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Chapter Forty-Eight

Roving patrols of houseguard swarmed around the manor house, in units armed with a mix of lifelocked partizans and heavy muskets. The cost of fielding such a wide array of magically imbued weapons was astronomical, and lent credence to Rae’s theory that the conspiracy went far beyond a single fiendbinder bent on revenge. He and Caeris snuck through the enemy lines as carefully as they could. Once, Rae was forced to drag them both into the shadowlands to avoid discovery by an overzealous guardsman who was thrashing the overgrown hedges with the butt-end of his partizan. If the man had turned his weapon around and brushed Rae with the lifelocked head, it would have been the end of their little adventure, and Rae’s life, to boot.

Once they were clear of the immediate surrounds of the manor house, the patrols disappeared, leaving Rae and Caeris alone with the forest. Insects chittered among the leaves, and the sky was occasionally filled by the flight of flocks of birds that blotted out the dappled sunlight, but they saw no other humans. The air was humid and stank of rotting leaves and loamy earth. Even the light seemed fetid, as though the sun was heavy with disease.

“Are you sure this is the right direction?” Caeris asked. “It feels like we’re getting deeper into Chaos, not away from it.”

“I’m not at all sure,” Rae answered. “It’s been ten years since I was here, and there’s been some intervening trauma. Formal gardens separated the manor house from the servants’ halls, and the hunting forest surrounded that. Higher servants, like my father, lived in private housing that bordered the forest. But everything is so overgrown . . . I expected to pass the main dormitory by now, but I haven’t even seen two stones stacked on top of each other.”

“Chaos,” Caeris said. “The very disaster Hadroy meant to visit on the Ordered World has turned his estate into a wilderness. Ironic, if our lives didn’t depend on your memory of how things were before.” She paused and squinted up at the wan canopy overhead. “I could draw this area a little closer into Order, maybe give you a chance to get your bearings.”

“Rassek would sense that, wouldn’t he?” Rae asked. Caeris conceded the point. “I’d rather not give him any idea where we are. And if Estev still has those Lashings, he might be able to detect the channeling as well.”

“He had a box of Lashings on him when we picked him up outside Hammerwall Bastion,” Caeris said. “Do you think they’re the same Lashings as you saw in your vision? The ones Rassek used to cut Yveth off from his zephyr?”

“Possibly. I’m not sure where else he would get a full set.”

“Order Above. To think I held the Lashing that betrayed the High Justicar.” Caeris swore. “I could just kick myself for not putting a bullet through his fat head.”

“You didn’t know,” Rae said. “None of us did.”

The forest began to clear. They crossed two short walls of eroded stone, the space between them overgrown with weeds and grasping brambles. Broken furniture lay scattered throughout the vegetation. The servants’ dormitory. I wonder how many of them escaped? How many even knew what was going on when the justicars swooped in, or what was waiting for them in the huntsman’s tower? A short while after the dorms, they came to the remnants of a road. Flinty gray gravel poked through the underbrush, and the edges of the road were lined with thick paving stones, the last vestiges of the walkway Rae’s father used to take each day to his offices in the manor house. Rae set a foot on the pavers, then looked up and down the road.

“It’ll be along this path,” he said. “On the far side, away from the manor. Our house bordered the forests. Mom always hated that. She complained about the deer that used to come into her garden.”

“I would think having deer in your garden would be a nice thing,” Caeris said.

“Yeah, well. Mom didn’t. I’ll look in this direction, you can head that way. If Estev is already here, it’s going to be tough to find him in all this wilderness.”

“Look at you, giving orders to a justicar,” Caeris said with a smirk. But she headed in the direction Rae had indicated, creeping carefully down the center of the road, her boots crunching loudly on the gravel.

Low-hanging trees formed a tunnel of green light over the road. As he snuck down the road, Rae saw signs of the road’s former inhabitants. Lantern posts made of smooth riverstone and fading, cracked mortar poked out between gnarled tree branches. A garden wall of the same stone, much of it tumbled down, marked a former residence. Peering into the greenery, Rae picked out a fallen sheet of slate roofing, and the peaked gable of a house, now claimed by a copse of apple trees. There had been no apple trees in his mother’s garden, so Rae continued.

The farther he went, the more civilization he saw. The garden walls were intact, and the facades of hollow houses loomed up out of the mossy turf. Their roofs were pierced through with trees, and their windows gaped silently in the darkness. He kept going, until he came across a garden that was a riot of sunflowers and bluebells, with the gnarled limbs of a pear tree in the middle. Memories brushed against his mind, of the buzzing of fat bees among the bluebells, and the nodding heads of sunflowers outside his window. The garden wall was intact, but the tiny wooden gate that he had banged open so often on his way home for dinner had long since deteriorated. He stepped from cobblestone to cobblestone on the winding path that led to the front door. The inside smelled like mildew mixed with the familiar draught of home cooked meals, woodsmoke, and his mother’s pipe.

The main room had been claimed by the forest. The wooden planks of the floor were warped and twisted, muscled aside by creeper vines and a healthy looking tanzil bush. Only sad piles of rotten lumber remained of their furniture, though a tattering of upholstery hung like dead leaves on father’s chair, and the slumped over china cabinet had dumped its contents onto the floor in a landslide of broken pottery and shattered glass. The smell of home nearly overwhelmed him. Without thinking, Rae had drawn the wraith, pulling his perception into the shadowlands. Reluctantly, he reeled the ghost back into his soul, banishing the smell, leaving only mildew. With a sigh, Rae bypassed the kitchen and headed down the long hallway that led to the back of the house.

It looked like he had beaten Estev here. Either that, or this errand was pure folly, and the lifebinder was somewhere else. A moment of indecision gripped him. Should he head back to the tower, to be with La when Estev or Rassek attacked? No. He was here. Whatever memories waited at the end of the hallway, Rae had to face them.

The last time he was here, in the shadowlands with the wraith, Rae had avoided his old room. This time he stopped at his doorway and pushed it open. The wood creaked as it swung back, and something scurried across the floor. There wasn’t much left. The window, the same one he had crawled through more than once to wander the forest after he was supposed to be in bed, was now choked with sunflowers. Thick vines crawled across the walls, and the ruin of his childhood mattress sprouted a layer of moss and coreopsis that somehow didn’t look terribly out of place between the bedposts. His bookcase had long ago surrendered to gravity and rot, leaving an unkempt pile of broken bindings and loose pages spilling out across the floor. Rae picked up a page and leafed through it. The margins were black with his scribbling. He smiled and tossed it onto the mossy bed.

The heavy door to his father’s study was the one thing that seemed immune to the home’s deterioration. Its thick wood panels scraped across the floor as Rae pushed it open, sticking every few inches. He almost drew on the wraith to let him pass through the door, but remembered the smells that had assaulted him in the front room. He wanted to see his father’s study for what it was, not what it had once been. Best to leave those memories alone. He put his shoulder into the door, and the door succumbed.

The air here was stale, like a tomb. Glass panes held the riotous garden out while sealing in the smell of woodsmoke and expensive paper. There was only a whiff of mildew. Even Father’s chair seemed to have survived the breach, though the leather was stained with mold, and one side leaned precariously away. The lantern, the same one that had contained the burning eye in the shadowlands, hung tarnished and dark in the corner.

But what drew Rae’s attention was the writing desk. The inkpot in the corner was toppled over, spilling a thick river of tacky ink across the pitted wooden surface of the desk. Father’s collection of pens lay scattered on the floor. The drawers all stood open, gaping and empty. There was no sign of the sheaf of papers that Rae had seen in the shadowlands.

Rae crossed the room in a frenzy, pulling open the drawers that already hung ajar, ripping them out of the desk and throwing them on the ground. He bent over to peer into the empty compartments, feeling around for secret levers or hidden envelopes. There was nothing. Standing up, Rae cast about the room. Maybe he hid the pattern somewhere? Or destroyed it? Rae went to the narrow hearth, running his fingers through the andirons, patting the inside of the chimney. His hands came away black and empty. He let out a startled cry. He was sure it would be here. He was sure the answer to the sword’s history would be waiting in his father’s study.

A twinge went through Rae’s soul, and the room seemed to elongate, then snap back together. The binding of spirits, and close by. Rae stumbled to his feet just as the twisted vines in one corner of the room parted, and Estev stepped into the study.

The lifebinder wore his fae spirit just beneath his own skin. Pudgy flesh gave way to muscle, and his blunt hands wielded the crystalline blade like a gentleman’s cane, the tip tapping against the floor next to Estev’s cloven hoof. He was crowned with black antlers that traveled down his cheeks like a soldier’s helm, their points tipped with silver caps. Estev’s hair tangled wild and free through the antler crown. For the first time, Rae realized he was finally seeing Estev’s bound spirit in its true form. Not the brutish fae that had broken them out of Aervelling, or the dark-eyed beast that had rescued him from Rassek Brant, or gentled the horses as they fled. No, this was the spirit that was woven into Estev’s soul. Not a warrior, but a king. Not a healer, but a wilderness pressed into the shape of a man. Estev watched him with darkly twinkling eyes, as deep as the night sky, and just as uncaring.

“I imagine you have some questions, young Kelthannis,” Estev said, and his voice thrummed with the forest’s might.

“Not really,” Rae snapped. With a flick of his hand and frost in his blood, Rae summoned the wraithblade. The sword formed with a crackle of silver light that played unnaturally across the ruin of his father’s study. The lantern in the corner of the room took up the light, its wick bursting into pewter flame. The familiar pain went through Rae’s eye. He shivered, knowing the source of that pain: the sword that Estev now held, and the fatal blow that Rassek had struck with it. Growling, Rae pointed the spiritblade at Estev’s heart. Estev nodded approvingly.

“Good. You are learning to stand for yourself. If you learn anything from me, let that be the lesson. Fulcrum will always take what they can. They will take whatever you give them, and leave nothing in return.”

“I’m not here for lessons, old man. You betrayed the justicars, you lied to me, and now you’ve stolen the one thing that might save my life.”

“This? No, Raelle Kelthannis, this will not save your life. It won’t save anyone’s life. It is a sword.” He gestured with the crystalline blade, keeping Rae at a distance. “It is for killing. Especially this blade, as your father well knew.”

“Whatever lie you’re about to tell, just stuff it,” Rae said. Sweat broke out across his forehead. He was angry, fighting mad, but he also knew that he was no match for the likes of Estev Cohn. Especially if Estev had been hiding his true power all this time. And by the looks of the spirit he now wore, that was an understatement. “You knew nothing of my father. Don’t pretend otherwise.”

“In a way, you’re right. I did not know Tren Kelthannis. None of us did.” Estev strolled to the empty writing desk and laid a thick, three-fingered hand on its surface. He pressed Rae back with his sword, waving it expertly between them. Rae bumped against the bookcase. “Just another servant in the employ of Baron Hadroy. I wished your father no harm. Just as I wish you no harm.”

“You’ve already taken the sword, and now you’ve taken the pattern. What more do you want here?”

“Not exactly,” Estev said. “The sword, yes, I clearly have that. But the pattern was destroyed long before we arrived. Probably by the demon wearing Yveth’s flesh, to conceal his nature. Conceal your nature, Raelle. Only the sword can connect you to the dead justicar.”

“Caeris says he’s not dead. That he’s still in Fulcrum,” Rae said. He was trying to buy time for the lawbinder to find him, but he was also trying to figure out Estev’s game. Why had the lifebinder pretended friendship for so long, when he could have taken the sword at any time? “More lies, Estev.”

“Something is in Fulcrum, that’s for certain. I’m not quite sure what.” Estev stared down at the empty desk sadly, then drew himself up, lowering the sword, if only slightly. “That was not my concern. It was the work of Rassek, and Drust. And apparently your father, though he had no idea what he was getting into. Your vision told you that much. Just as your vision showed you the pattern, right here, on this desk.”

“A fragment of a memory, you said. Predi doesn’t believe it.”

“If it wasn’t true, why would I be here? Why would you?” Estev asked. He dropped the sword’s tip to his foot, and held out a hand. “I am not working with Rassek. Not anymore. Even at the beginning, we had different destinations, but the same path. The current game between Order and Chaos is unsustainable. It’s tearing the world apart. But it’s not the only way. There are things in the wilderness, hidden from the eye of Fulcrum, that promise a road forward. A way to fight the Chaos that threatens to destroy us all, and the Order that means to smother us. Things the justicars wish to keep hidden.” He took another step forward. Rae slid along the bookcase and stumbled into the broken door, then crossed to where the lantern hung. He cursed as soon as he realized he had just cut himself off from the only route out of the study, unless he wanted to break through the weed-choked window. Estev frowned.

“It’s still me, Rae. See?” Estev said, then dropped the fae. His face returned, soft eyes looking at Rae sadly. “I have done so much to help you. If not for me, that wraith would have consumed you, destroyed you. Hell, Rassek would have killed you by now, and this sword would be in his hands.”

“Then why did you steal it?” Rae asked. “And why didn’t you tell me who you really were?”

“I don’t have time to explain that. You might not understand, even if I did,” Estev said. “Just like your father never explained to you why he ran, or where he got this sword from, or why he condemned you to a life on the edge of the world. I wonder what you would have done, if you had known his involvement.”

“Leave my father out of this!”

“Oh, that I could. But you can help me, Rae. You can end this. You and your sister can go home, or to Fulcrum, or wherever you wish to live. You can be free of the wraith, and this cursed sword.” Another step forward. Rae had nowhere left to go. Estev smiled. “Don’t you want that?”

“What would I have to do?” Rae asked. Did he hear footsteps in the hallway? Was there a flicker of faint light against the door? “If you swear to leave us alone, what would I have to do?”

“Simple,” Estev said, his smile brightening. “Enter the shadowlands and retrieve the memory from your father’s desk. It’s a fragile thing, but you can bind its shape to your soul and bring it back, if only for a moment. Give me that, and I’ll take the sword and leave you be. Without the sword, or the pattern, the demons will want nothing to do with you anymore. You’ll be free!”

“And the wraith?” Rae asked. “Won’t they want that as well?”

Estev hesitated, his smile growing stiff. But then he brightened again and took another step forward. “Wraiths have a way of disappearing. You can bind another spirit, and no one will ever know what lurks in your soul.” Carefully, he sheathed the frostbound spiritblade and held up his empty hands, massive and strong. “Just retrieve the memory, and we can handle whatever comes next. Together.”

There was definitely a light in the hallway. Caeris was nearly there. He thought about calling out, but that might alert Estev to her presence. He needed to keep the lifebinder focused on him, his back to the door.

“No,” Rae said, drawing the wraith fully into the world. Ghostly mist coiled around his shoulders, and the phantasmal cloak unfurled from his clothes. His heart went cold, and his anger colder. “I will do no such thing.”

Anger flashed across Estev’s face. The feral spirit cloaked his features once again, the kindness and sadness and peace disappearing in a flash of dark eyes and snarling fangs. The antler crown grew into a spiked helm, black and silver. His brutal spiritblade, jagged iron in the shape of autumn leaves, appeared in his hand.

“Then you will die!” Estev growled.

“A moment if you please,” a voice called from the hallway. The broken door burst open, and the speaker shouldered into the room. “I still have business with the boy.”

Rassek Brant leered at them both, his scarred face bristling with thorny barbs, the rough fabric of his robes torn and bloody. Bright cinders crawled through the knotted flesh of his scars. He raised a taloned fist, and struck Estev in the back.


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