, turning back to Olrey. Your counsel is well versed in the old ways.

Thank you, Your Majesty, Olrey said, giving a quick bow.

~~~~~

The palace was perched on a bluff high over the ocean, just outside Sermont by the Sea. This was not the public face of the palace, the one that included meticulously tended gardens, ornamental flowers, and statues of bronze and marble. It was as out of sight as anything could be on the palace grounds.

As with the audience the day before, the only person sitting was the king. Instead of being attended by a cadre of ministers, he was flanked by half a dozen members of the Royal Guard, all of whom had sworn to give their life for Ibel IV. Olrey looked at the arrangement and tried not to be insulted. Did they really think he, or perhaps poor Yiro, would try and harm the king? Tervaso was taking no chances. Nor were the rest of the assembled group, who stayed a safe distance back, further up the hill.

There was a table about one hundred feet away from the king. A young man with dark green skin stood behind it. In front of him was a wooden case the color of rich coffee, top open for all to observe. The inside was lined with plush, soft, red fabric, in which two exquisite pistols were cradled, along with a flask of gunpowder and two small metal balls.

Tervaso stood with his underlings on the flat green earth in front of the king, a stone’s throw away from Yiro and Olrey. He had dressed for the occasion, foregoing the formal attire of the day before in favor of the more comfortable garb one would wear while hunting. Olrey had no such luxury. He stood in his formal suit, coat on, in the warming sun.

It is time, the king said, his voice barely audible over the rolling surf below.

By order of His Highness King Ibel IV, Ruler of the Bonded Realms of Greater and Lesser Telebria, the young man began, the time for duelas honorem is at hand. Gentlemen, draw near. He gestured for Olrey and Tervaso to step to the table.

As the accuser, Minister Tervaso was given the choice of weapon, the young man said. His choice was pistols. As the accused, Mr. Olrey, it is your decision to choose which weapon shall be yours and which Minister Tervaso’s. He waved his hand over the box like he was selling something in the market.

Olrey gave the pistols his best inspection. They appeared to be identical. They were laid out one on top of the other, with the powder horn and slugs snuggled between them. Olrey pointed to the one on top, the pistol that, at this very moment, was pointed at Tervaso.

Without comment, the young man took the pistol from its resting place and loaded it. He placed it on the table next to the box. Then he did the same with the other pistol, so that they were both loaded and ready to fire. All either man needed to do was pull back the hammer and squeeze the trigger.

Gentlemen, this is duelas honorem, combat in the ancient style of Greater Telebria, the young man said. You will be placed twenty-five paces apart, facing away from each other. On my command and count, each of you will take five steps forward. At that point, you may turn and shoot. Are there any questions?

What if neither man hits his target? Tervaso asked.

Olrey was glad for the question – he wondered himself. He saw a look of fear flash across Tervaso’s eyes. It was obvious he had never considered being a part of such a thing. Olrey had never been involved in duelas honorem before, but at least he had seen it with his own eyes. For all Yiro’s history, the old ways had not died out completely north of the Teleb. Olrey had also fired a pistol, although it had been years ago

If neither man hits his target, we are returned to the beginning and duelas honorem may be suspended or continued. Are there no other questions? There were none. Then follow me, gentlemen.

Olrey and Tervaso followed dutifully behind the man that was young enough to be their son or grandson as he walked away from the table. When he was sufficiently far from the king, he stopped, then measured off the twenty-five paces between them. Olrey and Tervaso took their marks and turned their backs to one another. Olrey took a series of deep breaths and waited for his next instruction.

Gentlemen, the young man said, on my count, walk forward. On the count of five, turn and fire.

Olrey swallowed hard and gripped the pistol in his right hand, making certain that the sweat of his palm did not cause it to slip. He wondered how quickly Tervaso would turn. Olrey was neither nimble nor quick. If Tervaso turned quickly and shot accurately, he might strike Olrey down before he could even fire.

One! the young man called out. Olrey took a single step forward.

Two . . . three . . . four! Olrey felt the weight of the world bear down on him with each additional step.

Five!

Olrey began to turn, but a shot rang out before he could even find Tervaso. He tensed for the impact of a hot lead ball slamming into his body, but it never came. When he found his rival, Olrey saw him standing straight, pistol pointed toward him, a wisp of white smoking floating away from the barrel.

Olrey took a deep breath and lifted his pistol, taking aim.

There is no need to do this! someone yelled from the crowd.

Olrey knew that was right. In earlier times, when duelas honorem had been more common, the idea of attacking a man who was essentially unarmed was considered bad form. But Tervaso had taken his chance without delay. He had fired in anger and with intent to kill. It was not the old publisher’s fault he had missed.

Does the minister yield? Olrey asked. Does he renounce the slanderous accusations he has made against me?

Tervaso took a long moment to think of his answer. I do not.

Olrey’s arm started to quiver, muscles straining under the weight of the pistol. If he had any desire to end this, right here and now, this was the time to do it. He held his breath and squeezed the trigger. Before the sound of the shot had left Olrey’s ears, Tervaso had fallen. Olrey threw the gun down and ran toward his foe. The young man did the same and the crowd began to surge forward.

Tervaso lay on the grass that was already staining red with blood. The lead ball had found his neck and severed an artery. He was dead and, most likely, had been before he hit the ground.

The crowd swelled around the dead man, a mass of agitation and overlapping voices. Olrey looked up to see the guards surrounding the king. He pushed his way through the crowd until he found Yiro.

Is he? Yiro asked when they met.

He is, Olrey said. No need to see for yourself. Come. Olrey took his hand like a father would a child and led him away from the throng. Olrey made straight for the palace. He intended to get away as quickly as possible.

Kinara stepped away from the crowd. There was no need for bloodshed!

Olrey stopped, left Yiro, and stepped toward the minister, jabbing a finger in his face. "Once charges of treason are made, that is the only way such things end. Consider that next time before you search for a scapegoat."

There was no point in waiting for a response. Olrey turned, grabbed Yiro, and pulled him along. The royal charter for the Daily Register was surely gone. He wondered if he would beat the proclamation back to his office.

Part I

Chapter 1

Sleep eluded Naath for the fourth night in a row. The flame-kissed amber glow of evening in Albandala had given way to complete darkness. He was tired, bone-weary from the work of the day, but his eyes wouldn’t stay closed. He wanted sleep, needed it, but there was no chance it would happen soon. The bed was warm and soft, certainly better than the berth on any of the ships on which he had served, even the first mate’s cabin on Gentle Giant. But Albandala was still a city in its infancy, primitive compared to the Islander cities or the cities of the north.

Sleep wouldn’t come so long as Antrey rocked and shuddered beside him, mumbling words that he couldn’t quite understand. He knew, deep down, that she wasn’t sleeping, either. At least not a sleep that would leave her rested, focused, and ready to fight whatever battle the next morning would bring. It was time to do something about it, for both their sakes.

Antrey, love, Naath said, putting a hand on her shoulder and shaking her gently. Wake up.

Lying on her side facing away from him, Antrey instinctively threw his arm off without a second thought. Another try managed to make her roll over on her back. Naath leaned down and kissed her on the forehead. Wake up, love. We need to talk.

Light? she asked, voice rough and tired.

The fire in the middle of the room had ebbed, another victim of the harsh Neldathi winter. Naath slid out from under the thick furs on the bed, found the bellows, and blew the embers back to life. He took a long branch from a pile of kindling and used it to light several candles on either side of the bed. When the room was filled with a low, jittery, orange glow he slipped back into bed, letting Antrey rest her head on his shoulder.

Sorry if I was keeping you awake — she started to say, but he cut her off by placing a finger on her lips.

You did, but that’s not the point. You’ve been at this for night upon night, Antrey. I can shuffle through the day half awake, nodding off here and there, and nobody notices. Most of them think that’s all I’m good for in the first place.

"Hush. That’s not all they think you’re good for," she said, clutching his arm and giggling softly.

My point is, with all that’s going on, you can’t afford to be in the same shape. You need your sleep, at least for a few hours a night.

She sighed. I’ll go see a healer tomorrow. She should have something to help me.

I don’t think there’s any root or berry that’s going to help you. You talk in your sleep, Antrey. Always the same thing. You’re talking to someone else, but I can’t tell about what. It’s like you’re trapped in a maze and you can’t find a way out. She didn’t answer, which told Naath he was onto something. Why don’t you tell me about it?

She squeezed his arm even tighter. It might hurt the way you see me, what you think of me, she said, rolling over to face him. You don’t know what I was, what I did. The kind of person who could do something like that.

He chuckled. That wasn’t the first thing you told me when we met, true. But you’ve never tried to hide what you did. You couldn’t if you were going to spread your story to all the clans. Also, need I mention that we are sleeping in a city you founded and named after Alban Ventris? And yet here I am.

She shook her head. It’s not the same thing. When I was talking to the clans, telling them about why I came south of the Water Road, Alban was a very small part of the story. I needed them to focus on the Triumvirate and what it had done to the clans for all those years.

Let’s be honest, Antrey. The fact that you learned something that drove you to kill a man, one who had been so good to you, carried some currency with these people. Naath was unable to catch himself before he said these people. Whatever they were, he was one of them now, regardless of stature or skin color. It gave you a certain level of credibility.

Apparently, she had no answer to that, but she still wasn’t talking. Look, I’d be lying if I said that my main motivation was something other than wanting to help someone I love who is struggling, who is in some kind of agony. For completely selfish reasons, I don’t want you to be miserable. But I also want all this, he waved around the cabin at the semidarkness, to succeed.

She lay still for a long moment. This isn’t your fight, Naath. These aren’t your people.

"Maybe that was true when we first met, or when I was working the Islander port cities to help you make contacts, but that time is long past. If I left here tomorrow and went to Port Karn looking for work on an Islander ship, do you think I’d be welcomed back with open arms? I was only a few years away from my own command, you know, from my own ship. Nothing grand, but it would have been mine. I’d be a captain. Do you know how much that means to an Islander?"

She turned away from him.

It’s what every Islander father wants for his son. I’ve given away any chance I have at achieving that. I did it willingly, but I didn’t do it just because I fell in love with you. I did it because I believe this cause is just, that the Neldathi have been beaten around by the Triumvirate for far too long. It’s time something changed. You’re the only one who can keep them focused now, just like you were the only one who could bring them together.

She turned back to him and gave him a kiss, long and gentle.

What?

Are you done? She flashed a quick smile. I try to leave all that out there. She nodded toward the cabin door. The Rising, the war, everyone calling me ‘jeyn’ all day. I don’t want that to be what we’re about when we’re alone.

He caressed her cheek. I understand, believe me. But right now, while the war is on, that’s a dream. A nice dream, I’ll grant. But it’s just a dream, particularly if what’s going on out there is part of what’s keeping you from getting a good night’s sleep. So, now will you tell me about it?

She closed her eyes for a moment, as if trying to come up with another way to parry him, but she finally rolled onto her back and sighed. It’s always the same thing, the dream, she said. I’m in the Grand Council chamber in Tolenor, where I used to work with Alban, only the roof is gone. Overhead there’s only open sky. It’s not night, but it’s not daylight, either. It’s like the sky is lit by a huge fire that’s burning all around the outside of the building. Something so big, so massive, that it lights the sky for hundreds of miles around.

All right, Naath said.

The roof looks like it’s been ripped away. Not by violence, necessarily, but by some kind of force. Like Goshen’s Maker of Worlds reached down and plucked the roof right off of the building and tossed it into the Bay of Sins. The chamber itself is old, weathered, beaten down by the rain and sun. It’s perfectly quiet. No breeze, no drops of rain, no scuttling of animals through the ruins.

Are you certain you’re in the Grand Council chamber?

Absolutely, she said, nodding. I’ll never forget that room. The way it was designed to funnel everything down to a single point, that spot on the floor where a Councilor would stand and argue his cause. Or hers. I never got to stand there while the Council was in session, of course. But even when it was completely empty, it was like the eyes of the entire world were focused on you.

But you aren’t alone, are you? It was a guess.

At first I am. Then, just about the time I’m wondering what I’m doing there, he — she stopped and was silent for a moment, the words stuck in her throat. Then he comes in.

Alban, Naath said.

She nodded. He walks in from the corridor that led to his office. He looks just like the night before — she paused again, the night before I killed him. He’d taken me to a party, a reception in honor of the Grand Council getting ready to start the new session. His wife was ill, so I went in her place. It was a brave, foolish gesture on his part.

It didn’t go well?

She shook her head again. But I suppose my memory has fixed on him the way he was that night, elegant and refined. A defender.

It’s better than the alternative, Naath said in a failed attempted at black humor.

No it isn’t, she said. If the only way I saw Alban when I closed my eyes was the way I left him, bleeding on the floor with his pikti laying beside him, I think it would be so much easier. Instead, I see him at his best, like my mind wants to make sure I don’t forget the good I took from this world.

It’s easy for me to say this, Naath said, jumping in before she might shut him down, but you have to let this go. I’ve never been in this situation, and I’m sure that’s the wrong thing to say. But, at some point, you have to come to terms with the idea that the good you’ve done in this world outweighs the bad. Who’s to say that if Alban were alive today he would have let you go? Would he have let you tell the world about what you found?

She rolled back toward him and hugged him hard. I appreciate what you’re trying to do, love, but this isn’t the right time.

You’re right, he said as they slid apart. We were talking about your dream. So what does Alban say to you?

That’s just it, she said, frustration evident in her voice. He won’t say anything. Sometimes I try to talk to him, but he doesn’t answer. Other times I just stand there, waiting for him to say anything, but he never does. Then there are other times – I suppose those are the ones that you hear – when I yell at him. Scream, rage. Still, no response.

What are you yelling about?

Everything, she said, pausing for a moment, and nothing. Sometimes I’m yelling at him to explain why he won’t talk to me. Other times I’m just yelling so there’s something for my own ears to hear. Then other times . . .  her voice trailed off.

What other times?

Antrey began to weep quietly, like she was trying to hold something back but knew it would get out. I’m blaming him, she said in a timid whisper.

Blaming him? For what? For keeping such a terrible secret all these years?

No, not that, she said, sniffling. For everything he did for me.

What?

For taking me off the street. For teaching me to read, to think, to question. For making me a person capable of finding out what he and the rest of the Triumvirate were hiding. For making me . . . her voice trailed off again.

For making you kill him?

She sobbed, but partly in laughter. It sounds really horrible when you say it. But yes, I suppose so.

You can’t think that way, he said, proud for getting it right for once.

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