The Sons of Hull Read online

  “Hmph. Needed. The capital can run just fine without a court jester.”

  “Court jester? You’re sounding as if your advisory position is less than appreciated.”

  Naffinar sighed, the picture of long-suffering. “King Relgaré goes his own way. He’s been fighting these marcher wars for over twenty cycles and at no benefit to Keroul. What do we care if some barbarians steal a few stretches of land? Let them have it, I say, and pay attention to your treasury. The country’s on the verge of bankruptcy, N’vonne.”

  She smiled, well aware of her friend’s chronic financial pessimism. “I’m sure the king will come to his senses. How could he not with advisors like you? Now, what did you want to speak with me about?”

  “Have you ever heard of Patronius en medio Telenar pa Saauli?”

  “Telenar pa Saauli,” she bit her lip, trying to recall the name. “It sounds familiar. He’s a court Patroniite, isn’t he?”

  Naffinar adjusted his bulk in his chair, preparing to present his case. “Aye, although he’s not been very active in court these past fifteen cycles. He’s been too busy with his search.” He placed great emphasis on the last word, in case she mistook it for a less significant search than it actually was.

  “Search?”

  “You haven’t heard? Ah, I see you haven’t—”

  “No, wait a moment. I remember hearing about it when I first came to Win. Seems he was looking for a young boy.”

  “It was the strangest campaign I’d ever heard of. Claiming that he was doing what the Ages told him to do, he began advertising for some sort of young prodigy. He offered a large reward if a child was found that would fit whatever mold he had cast. For cycles, parents have been bringing him their young geniuses. But no one has been able to provide whatever it is he’s wanting. Now he’s become a bitter man and rarely sees anyone.”

  N’vonne wasn’t quite sure where her friend was going with this. “I’m really sorry for him, Naffinar. But what does this have to do with me?”

  “It doesn’t have anything to do with you, N’vonne. It has everything to do with Vance.”

  “Vance? But Vance has never been to—” Then it dawned on her. “Wait a minute—”

  “I have met Telenar on occasion,” Naffinar rushed in before she could continue. “He knows me well enough to speak with one of my own.”

  “But Naff, he’s already been accepted at Yartmuth. It’s a prestigious institution and several of his friends are going, as well. We’ve spent two cycles collecting funds for his first-cycle tuition. What a waste it would be to go off to Lascombe in search of this dream of Patronius Saauli’s!”

  Naffinar’s expression became unusually sober. “N’vonne, there’s more for Vancien than an academy. This may all be a figment of Telenar’s imagination, but I think it would be good for Vance to experience court, if only for a time. It certainly wouldn’t hurt to put a bright lad like him in view of the king. The journey there would take less than a fortnight. If nothing comes of it, Yartmuth will still be waiting.”

  “And who would foot the costs for such a journey?”

  “I have been saving for this for five cycles.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “I’m serious. That’s why I came. Vance can come back with me.”

  N’vonne ignored that last comment, choosing instead to express her concerns from a different angle. “And what if we get Vancien’s hopes up for nothing? It would crush him to be rejected in such a way. And I hate the thought of his getting involved in court politics, especially when he’s never even been outside of this small town.”

  “You underestimate my nephew, N’vonne. He is his father’s son and stronger than you know.”

  N’vonne forced herself to look away before the sudden rush of emotion could show. “You should not mention his father so much,” she whispered. “It will only bring up old pain for him.”

  He softened. “I know Vancien’s not the only one who misses him.”

  Before she could stop them, tears flooded her vision. “I—he was so concerned for Vancien. Vancien was his life after Amarian disappeared. Kynell forgive me, Hull’s been gone six cycles and I still can’t look at his son without thinking of him.” She closed her eyes. “Vancien must never know of this.”

  “I don’t think it would make a difference—”

  “He must never know of this.”

  Naffinar quickly relented. “Of course. Whatever you want.”

  She straightened and reached for a kerchief. Her bun was beginning to fall out in wisps. “I don’t see why his schooling couldn’t wait for the spring term. Perhaps Vancien could go with you – as long as he is willing. I will go too. When he leaves, there will be nothing left for me here.”

  “What about your other students?”

  “They will do just as well or better under another instructor. Do you understand, Naff? I have to go with him.”

  He had no serious objection to her coming, so he welcomed it with a broad grin. “Then I suggest we get all our affairs in order.”

  They emerged together into the crowded schoolyard, where it did not take long to locate Vancien and his friends. He was just dismantling the last table when Naffinar tugged at his sleeve, then whispered something in his ear. As soon as Vancien heard his name and the capital city in connection, he let out a whoop of joy that brought a perplexed mutter from his classmates and a surprised smile to Naffinar’s face. But his face darkened when his gaze fell on N’vonne.

  “I would love to come with you, Uncle. But I wouldn’t feel right leaving everybody here.”

  N’vonne jumped in before he could continue. “You would be leaving anyway, Vance. It’s not as if Yartmuth is right next door. But if you happened to be concerned about leaving a certain instructor behind, you shouldn’t be. I’ve told Naffinar that I’m coming as well. I’ve always wanted to see the capital—”

  But her words were cut off as he swung her off her feet. “Then it’s perfect!” he cried, setting her down a little breathless.

  Naffinar could not help but laugh. “Well, it’s a plan anyway. But this does mean you won’t be able to attend the academy this cold season. By the time hivirra comes, we’ll be safe in the capital. I have a friend who is anxious to meet you.”

  “So that means,” N’vonne interceded, “that we’ll have to leave soon. Tomorrow, probably.”

  Vancien’s joy was contagious. “Just tell me when. Hey, guys!” he shouted to his friends, all of whom had huddled nearby, trying not to look overly curious. “I’m going to Lascombe!”

  __________

  Naffinar estimated that it would take them into the early part of the breach season, that turbulent time between autore and hivirra, to reach the capital. This was not the best time for traveling, as sailing was made dangerous by high winds and roads were made slick by frequent rains. Yet he was anxious to get back to his work and even more anxious to introduce Vancien to Telenar. The party was small—only uncle, nephew, instructor, and Revor, the groom—and consequently able to make good time even in inclement weather. Their farewell to Win was brief. For Vancien, the town had mostly memories of loss, heart-ache, and the comfort of strangers. For N’vonne, the only strong tie she had to the place was traveling with her; she was happy to be wherever Vancien was.

  The countryside through which they were traveling was both brutal and beautiful, particularly their route through the Eyestone Glade, an area of eastern Keroul well deserving of its fame. Though Win’s official name included “South of the Glade” and the Glade offered the quickest route to the capital city, few of the town’s inhabitants had journeyed through its ominous corridors. For the Glade consisted of row upon row of natural, sloping, shallow caves. Inside each cave was a variety of glistening stones that caught the light both orbrise and orbset in such a way that it reflected into the cave mouth opposite, creating a lane of illumination. Patroniites liked to claim that no better proof of a great architect existed: these caves shone perpetually, since t
he only time their interiors were darkened at all was when the triplet orbs were aligned directly overhead both midday and midnight. Even in the deep darkness of a Rhyveladian hivirran night they glowed—what little light the triple lunos offered, the stone drank and shared fully.

  Only Naffinar had traveled through this region and although Vancien and N’vonne had heard of the great wonder, experiencing it was quite another thing. They gratefully accepted Naffinar’s shadecloths, the only way anyone could travel through the Eyestone Glade without losing his or her sight. Revor the groom also bound the eyes of their voyoté—massive, canine beasts whose virtues as riding beasts are too lengthy to list.

  After the first day in, the party selected a small cavern to camp for the night. A blind was erected to provide some darkness and the group began to shed the extra clothing they had donned as protection against heat-blistering. Four forms soon lay huddled under the protective shadow of the blind, three of them snoring gently. Only Vancien lay awake, gazing admiringly at the soft light.

  What a fine architect you are, Kynell! he marveled, his heart swelling with excitement at this new adventure. Why are you so good to me?

  He was not expecting a response. So when he heard the first distant howl, he nearly jumped out of his skin.

  “Uncle! N’vonne!” he hissed, “Wake up! I hear fennels!”

  But he quickly reprimanded himself. Fennels lived in dense woods, not in caves. Ashamed, he closed his eyes to sleep when he heard the sound again, this time much closer. Not bothering to wake his friends, he threw off his cover and crept past the blind to the edge of the cave. He squinted his eyes against the light. Could a fennel travel this far away from his habitat? Even as he considered this, he knew the howling sounded different than the fennel cries he had heard growing up. Holding his breath, he looked hard into the innocent glow.

  “Vance!”

  He turned just as a burst of cold light shuddered through him, knocking him off his feet. The howl was deafening. All around him the glow exploded like blasts of fire, freezing his mind and causing his ears to bleed. Everything went black. Only barely did he feel strong hands grasping his ankles and dragging him to safety.

  __________

  The next day dawned brilliantly, oblivious of the night’s suffering. Vancien lay on his pallet behind the blind, his eyes and ears mercifully covered, while N’vonne watched him twist and groan. She was afraid to ask that which burdened her most, and when she finally did, her voice was almost inaudible.

  “Will he survive, Naffinar?”

  He forced a smile, both to comfort himself and her. “The fact that he made it through last night is proof enough of his strength. I have no fear for his life.”

  “But will he ever see or hear again?”

  “That only Kynell can tell us. The Destrariae so rarely leave their victims alive.”

  N’vonne shuddered again. When she spoke, her voice was low with grief and anxiety. “We need to get him out of this pit.”

  Naffinar peered miserably past the blind; the Eyestone Glade had become a weight upon them both. For all its brilliance, he was not willing to sacrifice his nephew to it. They would certainly move on in all haste.

  “We’ll wrap him in the blind cloth to protect him. There must be no light and no sound for him until we are out of the Glade and for the next several days. Otherwise, he may never heal. Revor can construct a litter between two of the voyoté.” He met her uneasy gaze. “He will be all right, N’vonne. It’ll be slow, painful going, but he will make it to Lascombe and there he will meet with Telenar pa Saauli.”

  No more words were spoken as they helped Revor put together a litter out of the cloth and poles of the blind. The voyoté were more than able to carry their added burden; indeed, their great canine builds and durable coats made them ideal for any transport worth accomplishing. Obedient enough to follow their riders but intelligent enough to avoid natural pitfalls, they were used not only for civil journeys such as this, but for the Keroulian armed forces as well. Yet even their sharp teeth had been no match for the Destrariae. Shouldering the litter without complaint, they began to follow their masters. Two more days and one more evening in the blistering lanes, then the blessed release of a dark nightfall.

  __________

  There was only one pass out of Eyestone Glade, and this night, one pair of eyes watched it carefully. The orders had been clear: do not kill the boy. Maul him, scar him, break him, but do not kill him. Patiently, these eyes had been watching day after day, waiting for the party to show itself. The creature had first thought to track them down inside the Glade, but no Sentry had ever survived that kind of light, and Tsare had not survived this long by being foolish. No, his master had said to stay here, and so he stayed.

  Still, the wait had been a long one. His reptilian skin itched from the lack of water, his jagged teeth yearned to sink into soft flesh, and his eyes grew weary of the relentless orbs’ light. Tsare knew at the south end of the Glade was rich land, with plump musks and sleek creerats. But the north end—where he had been waiting the past week—was desert, and the lizards provided little satisfaction for his ravenous hunger. Besides, even for his limited sensibilities, eating one’s own kin was hardly desirable.

  A noise interrupted his thoughts. Fanning his wide ears, he crouched and listened. Voyoté—he could hear their barking. One hundred paces into the Glade. They would be here in twenty breaths.

  __________

  N’vonne almost cried in relief as they reached the edge of the Glade. Beyond the gap, she could just make out through her shadecloth some sparse hedges and a few scraggly trees. The sight was not welcoming, but anything was better than this brutal maze of light.

  Naffinar was in high spirits as he stepped past the last trace of caveglow. The early evening was cloudy, an unlooked-for blessing that was a balm to the eyes. He knew they would now be traveling through a significant patch of desert, but wasn’t concerned. Their water supply was only half used and it would be just a day’s journey before they reached the beautiful Duvarian Range. After that, only a little while to the capital.

  Spotting a small oasis, he ordered the litter to be put down by its shore. The water was brown but cool. It must have rained recently; he had never seen the waterhole so deep.

  “We are out of the Glade, Vance,” he whispered, knowing the boy could not hear through the padding on his ears. Vancien stirred in response.

  “What did you say?”

  Naffinar and N’vonne exchanged a startled glance. He shouldn’t be able to hear through that padding. Technically, he shouldn’t be able to hear at all.

  “You can hear us?” his uncle said in a louder voice.

  Vancien struggled to sit up. “Not with all this cloth wrapped around my head. Are we out of Glade? Why am I blindfolded?”

  Naffinar looked hesitantly at the sky. The orbs were setting, so perhaps it might be all right . .

  “Vance, we’re going to take away the cloths. Do not open your eyes.”

  As his nephew nodded, he reached over and slowly unwrapped the dark strips around his head. When finally exposed, the boy’s face was pale but otherwise healthy.

  “Without opening your eyes, can you tell if it’s day or night?

  Eyes closed, Vancien cocked his head. “Maybe. Are the orbs setting? The breeze feels good.”

  “Then open your eyes slowly. Very slowly.”

  N’vonne let out a small, delighted shriek as her student’s eyelids pulled back to reveal the same alert blue she had known. Naffinar was amazed.

  “You can see, Vance? You can hear?”

  “Yeah. You were worried?”

  “Just a little bit. Here, let us help you off the litter.”

  Naffinar and Revor slipped their shoulders under his arms, but all three stopped when they heard a quiet tapping issuing from the bushes.

  “What’s that?” Vancien asked, squinting in its direction.

  “I don’t know,” Naffinar replied, “but maybe we’d
better get going. The desert has some strange creatures.”

  He turned his back, intent on dismantling the litter. Barely had his fingers undone the leather straps, however, when the tapping erupted into a ferocious snarling. It was a Sentry—a two-legged lizard the size of a man and Obsidian’s most leathery, bloodthirsty class of henchman. Before anybody could react, it attacked Naffinar. The helpless man, never nimble and completely defenseless, was brought down without even a cry of protest. Then poor Revor, who had thrown himself upon the Sentry’s back, was easily dispatched. At this point, the voyoté were putting up a vicious fight but they were no match for the large reptile’s speed and intelligence.

  N’vonne and Vancien watched the episode in horror. It all happened so quickly and yet they could only move in slow-motion. Vancien managed to shove N’vonne behind him, prepared to defend her with his life. But to his dismay, the creature flung him aside without any discernible effort. He landed hard on the ground, turning around just in time to see N’vonne waving a camp-knife in front of the Sentry’s face. The Sentry looked amused at this, then roughly grabbed her wrist and wrenched it aside. Vancien jumped to his feet and charged again, but it was too late. The beast’s sharp talons had already sunk deeply into N’vonne’s flesh, forcing her to the ground. In a moment, she was dead.

  “N’VONNE!!”

  Only at the sound of his heart-broken cry did the creature turn to him.

  “Vancien,” it gurgled. Vancien shuddered. He had not expected it to be able to speak.

  The two stood face to face, one pale with terror but resolute, the other confident of a quick victory. It stepped forward. “Come with—”

  A brilliant light shot out of the Glades. Familiar howling filled Vancien’s ears as the victorious Sentry suddenly vanished under the power of the Destrariae.

  __________

  The scene was appalling in its stillness. Figures that had been living and breathing only moments before now lay in cold lumps, vacant eyes staring at the sky. Vancien stared, his mouth completely dry and his stomach lurching in alarming ways. Naffinar, N’vonne, Revor—even the voyoté—all were gone in the space of a few whirlwind, terrifying moments. As the last of the orblight faded, his eyes stubbornly drank in the sight. Bitterness swelled in his chest, combining painfully with the freeze of the invisible Destrariae. Yes, they were his salvation, but his alone. And what use was that? It was because of him that they were on this journey anyway. Would that Naffinar had stayed in Lascombe! Would that Lady N’vonne had never agreed to come with them! Would that—? What if—? Why? Vancien bit his lip until it bled. If something like this could happen, what was the point?