Benjamin Tate - Well of Sorrows

Then he let his grasp on time fall away.

Stephan roared as his blade plunged into the Alvritshai’s chest, blood flying as he drew back, half turned Then halted as he caught sight of Colin, dressed in an Alvritshai shirt, open at the front to keep it from getting soaked in the blood seeping through the bandages across his chest. As a frown creased his brow, as recognition began to flare in Tanner Dain’s eyes and he began to lurch forward, Colin turned to the commander of the King’s guard and said, “I’ll return him in a moment.”

Then he reached out and snagged the King by the arm, gathering the Well’s power around himself and Stephan And Traveled.

“Don’t let go,” Colin said.

The tenor of Colin’s voice brought Stephan to a halt, his instinctive response to pull away from the hand that held him in a viselike grip, even as the world around them shuddered, slowed, then halted. Colin watched Stephan’s face intently, saw the man lurch as he enveloped him with the Lifeblood. It was easier to pull Stephan back with the Lifeblood flowing so cleanly, so recently, through his body. There was no wrench as there had been with Moiran as they fled the occumaen, no anchor trying to hold him in place, as with Aeren and Thaedoren in the parley tent.

But the transition wasn’t completely smooth either. Stephan gasped, his eyes going wild, darting around, seeing the entire battle in mid-motion, a battle he’d been part of only a moment before, adrenaline racing through his blood.

His gaze fell on Tanner Dain, his commander already leaning forward, foot poised to take a step in Colin’s direction, expression caught in transition, hardening into rage.

He turned to Colin. His terror had died. He’d already begun collecting himself. “What have you done?”

“I’ve halted time.”

“Why?”

“Because there’s something you need to see.”

“And what if I don’t want to see it?”

Colin shrugged. “I can’t force you to go, can’t force you to watch. All you have to do is break contact with me, free yourself from my grip, and you’ll return.”

Stephan’s mouth twitched into a sneer. “What is it that you think I need to see?”

Colin looked into his eyes, into the derision he saw reflected there, and said, “Your father.”

The sneer faltered, a look of horror, of hope filling the void that it left. For a startling moment that felt like eternity, Stephan lay exposed, the mask of rage and hatred and despair that he’d worn for the past thirty years gone, torn away, the man beneath-the boy who’d been transformed on these fields, who’d been murdered by Khalaek and the Alvritshai just as his father had been-peering through, vulnerable and young.

But then the mask slammed back into place, rage twisting Stephan’s face. “My father is dead,” he growled, then tensed to break free.

“He’s dead, but you can still see him. You can see how he died. You can see what really happened, who really killed him.”

“I’ve already seen how he died. I was there! I saw it with my own eyes!” He began pulling away from Colin, struggling, although half-heartedly. Perhaps he’d grown weary from the fight. He made no move to shift his sword to his free hand, to threaten Colin with it when it was obvious Colin himself held no weapon.

“But you saw it at a distance,” Colin said. “You don’t know what really happened. You’ve lived the last thirty years not knowing the truth, told one thing and another, until not even those who were there know what they saw and what they’ve learned to see, what they came to see based on rumor, not on fact.” Colin’s voice had deepened as Stephan’s struggles increased, his teeth clamped together. But Stephan suddenly let out a harsh cry and stopped trying to shake his arm free.

They glared at each other, both breathing hard.

“I can show you what truly happened,” Colin said, voice hoarse. “I can show you who turned against your father first, who followed and who didn’t.”

Stephan still didn’t believe him. Colin could see it in his tortured expression, as he squeezed his eyes shut and bent his head, his shoulders.

He remained in that bowed position a long moment, mostly still, jaw clenched.

When he lifted his head, he’d calmed himself, although his eyes shone with hatred. “How? I’ve been told a hundred stories, heard a thousand songs. How can you show me the truth?”

Something deep inside Colin relaxed. “I can take you there.”

He reached out with the Lifeblood, still pulsing through him, still strong, and then he pushed. Pushed against time. Not halting it, not slowing it. No. Those were simpler tasks. Instead-as he’d done so many times before on the outskirts of the forest, where his mother and father and the rest of the wagon train had stood and faced the Shadows-he pushed back, pushed through the barrier and against the force trying to shove him into his proper place in time’s flow.

Stephan sucked in a sharp breath as the figures around him began to move, edging backward, swords pulling out of punctured chests, unslicing throats, uncutting arms and legs. Colin saw the image of Stephan himself, howling in reverse, but before the real Stephan could turn and see himself Colin concentrated and shoved, the reversal picking up speed, until all motion was smeared, then blurred, and yet still he pushed harder. Sweat broke out on his forehead, and Stephan took an unconscious step closer to him as time slid back even faster. The armies retreated, the sun set in the east, rose in the west, the field suddenly enveloped again in warfare, until they retreated again, the parley tent popping up from its collapse. Colin saw his body being carried in Eraeth’s arms as the Protector raced backward into the tent, caught a glimpse of Eraeth’s stricken face a moment before he vanished back inside. He staggered, surprised by that glimpse And in that moment, as the reversal of time lurched and slowed, he saw how the Wraith-how Walter-had gotten into the tent without being seen.

Khalaek’s men had held the tent flaps aside.

In a flash, he recalled seeing Khalaek’s aide standing beside the inside flap. A second had stood outside, guarding the tent with the others.

It would only have taken a simple signal-a whistle, a hummed refrain. Both men could lift the flap at the same moment, keep it open only a moment. With time slowed, or halted, Walter wouldn’t even need a single breath to slip inside, wouldn’t have even needed to appear at all with the tent flaps already pushed aside And even as he thought it, Walter flickered into view, ducked down between the opening and into the darkness within.

All to bring about the Tamaell’s death. Thaedoren’s as well. All so that Khalaek could ascend in the Evant, seize control and become Tamaell himself. An assassination within Caercaern would have been harder to manipulate, harder to explain. There would be no one to blame except an Alvritshai.

But here, on the battlefield, with an assassin so obviously human if he was seen at all…

Colin felt his rage boiling higher, his breath quickening, his heart thundering. He wanted to reach out and kill Walter as he slid into that darkness, wanted to strangle him But he couldn’t. This wasn’t the real Walter, the real Wraith. This was the Walter that was. This Walter couldn’t be stopped. He’d already assassinated the Tamaell, nearly killed the Tamaell Presumptive and Aeren as well. This Wraith had already set Lord Khalaek’s plans in motion.

But neither Khalaek nor Walter had planned on Colin.

He’d stopped the Tamaell Presumptive’s death and had implicated Khalaek in Fedorem’s.

Now he intended to halt the conflict with Stephan.

Straightening with purpose, he caught Stephan staring at him in confusion. His gaze flicked toward the tent flap, toward where Walter had vanished. “Who was that?”