Benjamin Tate - Leaves of Flame

“I’m wondering what changed in Artillien that prompted them to begin this… little campaign,” he finally murmured.

“We need to find out,” Eraeth said.

Colin thought back to his first conversation with Siobhaen, on the road down from Caercaern, when she thought he despised the Alvritshai. “Perhaps we shouldn’t isolate ourselves anymore.” When Aeren and Eraeth looked at him, he added, “We’ve separated ourselves into two groups: the Flame and Rhyssal House. For the last few days we’ve eaten separately, traveled separately, even slept in separate rooms or sides of the outposts. We need to mingle more.”

Eraeth grimaced in distaste, while Aeren’s eyebrows rose. “They haven’t been overly friendly toward us since Artillien.”

“And we haven’t been overly friendly toward them. The distrust is mutual.”

One of Aeren’s Phalanx coughed lightly and they turned to see Vaeren approaching. The caitan nodded, the rest of the Flame preparing to depart behind him. “We are finished here.”

“Very well,” Aeren said.

Vaeren hesitated and frowned, as if he sensed something hidden in the tone of Aeren’s voice, or in the slightly awkward silence that had settled over the Rhyssal House contingent. Then he shook his head and turned, motioning the Flame outside.

They reached an outpost near dusk, the wayside stop nothing more than a stone hut a few paces from the road tucked into a niche beside a stream of snowmelt, its wooden roof covered in dark green moss beneath dangling cedar branches. Colin scanned the mountains, a hand shading his eyes, the sun a burnt orange glow to the west. He called out to where Vaeren and a few others in the group were refilling their waterskins. “We’ll stop here for the night.”

Vaeren stood, looking toward the setting sun. “We could make the next village, perhaps even the next outpost.”

Colin shook his head. “We’re close to the pass now and it’s getting dark. We’ll have to leave the road tomorrow, after leaving the horses in the village.”

Vaeren eyed him for a long moment, suspicion touching the corners of his mouth, but then he waved to the other members of the Flame, who had begun to remount. “Unpack your saddlebags. Boreaus, hunt us something decent to go with what the acolytes gifted us at the last temple. Petraen, gather some wood for a fire. Siobhaen, take care of the horses.”

All three hesitated, trading confused looks, but the two brothers shrugged and hauled their gear from their horses before handing the reins to Siobhaen. Boreaus drew a short bow from a cylindrical case, leaped the small stream, and vanished into the woods to the north. Petraen headed in the opposite direction, scrambling up a small embankment before the trees claimed him.

Aeren dismounted at Colin’s side. “Is there another reason we’re stopping early?” he muttered under his breath as he began working at the ties of his bags.

“We need to learn more about Vaeren and the Flame. I’d rather do it on this side of the mountains, where the weather is calmer and the terrain is decent, than in the White Wastes. If we reach the town, the Flame will join the acolytes in the temple and we’ll lose our opportunity.”

Aeren grunted in agreement, then passed a silent command to Eraeth.

The Protector turned immediately toward where the other three Phalanx members were unsaddling their own horses. A moment later, two were headed off after Petraen, the third stringing his own bow as he followed Boreaus. Eraeth himself drew their horses closer to where Siobhaen had already begun combing the Flames’ horses’ flanks. She gave him one hard, suspicious glance as he began pulling saddles from the Phalanx mounts’ backs, then resumed her work.

Vaeren had vanished inside the stone hut.

“I’ll go check on Vaeren,” Colin said.

Aeren nodded. “And I’ll join Eraeth and Siobhaen with the horses.” He muttered something under his breath as his own mount snorted and stamped its foot against the stone of the roadway. One hand brushed the animal’s neck in a long soothing motion.

The lord caught Colin’s look. “Why are you smiling?”

“I was just thinking about when we first met on the plains. You shied away from our horses then. You were terrified of them.”

Aeren’s eyebrows rose. “They were strange and terrifying beasts. And I was young.”

Colin shook his head, then grabbed his staff from his own mount and headed toward the hut.

As he ducked inside, Vaeren looked up from where he used a branch to clean out a fire pit sunken into the middle of the hut. “Whoever used this last left in a hurry,” he said as he pulled charred ends of sticks and thicker branches toward him. “But they did leave behind some firewood.” He pointed with the branch to one side, where wood had been stacked. His eyes never left Colin.

“That should make Petraen’s job easier.” Colin scanned the rest of the hut. The roof was steep, to keep the snow from piling up too heavily. Smoke would be funneled from the fire pit up to a hole shielded against the weather at the top. The rest of the rounded interior was mostly bare, a few stone benches that could be used as sleeping pallets against the walls. There were no windows, only the main entrance and a covered hole in the floor against the back wall for the disposal of garbage and waste. The stale smell of smoke and musty dampness cloaked the small room.

“It’s not much of a wayside,” Vaeren said.

Colin caught and held his gaze. The undertone in the caitan’s voice suggested that they could find better accommodations in the village. “It will suffice for tonight,” he said. Then he knelt down and began dragging the black, sooty remains of the previous fire from the pit.

After a moment, Vaeren helped him.

They worked in utter silence, Vaeren studiously ignoring him as they scraped the last of the dead coals from the hollow that reminded Colin of the rounded depressions in the middle of the dwarren keevas, where they held their most serious consultations. The silence became strained, itching at Colin’s back, until he finally sighed and asked, “What House are you from?”

Without looking up, Vaeren said, “I am a member of the Order of the Flame. I am associated with no House except the Order.”

The caitan said it as if by rote, and Colin grimaced. He knew that acolytes of the Order renounced their ties to their previous Houses. Their allegiance was given to Aielan and the Order, their previous House abandoned, although erasing those ties completely was impossible.

“I meant, what House were you originally from?”

Vaeren glanced up at that, his brow creased, as if he were trying to determine why Colin would ask, what his ulterior motive might be. But finally he answered, “Uslaen.”

“Lord Saetor’s House, Khalaek’s caitan before Khalaek was banished and his own House declared fallen.”

“Yes,” Vaeren said shortly. His shoulders stiffened, his soot-greased hands clenched hard on the branch he now held defensively before him. “What of it?”

Colin sat back, surprised by his reaction, by the sudden tension in the room. “Nothing. A simple question, nothing more.”

Vaeren watched him intently, then visibly forced himself to relax, letting his held breath out in a long sigh. “I… apologize,” he said, his voice rough. “I should not have reacted so… forcefully.”

Colin brushed the apology aside with one hand. “No offense was taken. But I’m surprised. Khalaek and his House were destroyed over a hundred years ago. I thought the ascension of the new House had gone smoothly, that the emotions of that time would have been laid to rest by now.”

Vaeren sneered, the expression twisting his face for a moment, then gone, replaced by a troubled brow. He busied himself with the fire pit, drawing the last of the coals close enough to be retrieved.