Benjamin Tate - Leaves of Flame

“To Lord Aeren’s estates. He has likely already arrived.”

“Lord Aeren is a friend. Are you certain Colin knows what we have started?”

“He knows. He spoke to the Chosen before departing, and is escorted by the Flame. He must know of the imbalance.”

Walter smiled, and Tuvaellis-one of the other Alvritshai Wraiths, a woman-said, “You do not seem disturbed by this.”

Walter chuckled. “I’m not. Colin was bound to notice that something was amiss eventually. I doubt he realizes exactly what, as yet.”

“Should we alter our plans?” Arturo asked. He was dwarren. The beads and feathers strewn throughout his beard, and the chains running from the rings in his ears to the one in his nose, proclaimed him a clan chief; the oily darkness swirling beneath his leathery, wrinkled skin claimed him as Wraith.

“No.” Walter moved to a chunk of crystal set to one side, part of what had once been the ceiling of the immense room where they had gathered. Other shards of crystal littered the room on all sides, surrounding an open pit in the center of the room. On top of this crystal rested a small wooden box, polished to a fine sheen. He picked up the box, turned, and handed it to Tuvaellis. She gripped the handles on both side, but Walter did not let go. “You understand the importance of this? The human forces in Andover in the old continent must not be allowed to aid the Provinces here in the new, nor the Alvritshai or dwarren. This will guarantee that they are otherwise occupied. If you fail.…”

“I will not fail.” Tuvaellis’ tone was mildly offended.

“Very well. You should depart now. Our contact in King Justinian’s Court will be waiting for you.”

Tuvaellis nodded as Walter released the box. She tucked it under her arm and blurred away. Walter turned toward Arturo and Khalaek. “Begin gathering your forces. They will need to be ready to move shortly.”

“Are you certain Shaeveran will not cause problems?” Khalaek recalled what the human had done to their plans at the Escarpment.

“By the time he figures out what our true goal is, it will be too late.” Walter caught Courranen’s gaze, Khalaek’s fellow Alvritshai straightening where he stood. “Besides, I do not intend to leave him as a loose thread. You know where he will head once he learns of the imbalance. Courranen will be waiting for him when he arrives.”

Colin, Aeren, and their entourage left the seat of the lord’s House at midday, Moiran and Fedaureon standing at the entrance to the main house surrounded by Daevon, the Rhyssal House Phalanx, and a few servants. More Phalanx held the gates open as Colin, Aeren, Eraeth, and the rest mounted their horses and situated their satchels and packs, then turned to go. Vaeren and the rest of the Order were already waiting restlessly to one side, the caitan of the Flame’s expression disgruntled and impatient. He flicked the reins of his horse as Aeren spoke to his own caitan, then the man stepped back and Aeren motioned toward the gates. The Lord of Rhyssal House turned back once to nod toward Moiran and his son, and then they were through the gates and headed down to Artillien.

“Do you want me to call them back?” Colin asked as Vaeren and the rest of the Order charged ahead, taking the lead. “I am, ostensibly, their leader, and we are on your own lands.”

Aeren smiled and shook his head. “Let them posture. I’m secure enough in my own power as Lord of House Rhyssal, even with an escort of only three Phalanx.” Eraeth coughed meaningfully and Aeren smiled, adding, “And my Protector.”

They reached the town of Artillien, and the Alvritshai on the streets stopped to stare as the Order of the Flame passed by. A few waved toward Aeren, the lord nodding in their direction. They skirted the marketplace, swept past the temple of Aielan, one of the acolytes outside pausing as he brushed snow from the stone window ledges. He genuflected toward the Flame, Siobhaen returning the gesture.

Then they passed outside the town into the fields beyond. Sunlight broke through the layer of clouds, blazing harshly on the snow, and Colin raised one hand to shade his eyes. To the left, the lake gleamed a deep blue, riddled with waves from a brisk wind from the west. As soon as they cleared the outskirts of the town, Vaeren picked up the pace, taking them west along the road as it curved around the water. The wind struck Colin full in the face, burning his skin raw, until they reached the shelter of the cedar and pine trees beyond.

After that, Colin pulled up the hood of his cloak and settled in for the ride, nearly everyone else following suit.

They rode for three days, angling northwest as soon as the roads allowed. On the fourth day, they entered Nuant House lands, the maroon-and-gold House colors supplanting the blue and red of Rhyssal. Away from Aeren’s lands, the lord received more piercing looks and second glances, but it was the Order that caught and held nearly everyone’s attention. The only connection the commoners had to the Order was through their acolytes in the local temples. Seeing the Order of the Flame passing through their village caused a stir. More than one acolyte emerged from his temple to offer the group a place to rest and refresh before continuing on their journey. Vaeren rarely accepted, except when Siobhaen caught his attention and murmured something for his ears only. On these occasions, Siobhaen spent most of her time within the temple, kneeling before the small basins that mimicked the large one in the Sanctuary back in Caercaern. The acolytes would hastily fill the basin with oil, perform a short ritual, and then light the basin so that Siobhaen and the other members of the Flame could pray before it. Always at the end of her prayers, Siobhaen would remove a pouch from her satchel and toss something into the flames, the acolytes in attendance gasping as the fires in the basin burned a harsh, brilliant white. Then she’d run her fingers through the soot beneath the basin and mark her face before rising, the others often doing the same.

“She’s solidifying their ties to the temple,” Aeren said at the third such temple, even as he genuflected while the flames were burning white.

“What do you mean?” Colin asked. He knew the ritual she performed, had studied it in the Sanctuary before being allowed to pass through Aielan’s Light beneath the mountain. It was a simple enough rite, one used to calm the observer, to center them so that the problems they faced might be made clearer. It was one of the basic rituals of the Scripts, although it did not require the basin actually be lit, and the addition of the white flames generally only occurred at significant bondings or rituals.

As the white flames died, returning to normal, the acolytes murmuring to each other in awe and excitement, Aeren turned away, his brow troubled. “She’s using the ritual and the white flames to remind the acolytes of their ties to the Order, their ties to Lotaern and the Flame. There’s no need for the theatrics otherwise. These acolytes all trained in the Sanctuary at one point. She’s reminding them of their time in Caercaern, of their loyalties.

“And these acolytes will spread that to the common people in this area.”

“But why does Lotaern want them to remember?”

Aeren shook his head. “I don’t know. But I’ve learned through the course of the years that Lotaern does nothing without a purpose. He feels he’s going to need the commoners’ support for something soon. Siobhaen did not stop at any of the temples before you reached Artillien?”

“No. Why? What are you thinking?”

They watched as Siobhaen and the others circulated among the gathered acolytes and villagers who happened to be in or near the temple when they arrived.