The Last Key: Stand-Alone

By Rob Steiner

Andea is a land where humans have learned to harness the life essence in all living beings to magically shape the world around them. It is a place where warrior-priests called dahkshari keep order by serving as judge, jury, and executioner. And where common Andeans called heretics strike out into the monster-haunted frontier to escape the dogmas of Andea's cleric lords.

Raven Byrne is a novice dahkshari hunting heretic criminals when he discovers that an Andean war hero wants to use an ancient magic called the Reaping Key to avenge the deaths of his family during Andea's recent war with Loquath. The souls of every Loquathi man, woman, and child are at stake.

Raven finds an unlikely ally in a young Andean noblewoman, Seala Mesalek. Together, they embark on a journey across Andea's dangerous frontier to stop a genocide. Can Raven put aside his prejudice against heretics and his doubts in himself to become the honorable dahkshari Andea needs?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Quarkfolio Books
• Release date: Apr 1, 2010
• ISBN: 9781386153160

Rob Steiner

Rob Steiner lives in Atlanta, Georgia, with his wife, daughter, and a rascal cat. He is the author of the Journals of Natta Magus series, about a wizard from an alternate twenty-first century who is stranded in Augustan Rome. Orson Scott Card's Intergalactic Medicine Show featured two stories about Natta Magus: "The Oath-Breaker's Daemon" and "The Cloaca Maxima." He also wrote the alt-history/space opera Codex Antonius series (Muses of Roma, Muses of Terra, and Muses of the Republic) about a Roman Empire that spawns an interstellar civilization. Be among the first to hear about Rob's new releases by signing up for his "New Release Mailing List" on his web site below. He won't share your info with anyone, and he'll only email you when a new book or story comes out.

Book preview

The Last Key

Rob Steiner

Quarkfolio Books

Copyright © 2010 by Rob Steiner.

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.

Contents

Dedication

Andean Commonwealth

1.Betrayal

2.The Mark

3.Conversation with a Heretic

4.Alahn

5.A Kindred Miracle

6.Dinner and Politics

7.Into the Frontier

8.The Banquet

9.A Change in Plans

10.Gaining an Army

11.A Decision

12.Origins

13.Raven’s First

14.That Which is Necessary

15.Full Circle

16.Out of the Shadows

17.A Crisis of Resolve

18.Sorrow

19.The Unknown Enemy

20.Burden of Command

21.Fire in the Sky

22.Two Faiths

23.The Battle of Skrill Gorge

24.Bliss

25.The Darkness Closes

26.The Gift

27.Flight

28.Escape

29.Lost in the Dark

30.Into the Night

31.Fort Madia

32.Loyalty

33.In the Company of Heretics

34.Unlikely Friends

35.Dawn of a Lasting Peace

36.Madness

37.New Allies

38.Old Enemies

39.Into the Blue Fire

40.The Crypt Cave

41.The Waiting Blade

42.Shadows

43.Shock

44.Breakout

45.Knives in the Dark

46.The Arrest

47.Freedom

48.Wounds of the Heart

49.Endgame

50.Honored

Glossary

Acknowledgements

Afterword

For Sarah and Amelia, always.

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Chapter one

Betrayal

Graham Aidel stopped chopping wood when he sensed a Key Holder approaching his farm. He laid his ax next to the pile of logs, took a rag from his belt, and wiped the sweat from his brow. He looked west, shielding his eyes from the setting sun, past his log barn and toward the grassy lip of the Eagle River valley in which his farm lay. A chilly fall breeze swayed the tall grass at the top of the hill.

The Key Holder was just beyond the hill, probably standing on the two-wheel track of the Frontier Way.

What are you looking at?

Graham glanced at his wife. Bellia sat in a rocking chair on the front porch of their log home with a book in her lap. Anna squat next to her mother, playing with the colored blocks of maple wood Graham had carved for her, humming a tune only a three-year-old could understand.

Graham scratched his stubbly cheek. Just the sunset.

Besides Lieutenant Vantos, Graham had never met, nor even sensed, another Key Holder. The memories of a hundred Holders before him told him the same thing. Why would a Holder seek him out when he or she knew that it was forbidden? Or was this just a chance happening, two Holders passing each other in life?

The danger he suddenly felt from his Key made his questions irrelevant. Graham strode to the front porch of his log home, through the door and into the kitchen. He grabbed the crossbow that hung above the hearth. The Andean Army had allowed him to keep it after the truce with Loquath was declared two months ago, a reward for his valiant service to Andea and the Charter. He had been grateful for the gift -- it was much more accurate than his father’s old crossbow. And an extra crossbow on a frontier farm meant a better chance at surviving the next day.

When he walked outside, Bellia’s voice was playful but Graham saw concern in her eyes. Going to shoot the sunset?

Looking west, he said, I just want to check on something. I’ll be right back. He glanced at his wife and winked. Trust me.

Bellia rolled her eyes and smiled. You said ‘trust me’ when you told me the war would be over by the end of the summer.

So I was off a little.

You were off by three years.

He leaned over and kissed her forehead. I’ll be right back. It’s probably just a wolf.

Bellia looked unconvinced. He could not blame her for worrying, especially with the latest haruun attacks on frontier settlements. Just two weeks ago, one of the beasts had surprised six fur trappers traveling up the Pendagrass River. One man had escaped. Parts of the other men had floated down river for days.

Graham passed his humming daughter and tousled her auburn hair. She looked up at him and smiled. He thanked the Patrons that Anna had received Bellia’s smile and silky hair over his own beak-like nose and coarse, dark mane. He knew his gratefulness would evaporate once she matured and all the frontier boys called on her like bees around a flower.

When Graham stepped from his porch, he was startled by the nauseous wave of danger that radiated from his Key. This time the feelings were stronger, more sinister, the same feelings that he had before combat during the war.

He turned to Bellia. Maybe you and Anna should go inside until I come back.

Bellia frowned, then rose from her chair and picked up Anna. His daughter dropped the blocks she was playing with and started crying. Bellia whispered to Anna as she carried her into the house, singing a little song that always seemed to calm Anna’s tears. The toddler had already stopped crying when Graham heard Bellia lock and bar the heavy door.

Graham pulled back the string on the crossbow, inserted a bolt, and then marched up the valley toward the Key Holder.

Why would his Key warn him of danger before encountering another Holder? Lieutenant Vantos, who held Graham’s Key before him, had been the most upright and courageous man Graham had ever met. Lying mortally wounded on that blood-soaked field two years ago, Vantos had passed the essence of the Key to Graham, flooding Graham’s mind with the memories of all the Key’s previous Holders. In an instant, he knew every thought of every Holder for a hundred generations. All five of his senses seemed to increase tenfold, as if he had never used them before that moment. He knew -- remembered -- that the gift and the burden he carried had only been passed on to those whom the Holders knew to be honorable people.

But that was the history of his Key. Was it the same with the other two Holders?

Graham arrived at the top of the valley and scanned the rolling grassland beyond. Two hundred paces below him on the Frontier Way, stood a black horse with a gray-cloaked man in the saddle. The man had his back to Graham, his head facing the jagged peaks of the distant Skrill Mountains. As Graham stared, the man slowly turned his head. The face was hidden in the shadow of his hood. Even Graham’s Key-enhanced sight could not penetrate that darkness.

Brother.

The voice in his mind startled Graham. It was a harsh whisper, yet soothing and somehow familiar. He was surprised by images of a time when he and the possessor of the voice were soldiers, fighting back-to-back in a desperate battle against a powerful cleric wielding the Faith granted to him by the Patrons, but to destroy life rather than defend it. Graham could not tell if they were the memories of his Key or the thoughts of the Holder facing him.

Graham tried to answer. Why are you here?

The man started his horse toward Graham. I have come to ask of you a great sacrifice, one that will be sung about for generations.

Graham did not like the way sacrifice felt in his mind -- cities in flames, the bodies of men, women, and children lying in crumpled heaps.

What sacrifice?

Bellia’s screaming jolted Graham. He whirled around to see two men in chain mail using swords to hack at the door to his house. Graham sprinted down the hill, bringing the crossbow to his shoulder. He aimed at the first man’s back and pulled the trigger. The bolt slammed into the man’s neck near the base of his skull. He dropped to his knees, grabbed his throat, blood gushing from the protruding point. Graham had fired another bolt before the second man realized what happened to his comrade. The second bolt struck true in the man’s heart. He fell on top of the other, killed instantly.

Graham slowed to a jog near the corner of his barn. He gave quick thanks to the Patrons-

Danger.

He ducked as the blade of a curved long sword carved the air above his head. A bald, chalk-faced man in a black cloak stepped from behind the barn and swung his sword again, this time low. Graham lowered his crossbow to counter the blow. The sword struck the heavy weapon with a loud chunk, almost cleaving it in half. The man swung high. Again Graham blocked the sword, but this time the blow shattered the crossbow. Splinters pelted his face.

He’s too strong, too fast...!

Before Graham could retreat, the man brought his blade around low, and severed Graham’s right leg at the knee. Graham fell on his back, air bursting form his lungs, pain exploding at the end of his leg.

The pale man stood over Graham, his sword dripping blood, his white face blank as he looked down at Graham. The man’s eyes, though...they were completely black.

Memories of dark times cut through his mind, when men with the black eyes had ravaged Andea. They killed with the sorcery of their foul Daevas, staying immune from the soul-wrenching feedback that drove clerics of the Patrons mad when they took a life.

Blessed Patrons, no, Graham thought. They have returned.

Graham scurried backward, using his elbows and one good leg to push himself along on his back. The man followed. He raised his sword and drove it through Graham’s left shoulder. The point of the blade struck the ground through Graham’s back, pinning him in place. Though his Key dulled most of the pain, the sight of that gleaming sword rising from his shoulder, along with his foot lying nearby, made bile rise in his throat.

He knew that the power of his Key was now the only thing keeping him alive. It was as if his soul was trying to leave his body, but the Key would not let it. Was this what it was like for Vantos? he wondered. Was this how he felt before he passed his Key to me?

A horse galloped to a stop near Graham. The pale swordsman looked up and smiled.

The farmer is secure, my lord. His words were heavy with a coarse accent. But your men did not survive.

They would have if you'd used your...abilities like I ordered.

The swordsman only smiled.

The Key Holder stepped down from his horse. He stood above Graham, fists on his hips. Then he pulled back the hood of his cloak to reveal a tortured face: angry red scars crept up the right side of his head from his jaw to the top of his skull, leaving half of his head without hair. A small mottled hole was all that remained of his right ear. Though Graham had never met the scarred man, he knew who he was.

General Brael?

Graham’s mind was numb from the shock. What was Andea’s greatest hero doing so far out on the frontier? Why were his men attacking Graham’s house and family? The situation was impossibly absurd, and it almost gave him fits of mad laughter.

Brael stooped to one knee next to Graham. I am sorry for this, brother, he said, regret etched on his disfigured face, but your sacrifice will save Andea.

Graham tried to speak but the sword in his shoulder made it hard for him to breathe, much less talk.

The general’s voice resonated in Graham’s mind. Speak with your thoughts. Only I can hear them.

Brael’s gaze darted toward the porch of the house. Graham looked up and saw Bellia aiming his father’s old crossbow at Brael.

Get away from him, she said, her voice firm. When Brael did not move, she said, I’ve hit a charging haruun at fifty paces so don’t think I can’t get you at ten.

Brael stared at her, then said, Ferahtu.

Graham’s Key felt a burst of terrible cold explode from the pale swordsman. A clear, shimmering sphere as wide as a wagon wheel slammed into Bellia, throwing her backwards into the side of the house. She slid to the porch motionless. Inside, Anna started crying.

Bellia! Graham screamed, inflaming the agony in his shoulder and leg.

Be calm, brother, Brael said. Ferahtu has only put her to sleep. No harm will come to her or your daughter if you do what I ask.

Please, Graham pleaded with his thoughts, don’t hurt my family. Tell me what you want and I’ll do it.

Brael looked at him intently, his mouth moving as if he struggled to find the right words.

I need your Key.

Cold dread made Graham shudder, the pain in his shoulder and leg only a distant throbbing. General Brael was seeking to unite the Reaping Keys. From across the centuries, Graham’s Key showed him the days when one man had held all three Keys. He smelled the acrid stench of funeral pyres stacked with hundreds of bodies. He saw entire kingdoms lying in ruins, vultures picking at the remains of horses and children. One man with the Key had done that.

One man could do it again.

You know I can’t give it to you, Graham said with his mind.

The general’s face softened, as if he were a healer telling Graham his wife had just died of the Sickness. I know why you hesitate, brother, and if there was any other way to--

Brael’s eyes glazed for a moment, and then he stood. Looking down on Graham, he said, If you do not give me your Key, Ferahtu will kill your family. Make your choice now.

Graham looked to the house, and saw Ferahtu emerge from the open door holding a wailing Anna, tears streaming down her red cheeks. He bounced her up and down, whispered into her ear like he was trying to console her. All the while, his black eyes stared at Graham.

Graham’s mind screamed with rage and frustration. He had survived three years on the Loquathi front, slogged through the mud of Sickness-ridden trenches, dodged flaming iron from Loquathi cannons, only thoughts of his wife and daughter keeping him sane. He had lived to see them again, to come home to his frontier farm, only to die at the hands of a Key Holder, someone he should have been able to trust with his life.

Shame and despair filled Graham as he realized he could not -- would not -- watch his family have their throats slit by the evil man holding his crying daughter, no matter what the consequences to the world. The burden would have to fall to the third Holder.

Blessed Patrons, forgive me for failing in my responsibility, Graham prayed. I cannot watch Bellia and Anna come to you before I do.

Brael stared at him, his eyes hard. Is that a yes?

Graham glared at Brael, wishing his gaze could burn the man to ashes. Through clenched teeth, he said, Pledge to me by Andea, the Patrons, or anything else you hold dear that no harm will come to my family. Pledge to me with your mind so that I can see your intentions.

The general stared into Graham’s eyes, and then solemnly knelt on both knees. He pulled a dagger from his belt, took off his right glove, and ran the blade across his palm. He squeezed his hand into a fist, allowing the blood to trickle down his arm and drop to the dusty road. I pledge to you on my blood and the souls of my own dead family, that no harm will come to your wife and child if you give me your Key.

For an instant, Graham felt in Brael’s pledge a pain so overwhelming that he momentarily forgot his own. But like a flash of lightning over the plains, it was gone before he could see it, and was replaced with images of Bellia feeding the sheep while Anna played with her blocks on the front porch of the house. If Brael was deceiving Graham, he could not find it in Brael’s thoughts, where only sincerity was reflected.

Graham blinked back tears, looked up at the darkening sky, saw the first stars beginning to appear.

I will release my Key to you.

Brael sighed, then whispered. Thank you, brother.

Remembering how Lieutenant Vantos had done it, and over a hundred others before him, Graham put his right hand on Brael’s chest, closed his eyes, and then willed his Key to Brael. Graham felt a small tingling in his heart, then the tingling became an itching, then a burning, picking up speed, until Graham felt like his entire chest was on fire. A rush of energy left his heart and traveled up his arm. He opened his eyes to see a shimmering aura envelop the Holder like heat rising from a shield on a hot summer day.

Graham’s shoulder and severed leg erupted in molten pain. He wanted to scream for the forgiveness of the Patrons, the souls of the previous Holders, his family. But before he could draw a breath, the sky faded and cold darkness embraced him.

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Thallan Brael stood above Graham Aidel’s body. He held his hands before his face, felt the wondrous energy from Aidel’s Key of Conviction pulsing through him. The heightening of his senses was more vivid than when he had received the Key of Strength from his mother almost ten years ago. He looked toward the distant Skrill Mountains, saw birds making nests in the pine trees along the slopes. He could hear the gurgling of the brook he had passed on the way to this farm. The scent of honeysuckle surrounding Fort Madia twenty miles off tickled his nose as if he were standing in a meadow filled with the flowers.

Ferahtu Kir cleared his throat. My lord.

The interruption annoyed Thallan. He wanted to lose himself in the symphony of sensations. What?

My lord, I hope you did not intend to honor your pledge. The woman has seen us. She will talk.

Thallan turned and glared at his Kindred advisor. He still held the wailing child, and the sight of him bouncing her in a playful way sickened Thallan. I will not throw away every shred of honor I have left and kill this woman. I pledged a blood oath that she would not--

Your plans will not succeed if she talks. My lord.

Thallan’s anger at Ferahtu’s insolence was soothed almost before it began. Ferahtu’s musical voice always seemed to convince him of the right course of action. Thallan glanced at the wedding band on his left hand, a pang of rage and sadness reminding him that some sacrifices must be made for the greater good.

Yes, Ferahtu was usually right about these things.

Thallan turned away and stared at the trees at the base of the Skrill Mountains, watched a robin feed her young.

Make it painless, he whispered.

Of course, my lord.

Chapter two

The Mark

Raven Labrend decided that he loved to fly.

He sat in the middle seat of a three-man saddle strapped to a large gryphon. With the body of a lion and the head and wings of an eagle, the gryphon’s lion paws galloped through the air with each thrust of its massive wings. A sapphire attached to a gold chain swayed against its white-feathered neck. The gryphon had a unique scent that Raven readily picked up in the cold, clean air five hundred paces above the vast grasslands of the frontier -- the musky earthiness of a mountain stream combined with, strangely, cinnamon. It was a comforting smell that belied the gryphon’s fierce nature.

A dour faced Shield of Andea garbed in dark-blue leather armor sat in front of Raven. The morning sun reflected yellow shards of light off the gold chain that the Shield wore around his neck. Raven knew a sapphire similar to the gryphon’s swung against the Shield’s leather breastplate. He could not figure out how the Faith-imbued pendants enabled the Shield to communicate with the gryphon. But then Jalen would say that was the business of the Shields, not novice Dahksharis.

He glanced over his shoulder at Jalen Drummond, his Dahkshari counselor. Jalen clutched the handholds of the rear seat in which he was strapped. A rare grimace contorted his friend’s gray-bearded face as he kept his gaze on the saddle in front of him. Jalen was less than delighted with Raven’s decision to ride a gryphon to Bently Fork, but as a counselor he could not overrule Raven’s decisions unless they conflicted with the Charter. And there was no rule against Dahksharis riding gryphons.

Raven grinned, then said over the wind and the gryphon’s swooping wings, You look like you’re about to charge a battery of Loquathi cannons.

At least I’d be on the ground, Jalen growled as the gryphon lurched in a blast of wind. Jalen issued a rare curse and clenched his teeth.

Raven laughed. He had seen Jalen fight three highway bandits at once without a labored breath, keep his stomach under control while eating a full meal on a leaking galleon in stormy seas. He never showed a bit of emotion at Raven’s most outrageous plans, not wanting to influence Raven’s decisions either way. Now, after knowing Jalen almost twelve years, Raven had finally found something that scared the man out of his normal Dahkshari serenity. It actually comforted Raven to know Jalen was not like some emotionless rock golem out of a frontier fable.

Raven faced forward again, and looked down at the wide muddy waters of the Arciola River carve its way through the grassy frontier. Here and there, villages dotted either side of the river, and every few miles he spied barges, schooners, and small fishing boats going up or down the river. The farther north into the frontier they flew, however, the scarcer the villages and boats became.

The heretic Diliana Losala had been one step ahead of Raven and Jalen from the day the Dean of Novices had assigned her Mark to Raven. With her famous arrogance, she had left a contemptuous letter for the two Dahksharis at the Klyne slip where her river boat, the Wind Racer, had sailed for Bently Fork the day before: Dahksharis as slow as you would have trouble catching a lame pickpocket. Raven wondered how arrogant the heretic witch would be when she had a noose around her neck.

He had assumed the heretic had once again escaped into the frontier...until he remembered Klyne had just completed construction of its first gryphon bastion several months before. While most of the gryphons were out patrolling the frontier or the Loquathi border, Raven had the grace of the Patrons to find that the Shields who ran the bastion had a gryphon and translator they could spare for a few days.

The gryphon they rode dropped in a violent down draft, and Raven heard Jalen groan behind him. The Shield turned in his seat and smiled.

Sorry for the jolt, he said. A bit windy on the frontier today.

Raven returned the Shield’s smile with a serene one of his own. No need to apologize, Shield, he said. Only the Patrons can control the wind.

The Shield smirked, then turned around.

Raven always thought the Shields were the most arrogant of the Andean Orders of Faith. They were the only Order to serve on the front lines in the Loquathi War, and they had the honor of being the Queen’s palace guard. And within the last year, they had learned how to talk to gryphons. With accomplishments like that, Raven supposed the Shields had a reason to be arrogant.

Raven refocused his thoughts on Diliana. His heart quickened at the thought of bringing her back to the Dahkshari Hall in irons, thus securing his bonding to the Charter. He had been fortunate to get the Mark of such a well known heretic, although Raven suspected Jalen had persuaded the Dean to grant it to him. Raven was hunting his first Mark while most novices were escorting snobbish nobles across the frontier. Only three years out of the academy, he was well on his way to becoming the youngest bonded Dahkshari in the Hall’s four hundred-year history. Once he captured Diliana and brought her to justice in Alahn, home of the Dahkshari Hall, he was certain Jalen would recommend him for the bonding.

Raven felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to see Jalen pointing toward the horizon off to the right. Raven glimpsed a village nestled in a crook where the clear waters of the Skrill River merged with the muddy Pendagrass to form the larger Arciola.

Bently Fork, Jalen said. What are your intentions once we arrive?

Raven knew that Jalen was prodding him to think of a plan before they landed, rather than make things up on a whim as he often did. While in the field, counselors were prohibited from advising their novices, so he was grateful for Jalen’s occasional nudges. Dahkshari counselors were mostly observers, watching how novices interpreted the Charter in dangerous situations...and making sure they did not get themselves killed.

Raven hesitated before answering. He had not put much thought into what he was going to do once he reached Bently Fork. The extent of his planning was to arrive at the frontier town before Diliana’s riverboat. But how would he find Diliana? Bently Fork was a hamlet compared to the Great City of Alahn, but it was large enough to lose a heretic who did not want to be found. One of Diliana’s greatest strengths was blending in with almost any crowd, from Rohnen nobles to grizzled frontiersmen. And a city on the edge of the frontier was bound to be sympathetic to a criminal heretic. Many frontiersmen were heretics anyway, and the frontier was a good place for them as far as Raven was concerned.

So Raven began speaking as the plan formed in his mind, hoping it would sound coherent to his counselor. "We’ll fly over the port and look for her boat. If it’s not there, we’ll wait for her at the pier where it’s scheduled to dock. If it is there, I’ll just ask the captain and crew if they recognized her and if they saw which direction she went after she left the ship."

Jalen leaned back in his seat, his unreadable face -- though ashen from the flight -- never indicating whether he approved or disapproved of the plan.

Raven studied the river town. Bently Fork itself was unremarkable -- less than a half-mile wide and made of squat clay buildings with thatch roofs. Riverboats of all sizes were tied to a dozen stone piers jutting out from the town’s south-facing port. On the north side of the town, a large stone wall, more than twice the height of a man, surrounded the town from the Skrill side to the Pendagrass side. Wooden watch towers leaned against the wall every hundred paces, their occupants ready to raise the alarm should haruun attack from the thick woods two hundred paces away.

Raven scanned the dozens of boats filling Bently Fork’s port for the Klyne-flagged Wind Racer. It was useless at this distance, however, even with Raven’s sharp eyes. They would need to fly closer before Raven could make out any of the flags.

He put a hand on the Shield’s shoulder, just as a blast of wind buffeted the gryphon.

Fly us lower over the port, Raven said into his ear.

The Shield nodded. Clutching the large sapphire hanging from the gold chain around his neck, he shouted to the gryphon. Storm, please take us over the boats in the port.

The Shield’s sapphire glowed as he spoke to the gryphon, while Raven knew from experience the gryphon’s shriek of acknowledgement made its own sapphire glow.

The Shield turned and smiled. You had better hold on, Dahksharis.

The gryphon tilted its mighty wings and made a gut-wrenching drop from the sky. Raven let out a whoop, while Jalen grunted as if he were going to lose his breakfast.

Raven suddenly spotted the Wind Racer nearing the town’s port from the south on the Arciola River. It was a short, thin passenger boat with the green and white striped flag of Klyne fluttering at the top of the ship’s single mast. A dozen rowers on each side propelled the boat up the river toward Bently Fork.

There she is, Raven muttered to himself. Then to the Shield, Land us near the docks, and quickly. Diliana would surely spot the gryphon if they came much closer to her boat. She was renowned for her ability to smell an ambush, and the unusual sight of a gryphon circling the sky of Bently Fork -- far from its natural home in the Skrill Mountains or the nearest bastion -- would surely raise her guard.

The Shield asked the gryphon to land just behind the cylindrical stone granaries that lined the western end of the docks. The gryphon swooped around the granaries, flapped its huge wings to slow itself, and landed gently on the muddy street. Once the gryphon had folded its wings, Jalen jumped from the saddle, struggling to steady himself on his shaky legs.

Thank you for your assistance, Shield, Raven said as he quickly un-strapped himself. And thank your gryphon for a safe journey.

"I think Storm would be insulted by your thanks for a ‘safe journey’ -- it implies that she might not have made your journey safe."

Seeing Raven’s puzzlement, the Shield shrugged. Gryphon honor is a strange thing.

The gryphon looked down on Raven imperiously, then turned away with a harsh chirp. Raven shook his head. The beasts are just as prideful as the Shields.

As soon as Raven was standing on the street, the Shield asked the gryphon to rise. Her wings kicked up dirt and loose grain as she ascended, bringing gaping looks from the crowd that had gathered nearby. Once in the air, the gryphon veered south toward Klyne.

Raven regarded the crowd with irritation. The unwashed odor of the fur-clothed frontier folk staring at him made him long for the clean air high above the town.

So much for a quiet arrival, he said to Jalen, who nodded once and followed Raven through narrow streets reeking of sweaty bodies and garbage. He had to get to the piers fast -- Diliana would only have to hear one passing comment about the gryphon riders and she would disappear once again.

Bently Fork’s wood piers smelled no better than the town’s interior. Raven had always gained a certain comfort from the salty fragrance of seawater ports of the Great Cities, having lived on the Andean coast all his life. This port, however, sat in a natural alcove that was sheltered from the Arciola River’s strong current. With nothing to carry refuse downriver, bloated vegetables, dead fish, and human waste bobbed among the piers, making this port the most rancid place Raven had ever been.

But he hoped the journey would be worthwhile, for Diliana’s riverboat had not yet docked. Raven could see the boat maybe a quarter of a mile away, cruising slowly toward one of the piers.

He decided that it would not do for him to be standing in the middle of the open dock. He glanced around the port, looking for a place to hide that also offered a good view of the boat’s disembarking passengers. He saw a dirty, clay-brick tavern nearby facing east, its windows reflecting the sun that still hung low enough to cast a harsh glare off the filthy glass. The small sign above the tavern was too dirty to make out its name.

We’ll wait in there, Raven told his counselor, nodding toward the tavern. With that glare on the windows, we’ll see her but she won’t see us.

Jalen nodded, his face as unreadable as ever. Raven’s ability to detect Jalen’s mood had ceased to exist when Jalen became his counselor three years ago. Up until then, this man who had saved Raven from a certain death when he was twelve, who became his sponsor during those lonely years in the Dahkshari Academy, had been like a father to him. But that all changed when Raven ascended to novice and Jalen became his counselor. Raven knew it had to change. He would never learn to rely on his own instincts if he always had someone there to tell him what to do in every situation. Jalen still advised Raven on all things, but only when they were back at the Hall and never while they were in the field.

They entered the darkened tavern. Pipe smoke hung in the air, mingling with the stale odor of spilled ale and vomit. In the darkest corner, four bearded, hung-over men shot them unwelcome glares and began murmuring to one another in low grumbles. Raven knew frontier folk did not like seeing black-cloaked Dahksharis poking around in their town any more than Raven liked being here. The Andean Crown’s reach was not as strong out here, something that made frontier life so attractive to criminals and heretics.

The two Dahksharis chose a table near the window. It provided the view for which Raven had hoped -- he could see the entire dock, along with the Wind Racer cruising toward its slip.

After a tired barmaid took their tea orders, Jalen retrieved his pipe and used it to scoop a wad of tobacco from a leather pouch in the pocket of his cloak.

Diliana Losala is a slippery prey, he said while using the candle on the table to light his pipe. The tobacco’s sweet, cherry scent created a shield around them against the tavern’s nauseating odors. Difficult to ambush.

Raven nodded. That’s why I’m not going to ambush her.

Jalen raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Another reaction, Raven exclaimed to himself. Two in one day!

Raven had finished his first mug of tea when the Wind Racer’s driver eased the boat into its slip with experienced precision. Raven watched sailors throw thick ropes around the pier’s algae-slicked pylons, while people dressed in furs and drab cloaks lined the deck eager to be on their way. He scanned the passengers but did not see Diliana. She wouldn’t be on the deck for all to see, he thought. She would remain hidden for as long as possible.

Raven then had a sickening thought -- what if she had somehow disembarked before the boat reached Bently Fork? He sighed. No use worrying about that now. Raven reflected on a bit of advice Jalen had once given him: assume the road ahead is good until proven otherwise. Raven would just assume that she was on the boat until he found out that she was not.

The boat’s sailors lowered the roped gangplank to the dock and made way for the passengers. They filed down the plank in twos, threes, and entire families. But no single passengers.

Raven’s frustration grew with each traveler who was not Diliana. What if she had disembarked between here and Klyne? Where could she have done it? There was nothing but thick forests and empty grasslands for the entire journey. How could she have--?

There.

She walked down the plank among a group of the ship’s sailors, talking to them, laughing at their jokes, and trying to fit in. The hood of her cloak was pulled over her long dark curls, but Raven recognized her lithe, haughty stride.

I see her, he said, then jumped from his chair and hurried toward the door with Jalen close behind.

Once outside the tavern, Raven blinked a few moments from the bright sun, then walked straight for Diliana. He made no attempt to conceal himself among the satchels, crates, and frontier folk on the dock. She’s always searching for ambushes, he thought, so maybe she’ll ignore what’s in front of her.

Forty paces away, Diliana still did not see Raven. Her attention was drawn to the shadows cast by the cargo on the dock, searching for hidden threats even as she laughed with the sailors.

Twenty paces.

Raven’s hands began to sweat. He thought about, then dismissed, asking the Patrons to raise a shield of Faith around his body. Diliana would surely sense the siphoning of Faith this close.

Ten paces.

He reached into the pouch at his belt and took out a Faith-imbued web stone for when--

Diliana stopped when she saw Raven. Her eyes narrowed and the smile faded from her lips. Five paces from her, Raven stopped as well.

Diliana Losala, he said, his voice booming, you have been accused of stealing keeria root from a Healer’s Guild caravan. By the Charter of the Andean Commonwealth, I’m placing you under arrest for assault and thievery. Raven wished he could have just webbed Diliana and be done with it without reciting the Arrest Edict. Though he was only a novice and not yet Faith-bound to the Charter, he was honor-bound to obey the Charter as if he were already a bonded Dahkshari.

The crowd around them grew quiet when Raven finished speaking. The sailors near Diliana backed away, their wide eyes darting from Raven to the heretic. She stood in the middle of a circle of onlookers, her gaze riveted to Raven, her face relaxed.

She exhaled, and a clear shimmer enveloped her body.

Jalen yelled, Raven!

Before Raven could fling the web stone at her, a forked stream of shimmering Faith slammed into his chest like a large fist, throwing him backward into Jalen. They both landed hard among the bystanders. Raven looked up to see Diliana disappear into the crowd toward the center of town. He jumped to his feet and tore after her, ignoring Jalen’s calls for him to wait.

Raven marveled at the way the heretic squeezed between merchants and beggars, jumped over tables piled high with turnips and cabbage, dodged horses and carriages. She has the dexterity of a Dahkshari, he thought, following her every action. He ignored the curses of the fur trappers and prostitutes he shoved as he darted past them. His sole focus was on the heretic’s dark hair. She will not escape, not after I got this close. She will not deny me the bonding.

Diliana turned left and bolted into an alley between an armory and a bakery. Raven charged around the corner after her.

But the heretic was waiting with a hand crossbow aimed at his chest. He skidded to a stop ten paces from her, wondered, Where did she get that crossbow?

She looked Raven up and down, then smiled. I cannot have a Dahkshari following me, she said with an educated Rohnen accent. No matter how pretty he is. Then she pulled the trigger.

Raven felt his Faith and his Dahkshari training take over his body before he realized it was happening. His instructors had said that if done right, a Dahkshari’s Faith seemed to make the world slow down, enabling the Dahkshari to think through all his options, decide on a course of action, and act on it...faster than a bolt loosed from a crossbow.

Raven dove to the muddy, cobble stoned alley. The bolt flew over his head where his chest had been a moment earlier. He tucked his shoulder and rolled on to his back. He had a web stone in his hand by the time he was on his feet and flung it at Diliana. Her smugness turned to shock. The stone hit her and exploded into bright blue tendrils of light. Each tendril raced around her body, binding her arms to her sides and her ankles together. Stunned unconscious by the stone, Diliana fell on her chest with a loud grunt.

Raven stared at the heretic, elation replacing the serenity of a moment ago. He had just captured Diliana Losala, the heretic who had eluded the Dahksharis for years. His bonding was assured--

This Mark was illegally arrested.

Raven whirled around to see Jalen in the alley entrance, breathing hard, fury contorting his usually calm face. And I think you know why.

Raven was about to protest, but thought better of it after seeing the fire in Jalen’s eyes. Jalen stooped next to Diliana and inspected the Faith-wrought blue light of the web stone. Satisfied that it was secure, he stood.

We’ll take her back to Alahn, Jalen said. Maybe a Questioner will get her to admit something for which we can hold her.

Then, glaring at Raven, If not, she will be released because of the laws you just broke.

Chapter three

Conversation with a Heretic

Raven squeezed through the narrow corridor below the deck of the riverboat Patriot while balancing in one hand a cup of chicken broth and a chunk of black bread. Though only twelve the last time he felt a boat beneath his feet, the slight roll of a ship on the open water comforted him, even if it was only on a river.

Jalen followed Raven in silence. Raven had tried asking just how serious his counselor considered his violation of the Accompaniment Law, but Jalen had said they would discuss it after Diliana’s interrogation. Raven knew he was never to be out of Jalen’s sight while performing his Dahkshari duties. The Accompaniment Law was the first rule his instructors had impressed upon him before he began his field training. But when he saw Diliana disappear into the crowd, an overpowering desire to catch the fleeing heretic took over his mind and soul.

It was a desire to prevent at least this heretic from escaping.

At the end of the corridor, Raven produced a key from his belt, unlocked the door, and entered. A swaying lantern hung from a hook near the door, illuminating the cramped, stuffy room -- if it could be called a room. It was more like a closet, with hardly enough space to hold the two Dahksharis and the bunk on which Diliana lay. The heretic was still encased in the web stone’s blue light, her arms and legs rigidly bound together. She was conscious, though, and