The Ale Boy's Feast (48 page)

He heard a sniffle to his left. Krawg was weeping.

“Her head, her heart, her hands—they are another vision for our house. We will not exalt ourselves as better than other houses. I will value your life as my own, and in leading you, I mean to serve you, as I ask you to serve each other. In this way Auralia and Rescue have shown us something so lovely that I long to know the source of it. So they will remain before us. And I proclaim a new name for this house.”

At that moment Warney too burst into tears.

The house came alive with voices as the people stood and repeated it after Cal-raven.

House Auralia. House Auralia. House Auralia
. Krawg stood and embraced the king.

Jes-hawk half lunged at the Gatherer, but Tabor Jan grabbed his arm.

Krawg sank back to his place on the floor, unspeakable things dripping from his nose, and accepted the cloth that Emeriene offered him. Then he blew his nose, a noise every bit as loud as the glass trumpet’s report and yet quite the opposite in quality.

Everyone there would have a different recollection about which was most surprising of the dishes carried from the kitchen.

For Ann-moryn, there was the garlic custard, made from rock goats’ milk and drizzled with a spicy hajka sauce. For Irimus Rain, there was the baked sweetroot mash. For Loyselis and Lar-yallen, there were mugs of spicy smoke-bush tea. For Pol-morys and Elysruth, there was summer-bird pie. For Jaysin who would ring the bells, a roasted fish drawn from the secret river (and he would have the strangest dreams that night). For Manda and Tonny, expecting a child, there were sweetglory
rolls. For Jenn and Gabe, who tended to the animals, a stew of boar and grandvine. For Cus-velyr and Yeltse, a bowl of cold, candied cream.

So engrossed were they in their meals that they barely noticed a series of small disturbances at the king’s crescent.

The first came when Say-ressa said to Cal-raven, “Master, the beastman is ready to deliver the plate we’ve prepared for … for your guest.”

“Of course,” said Cal-raven.

Even as he replied, Kar-balter approached and waited for attention. Cal-raven motioned him forward, and he heard a word he’d dreaded hearing. “Viscorclaws, sir. Em-emyt spotted one on the slope beyond the southeastern wall.”

The king called Jes-hawk over, gave him the glass trumpet, and sent him off, saying, “It may be the best alarm we have. But Jes-hawk … don’t break it.”

His distress was interrupted as Scharr ben Fray appeared at his side, kneeling ceremoniously, offering a long, wrapped bundle. As Cal-raven drew the cloth away, he found himself speechless.

“I fashioned this sword,” said the mage, “with Reveler’s fire.”

I’ve seen this before
, thought Cal-raven.
In a dream. I stood on a precipice. I saw the Keeper fall from the sky. I heard someone rush up behind me …
He took the sword by the hilt and raised it, and though he found it a pleasing weight and balance, it seemed a tremendous burden. “Forgive me, Teacher,” he whispered. “I am … overwhelmed.”

A Bel Amican survivor called Jephanas, a self-proclaimed scribe of unproven gifts, stood and recited a poem, hastily composed and far too ambitious, describing Cal-raven’s journey. And as he did, Adryen entered with the dessert—a large bowl of cloud pudding.

It was only when Cal-raven turned to offer the pudding to Krawg that he noticed the old man was gone. Warney shrugged, gladly accepting the bowl and smacking his lips.

Then old Mulla Gee, standing on the highest tier, began to sing the Early Evening Verse with a voice that trembled like a ribbon in the wind. A few moments later everyone had paused to sing along, and the sanctuary was filled with their voices.

In that resonant music, for a moment, Cal-raven could almost imagine a future.

uralia fingered the stone on her cell’s back wall, looking for lodes of color. Ignoring the taunts of the two prisoners caged across from her, she softened blue stone into clay and drew a winding river.

“Your old friend’s been gone a long time with that token you gave him,” sneered Joneroi. “Wonder what he’ll sell it for.”

She tried to ignore him. Krawg was a thief, yes. But he also loved her. He would take risks for her.

With her fingertips she whisked green along the blue river’s edge, leaning in and considering each detail. Trying to remember.

If I can get back there, to the beginning. If I can smell the grass and remember the view of the sky. Maybe I’ll find it again. The lightness. The desire to play
.

But the river seemed too ideal. It flowed the way she wanted it to, not on its own. And the grass was too perfect; not ragged and webbed and rooted among worms and beetle swarms, like she remembered.

She smeared a violent rift through the river. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Just then she realized that her tormentors had chosen a new target for their insults. She turned to see Emeriene’s sons. They had chased each other down into the corridor, throwing stones and laughing, but stopped when they realized they’d drawn the attention of their caged kinsmen.

“Boys,” rasped Joneroi, “if you were men, you’d go out there and lift the keys from King Cal-raven. But you’re not men, are you? You’re the spawn of a traitor.”

“Why’d the guard let them down here?” That was Gaithey, sulking in the corner of his cell. “He should lock them up. Just in case they’ve got any of their father in ’em.”

The boys quickly changed their game, pelting Joneroi and Gaithey with stones. When Auralia told them to stop, they turned against her.

“You’re a thief,” the boys cried. “You can’t steal from our queen.”

Auralia blocked one stone with her forearm. She missed the next one, and it struck her chin. The boys went back to throwing at the men, spewing curses and threats. “Crooks! Traitors! Seers’ pets!” This time she kept silent.

As the men cowered in their corners, battered and bloody, Cesyr and Channy grew more vicious. Stones rang loudly off Auralia’s bars.

Then the boys stumbled, crying out.

Auralia looked through the fingers of her upraised hands and watched the floor begin to ripple. She ran to the bars and saw Luci and Margi kneeling at the end of the corridor.

“Girls, let them go,” she laughed.

The sisters brushed off their hands. The boys, frightened, ran off, their shoes clattering with clods of hardening clay. They disappeared deeper into the next chamber, whimpering with hurt pride.

Margi and Luci gripped the bars of Auralia’s cell. “Looks like you’re hurt.”

“Bruises,” she said. “And a cut.” She dabbed blood from her chin with her sleeve. “Go and fetch Say-ressa. Those two are hurt worse than me.”

“What’s all the noise here?” Jes-hawk appeared in the corridor. In one hand he held his arrowcaster. In the arm that emerged from the sling, he cradled Cal-raven’s trumpet. “Prisoners stoning prisoners?”

“Emeriene’s boys,” said Margi. “They did it.”

“The boys? Cesyr and Channy are here?”

The girls pointed down the corridor. “Troublemakers,” said Luci.

“They’ve lost their heroes,” said Auralia. “They know Ryllion and their father were full of lies, and they’re humiliated and angry. They’ll grow out of it. If we’re good to them.”

Jes-hawk frowned at the rocks littering the floor. “Boys!” He waited, but there was no answer. “Channy. Cesyr.” He set the trumpet on the floor and marched farther into the dark. “You’re wasting my time. I’m supposed to be up on the wall.”

Then came a curse and a commotion. “I think,” came Jes-hawk’s voice, “the boys may … have found … a way out …” His voiced sounded strained, and it echoed.

“Good thing this dungeon’s so secure,” laughed Gaithey, blotting a cut.

“The king has to let you go, Milora,” Margi said, impatient. “We’ve gotta show you something.”

“The statue’s almost finished,” Luci whispered.

A cry like a bird’s distressed chirp cut the air. Then a sound like someone pounding on drums.

“Jes-hawk?” Auralia called.

Margi and Luci hurried down the corridor into the next room. A moment later Margi shouted back, “There’s a vent here. In the wall. He’s gone through!”

“It goes up,” Luci called. “I feel wind.”

“That’d be from outside the wall,” said Gaithey. “Outside the city.”

“Probably a vent to air out the stench of whatever died here,” muttered Joneroi.

“How big is it?” asked Auralia.

“The boys could have fit through,” said Margi.

“But not Jes-hawk?”

The girls did not answer.

“If he didn’t go through,” growled Joneroi, “where is he?”

“Nowhere,” said Margi. “There’s nowhere else.”

Luci scoffed. “That’s impossible. It’s too …” She paused, then screamed.

“Blood!” Margi shouted. “Spilling out!”

“Run!” shouted Auralia.

The girls scampered back into the corridor, terror in their eyes.

“Shut the door!” whimpered Gaithey.

“There is no door,” said Joneroi, sounding frightened and nervous.

“Girls,” said Auralia. “Up.”

Luci and Margi ran to her, climbed up the cell bars, and perched on the top like frightened birds.

A ten-legged viscorclaw—a full-grown, serpentine branch from a coil tee—came stalking low to the ground like a feline. Its black legs were dripping, but it had no head, no mouth.
They seize and shred
, thought Auralia.
Poor Jes-hawk
.

When it reached Auralia’s cell, it paused, turned.

“Now!” shouted Luci.

The sisters leapt down, landing on either side of the crawler. They pressed their hands to the floor in the same moment as Auralia and, with a unified shout, sent a rush of stonemastery into it.

The crawler tensed to spring but, as the floor softened, found it could not launch. It fought, legs dragging up strands of molten stone. Then it tipped and sank.

The girls jerked back their fingers and stepped away.

The crawler’s legs suddenly reappeared, thrashing. But its spine remained trapped as the clay became stone.

“Go,” said Auralia softly. “Call the guards. There may be more.”

“But—”

“Go. They need a warning. I’ll do my best to stop the next one.”

Joneroi and Gaithey remained crumpled in the backs of their cells, mumbling prayers and counting all the things they’d done right to earn a rescue.

Auralia watched the crawler’s extended fingertips. They jerked and twitched, then slowly weakened. She began to breathe deeply again but only to ready herself for the next stage of the growing trouble.

Standing at the base of the tower where Cal-raven had ordered his secret guest to stay hidden, Jordam looked past the tower to the stars, yellow and orange through the smoke-hazy sky.

Awestruck, he forgot his errand—to give Ryllion a portion of the feast. He forgot himself. Stars had rarely been visible in Cent Regus territory. He had first noticed them on the shore of Auralia’s lake. But here in the northern highlands, they seemed closer somehow.

I’ve done what I came to do
.

He felt lighter, almost giddy. Cal-raven’s forgiveness—and more, the king’s own apology—had affected him deeply. He felt as if a fever had broken, cool sweat tingling on his newly hairless brow and neck. The night was alive with possibility.

Ryllion should know this feeling
.

He stepped into the tower and ascended the stairs. Cal-raven had asked him to guard the Essence-poisoned soldier in the canyon after the dragon’s rampage. It had been a tense, difficult meeting. Ryllion, who had been following the company and hiding in the rocks, showed no signs of making trouble; he seemed humbled, even embarrassed, to stand before Jordam.

“Ryllion’s trying to change his life,” the king had said. “As Cyndere helped you change yours, help me protect him. If they find out who he is, Bel Amicans will kill him. I want him to live.”

The tower was silent as Jordam ascended, and he worried that Ryllion had run. But there he was, leaning feebly on the sill of the high chamber window, draped in his heavy robe.

“rrBrought you food.” He offered Ryllion a plate wrapped in a ragged cloth. Ryllion took it with trembling hands and unfolded the cloth to find bread, strips of meat, and a cup with a small measure of the secret water.