Benjamin Tate - Leaves of Flame

Behind Orraen and Jydell, a few levels up the stairs, stood Lotaern, Chosen of the Order of Aielan. As if sensing Colin’s gaze, even from beneath the hood, the Chosen nodded in acknowledgment, as if he knew who hid behind the cowl. And perhaps he did.

Before Colin had a chance to assess the rest of the lords, members of the White Phalanx filed into the room. Four appeared on the platform itself, arranging themselves around the main throne and the two smaller thrones set a pace back to either side. The rest filed in beneath the platform, carrying standards or spears, moving slowly, with formal, deliberate steps. The surrounding lords and their entourages began filtering toward their seats, conversations falling silent.

The White Phalanx halted, standing stock-still, waiting until the room had quieted before the two carrying the spears raised them and pounded their metal bases into the marble floor. The sound cracked through the chamber, and Colin started, even though he’d been expecting it. The procedure for the Tamaell’s arrival had changed subtly since Colin had last attended the Evant, but the feel of the chamber-the simmering tension of predator and prey-was the same.

“Tamaell Thaedoren Ormae Resue,” one of the standard-bearers announced.

Everyone in attendance stood as Thaedoren emerged onto the platform, followed by his mother, Moiran, and his brother, Daedelan. Colin’s eyebrows rose. Both Thaedoren and Daedelan were dressed in the full regalia of the White Phalanx, including bracers on their arms and armor beneath the silky red-and-white folds of their House shirts. Daedelan had darker hair than Thaedoren, like his mother’s, but even from this distance Colin could see they both had their father’s green eyes. Both were tall and solidly built, although Daedelan was obviously younger, even with his face set in a serious expression. Moiran’s gaze swept the room, lingering on no one, not even Aeren, but seeing all. She wore a dress that hinted at armor, the folds and cut more severe and serious than usual. No one spoke, but a rustle eased around the room as the rest noticed as well. Eraeth shot Aeren a questioning look, but Aeren merely shrugged.

Obviously, Thaedoren had prepared since they’d met with him that morning.

“Be seated,” Thaedoren said, but remained standing as the chamber filled with the sounds of rustling cloth. Moiran and Daedelan took the two thrones behind him.

When everyone had settled, Thaedoren bowed his head slightly. “We have reached the end of another session of the Evant. I know that you are all looking forward to returning to your House lands in the next few weeks to see to their preparation for winter, and you will be able to depart as planned. But there is one last issue-one of extreme importance-that must be discussed before we bring the Evant to a close.” Thaedoren turned toward Aeren and nodded respectfully. “Lord Aeren.” He settled into the seat of his throne as Aeren rose.

Aeren hesitated, as if gathering his thoughts, then moved out from behind the desk and claimed the oval floor beneath the platform. He caught each lord with a penetrating gaze before he spoke. No one sneered or scowled as they had during the first meeting of the Evant Colin had attended when Aeren had tried to speak.

Aeren’s House had risen since the death of Fedorem and the battle at the Escarpment. And once his relationship with Moiran was revealed and a blood-tie established with the Tamaell, with Thaedoren …

Colin stirred in his seat. Even he, an outsider, a human, realized the power over the Evant that Aeren would wield then.

“The sukrael and the Wraiths,” Aeren began. His voice was soft, but everyone in the chamber stirred. “We have all suffered from their attacks since before the Escarpment, since before Khalaek’s betrayal of our people to the Wraith called Walter. Those attacks continue to plague us, the sukrael randomly taking lives within each of our Houses, attacking villages and towns, caravans and traders, sometimes destroying every living thing within a wide radius, every man, woman, child, and animal, their lives drained away, their bodies left where they fell. They ravage our lands, spreading out from the Ostraell forests as their power grows, as the Wraiths continue to awaken the sarenavriell that bind the Shadows. Lotaern, the Chosen of the Order of Aielan, has scoured the Scripts and used its knowledge of these creatures to train his warriors of the Flame to defend against them, but as we have all seen, those defenses are minimal.”

At this, Lotaern rose in indignation. “The Order of the Flame has done everything in its power to stop these creatures! If not for the Flame, their attacks on Lord Saetor’s lands would have been disastrous! They would have decimated the city of Touvaris at the edge of the Ostraell!”

Grumbles of agreement shot through the chamber, but Aeren overrode them all. “And what is the situation now?” he demanded. “The Order of the Flame has a permanent presence in Touvaris. They patrol its borders with Saetor’s Phalanx, using their powers and the Flames of Aielan to keep the sukrael at bay.”

“And the sukrael are at bay.”

“Barely. All that you have achieved is protection of one land at the sacrifice of another. The sukrael don’t care about land or buildings or crops. They care only for life. They shifted their attention elsewhere, so while Touvaris lies protected by the Flame, they attack House Redlien, or Licaeta, or roam out onto the dwarren plains attacking our trade routes. And as their power grows, as their Wraiths continue to awaken the sarenavriell and expand their territory, the Order of the Flame is spread thinner and thinner and becomes less and less effective. You have already split the force to cover Licaeta’s lands, those closest to the Ostraell. I know you have been discussing the use of the Flame in Lord Jydell’s lands. How many warriors do you have in the Order, Chosen? Are there enough to cover all of the Houses, all of the Alvritshai borders?”

Lotaern’s jaw worked for a long moment, his eyes blazing with anger, back stiff. “No,” he finally said, the word low and grudging. “More warriors of the Flame are being trained as we speak, but there are not enough to protect all of our lands, all of our people.”

Aeren nodded. “More warriors of the Flame should be trained, because the threat of the sukrael and the Wraiths is real. I meant no disrespect for the Order, and I-along with every lord present-am grateful for the protection that the Flame has provided from that threat so far. But we must be realistic. The protection the Flame offers will not be enough to cover us all. Not if the sukrael continue to grow in power and the lands they can hunt expand. We need something more. We need something stronger.”

“What?” Lord Saetor demanded, standing abruptly, one hand pressed forward onto his desk. “We have done everything within our power. What more do you propose we do?”

Colin rose, even as Aeren turned toward him. Every gaze settled on him as he moved forward, Aeren falling back as he took the center. He moved slowly, the butt of his staff thumping softly onto the marble floor. Tension escalated as he positioned himself before the Tamaell’s platform. A murmur ran through the room, and from the corner of his eye he saw Saetor shove back from his desk. He couldn’t see Lotaern, but he knew the Chosen well enough he could imagine the frown that darkened his face. He had wanted to include Lotaern in the meeting with the Tamaell, to plan how they would present the proposal, but Aeren-and later, Thaedoren-had felt it better that they catch him unaware. They didn’t want to give him the opportunity to turn this proposal to the Order’s advantage. And after what he’d seen and heard since his return, he found he agreed with their fears. The Order had gained in power, had grown, had created its own Phalanx with the Flame. He could feel the weight of its presence even here, not just in Lotaern’s inclusion in the Evant, but in how the Flame had been used to infiltrate the Phalanx of at least two of the Houses. Those members of the Flame would have influence on the caitans of the Phalanx they were there to help, and those caitans could influence their lords.