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  ARDENT

  Book Two of the

  Chronicle of the Seer

  Series

  Florian Armas

  ***

  Copyright © 2018 Florian Armas

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without written permission of the author.

  Cover design by Cheriefox

  ***

  For my mother

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Part 1

  Chapter 1 – Codrin

  Chapter 2 – Dochia

  Chapter 3 – Codrin

  Chapter 4 – Jara

  Chapter 5 – Codrin

  Chapter 6 Dochia

  Chapter 7 – Jara

  Part 2

  Chapter 8 – Codrin

  Chapter 9 – Dochia

  Chapter 10 – Codrin

  Chapter 11 – Codrin

  Chapter 12 – Jara

  Chapter 13 – Codrin

  Chapter 14 – Dochia

  Part 3

  Chapter 15 – Codrin

  Chapter 16 – Codrin

  Chapter 17 – Jara

  Appendix

  Part 1

  Chapter 1 – Codrin

  Islands of light into a sea of darkness. Down the hill, scattered fires resemble wild animals gnawing silently the darkness. There is no apparent harmony in the wavering flames. Twenty, I count, all surrounded by soldiers, then another twenty, on the other side of the valley, and more soldiers. Vlaicu has taken care to match the enemy fire for fire, an illusory equality, but sometimes an illusion wins the war. If I count real soldiers, we are a hundred against an army three times larger. Too old or too young, at least half of my men will run at the first sign of trouble.

  Gripping the knife, I dig silently into the ground. The night breeze stirs up, carrying the scent of an unknown flower. Drifting with the red moon, my mind acknowledges it. The Wing Talisman, I received from Dochia, vibrates in my left hand, then nothing. I squeeze it, still hoping for a glimpse into the future. A flying bat touches my hair, the only moving thing against the moon. With closed eyes, I embrace the shadow, and old fragments of better moments resurface. Saliné... I can’t allow them to steal my present, and I blink like a blind man.

  Two days ago, when I left Severin, Saliné was still unconscious after losing too much blood, and a courier from Jara arrived today, late in the evening. There were not many words in her letter: Saliné is awake. She wishes you to come back well. That was all I needed to know, and scattered thoughts swirl in my mind, whispering that the worst is now past. The same whispers that refuse me a glimpse of tomorrow’s battle. My fingers slip under my shirt to touch the letter. It is still there, a sign that I am not dreaming.

  Around the leaping flames, the soldiers resemble uneasy ghosts, their shapes changing restlessly, and I observe something that had eluded me before past battles: people are gathered based on similar feelings of the inherent tension before the fight – a known face here, a silhouette against the fire there. Some are silent, sitting with no visible reaction, their hoods pulled over their heads like a barrier between them and a world full of danger. Others are singing like there is no tomorrow. How many will not see the fires of next evening? Death is the hard truth of any battle. In front of me, a blade gleams briefly; it resembles a falling star. A dark hand slides along the blade, sharpening it, blocking the light. Tomorrow will be a falling star or a rising sun.

  Owls wail to each other across the dark and, through the clouds, the red moon is going west like a snail peering over the world. The night presses against my troubled mind, so dense it feels solid. Timeless night. Anticipating the bloodbath, time moves differently before a battle. Sometimes, it becomes thinner, attenuated, and every moment tries to stretch at the expense of the next ones; sometimes it runs fast, like a blind lover. It’s before the fight when you price life at its true value.

  “You are quiet.” Dochia, the Fifth Light of the Wanderers, moved silently through the grass and sat down close to me – another shadow in the darkness.

  I let her find a comfortable position; or perhaps I just wanted to delay before I spoke. “I don’t have much to say.”

  “It’s not your first battle.”

  “Most of them are afraid this might be the last one,” I gestured toward the soldiers in the valley. “Fear is a good incentive to fight ... at least, when there is not too much of it.” The sound of a stubborn mosquito trying to land on my face annoyed me, and my fingers clamped on its flying body. I am too nervous. I cleaned my fingers slowly on the grass.

  “Good coordination.” Dochia laughed with false mirth.

  “Assassins’ training,” I admitted, unwillingly. Small talk before the battle. Sometimes it helps, sometimes you hate it. “Your body reacts instinctively. Do the Wanderers see it differently?”

  “No.” A gust of wind made Dochia shudder, and she tightened the mantle around her body. I did the same – no one wears armor in the brief night before the battle. Far away, lightning painted shining rivers into the sky. For a brief instant, the world came into existence, and disappeared again. It seemed almost magic. “A storm’s brewing out there,” she glanced up. “Something has upset Fate.” A faint bruising in the hard blue sky closed over the moon and it vanished, leaving only the fires to defy the darkness.

  “Fate...” I shrugged. “It may rain.”

  The thunder crashed and boomed, as if the sky was coming down on earth. It silenced both of us and everything else at the same moment.

  “Too much rain will destroy your trap,” she understood my worries. “But a little may help it.”

  “A little rain may help,” I agreed, flaring my nostrils, to draw in the sharp wind. “In the morning, I may change the battle plan.” Dochia was not part of my war council; she had come the day before, under cover of twilight, with the two other Wanderers I had met before, in Severin. Only Vlad knew of their arrival, and they camped deep in the forest, on the top of the tallest hill. From there, they saw our work in the plain, before we covered any trace which could reveal it. I even saw her peregrine raven, Umbra, gliding high in the sky, overseeing the valley. “Bucur will charge first. If he betrays us...” Like the time around us, my sentence remained suspended between my own thoughts and hers – it was just a ruse to tease out whatever premonition she had for tomorrow.

  “I doubt it,” she said, evasively.

  “Big Mouth and Bucur already betrayed Jara and Mohor.” My hand was weaker, only my irritation was growing because I had to give more to obtain maybe nothing; it was always hard to bargain with a Wanderer for knowledge. They could see the future, and give no reason for why they would or would not enlighten you.

  “Big Mouth... Aron’s nickname is spreading,” Dochia said, amused. “What makes you think of treason?” The clouds broke again. In the strong moonlight, details of her sharp face slowly took shape. Her eyes widened, then narrowed.

  “You know what.”

  “What makes you think of treason?” she repeated and tugged her queue, frowning thoughtfully.

  “Some letters. Big Mouth passed information to Mehadin and Orban.”

  “Aron has a larger role than you are aware, in the plans laid for Frankis. Order is preferable to disorder. Look what we have now. How to achieve that order...” She opened her hands to the shadow of the looming forest, the full moon above lightening her fingers.

  “Oh, yes, the Circle has wonderful plans. They are planning and planning. Very successfully. How long have t
hey been planning now? They want an idiot like Orban to become King.”

  “I doubt that Grand Seigneur Orban is an idiot. It is not so easy to rule Arad.”

  “Beast? Would that fit better?” I remembered how most people called Orban. I put my fists on my temples and pressed hard. Are there no better men than him in all of Frankis?

  “It’s his intelligence that counts in the game of power.”

  “This is not a game, Dochia.” Eyes closed, I found myself wandering across an imagined map of the land, redrawing Frankis as a kingdom again. A time will come when I have to choose between Frankis and Arenia. I am still the legitimate Arenian King.

  “It’s good that you are taking it seriously. Everyone has a future. It isn’t always fair, it doesn’t always lead to greatness, but it goes down the road Fate has designed for each person. It’s a raw design, and the last details are up to us. In some circumstances, Aron, or any other Knight, will desert to Orban; like Mehadin’s Knights who went to Mohor. Everything around you fits into a greater riddle. It’s how things work, here or in Arenia. A Seigneur or ... an army commander is never cautious enough.” Her hand touched mine, and I waited silently, hoping that she would use her Light on me to learn the outcome of tomorrow’s battle. “I will not do it,” she said, understanding my expectations.

  “Why?” I asked, irritated by her lack of support. You are the Fifth Light of the Wanderers .You can see the future.

  “We never do this before a battle. It’s a Junction, with several futures waiting in line. Only one will survive. The Wanderers’ Light is not an axe to cut down the trees in your way. It should be used carefully, like a blade,” she touched the hilt of Flame, my short Assassin sword. “Things may come to you naturally. Keep them for yourself, and don’t try to predetermine.”

  Easy for you to say.

  “Your fight is important for you, for Jara and for Saliné right now. Severin will change or not change hands, but that means little for Frankis. The Circle is here to stay, and Orban will still rule Arad. You know what I mean.”

  “It’s all or nothing,” I shrugged. “We don’t need a victory tomorrow; we need to destroy Orban’s army.”

  “You’ve planned it well. Orban’s second army will come in two days. It will go straight to Severin, half a day’s ride from here. You know that. Even if it is destroyed, the remnants of this army should be pushed east and north. Block any courier they might send to the second army.”

  “Yesterday, a team of scouts left this army,” I gestured toward the other side of the valley, “going north-west to reach the other one. They are feeding the wolves on the road to Arad.”

  “Are you annoyed by my advice?” Dochia asked.

  “Annoyed?” I made no effort to conceal my surprise; that kind of misperception was rare in Dochia. “Look at me, Dochia. What do you see? A fugitive,” I answered before she could say anything. “A loner. I have been alone since I was fifteen, and I’ve had to make many decisions concerning life and death. Do you know what I needed the most? Advice, and there was no one to help me.” Are you testing me?

  “Leave the north-east road open. The news should reach Arad four days from now, when Cantemir arrives here,” Dochia continued, as if our last exchange had not happened, and I delved further into her words; there were hidden implications under the surface. “In Arad, everyone knows that Mohor’s army was defeated. Cantemir is coming to take over Severin.”

  “He may find it. Your digression makes sense only if there is something other than Severin’s surrender to negotiate.”

  “Yes, the ‘Master Sage’ of the Circle knows the road to Severin, but he may not find what he is expecting.” Her tone was leaning more toward slight derision than trying to underline Cantemir’s importance.

  “What makes you so sure that we will win tomorrow?” I growled, and we stayed silent for a while, senses outstretched, to feel if my outburst had been heard, attracting some of our guards. It was quiet, strangely so. There is no more wind, I realized. The calm before the storm.

  “I don’t know what tomorrow will bring, but the difference between victory and defeat, or between life and death, is sometimes thinner than a strand of hair.”

  “Like too much rain revealing our trap.”

  “Something like that.”

  “Can’t you at least tell me if the rain...”

  “What I can tell you is that Duke Stefan’s seven-hundred-strong army is coming to Severin in a week. Marc, the Spatar of Peyris, is leading it.”

  “Seven hundred are not enough to fight Orban’s main army; the Duke may have other thoughts than helping us. There were some negotiations between Orban and Stefan. It was supposed to take a while. And Orban did not raise his main army to confront the Duke.”

  “I forgot that you are Cantemir’s unofficial Lead Protector,” Dochia said, with a trace of amusement in her voice. “There are several strings of negotiation right now. The Duke of Peyris was given free passage to Severin.”

  “In exchange for what?”

  “Stefan has a claim to make here. Some land, not much, the kind of thing you use for leverage when you need it. Forty-five years ago he led an army against the Duke of Tolosa, and won the battle, not far from here, but it came at great cost; both his siblings died in the fight. That’s when the Circle decided to make him the candidate King. They never understood Stefan. He accepted the nomination, but never tried to fulfill it. His siblings’ ghosts loomed over him, mostly his sister, Neira. Unknown to the Circle, he made a pact with the Duke of Tolosa, to keep Leyona, Severin, Mehadia and Valeni as a barrier between them. For twenty years, it brought a relative calm in Frankis. Nothing like before the civil war,” she added quickly. “After Orban’s rise, their arrangement became obsolete.”

  “Why is it so important to revive the claim?” There was something strange about Dochia; she always delivered her news in a straight way. Now she was circling around something I could not guess, as if afraid to tell me.

  It took her a while to answer, and I wished for more than thin moonlight, passing through the clouds, to read her face. “He wants to have a say in the future of Severin.” Her words were almost banal, but there was an edge to them.

  “Even if Severin falls to Orban. Sometimes it seems difficult to learn from the Wanderers.”

  “We are not mentoring you,” she said, yet her voice was light. “You have enough things to worry about right now.”

  “Whatever little chance we still have, it will be the end, if Stefan attacks Severin too.” I closed my eyes, and focused on my breathing, trying to calm my thoughts.

  “He will not attack Severin; he will wait for the outcome and make sure his interests are taken into account.”

  “Such an elusive interest as he has.”

  “Stefan is not Mohor’s enemy.” Her voice was remote, almost careless.

  “An ally, perhaps?” I asked, trying not sound too derisive.

  She looked away, and paused to think. In that sudden silence, I felt the tightness in the air around us. “In a way, yes, a loose one. I will come back four weeks from now.”

  “Where are you going?” I asked, only to evade my own swirling thoughts.

  “Alba. Not the one you know in Arenia,” she added quickly. “It’s my home in Frankis. Our main Hives are named Alba, one in each Kingdom, and ... very few people know about them. We are still soldiers of the Alban Empire. So are the Assassins. There is both cooperation and rivalry between us. It has been the same since the beginning.”

  That was six hundred years ago… The Empire vanished in a long civil war, the Fracture. Nabal, the Maiden Empress’s cousin and the commander of the Imperial Legion, dethroned her, but he was not able to rule over the whole empire. It was split in two, then in more parts when army generals took over the lands they had pledged to protect. The last Empress ruled one of them as Queen, and she married at a certain point, but the Maiden Empress name remained with her. Some historians mark Nabal as the last emperor, but how muc
h truth is there? “You are the remnants of the Imperial Guard; the Assassins come from the Imperial Legion.” The last Empress became the first Seer. She tried to heal the Fracture... An Empress always had only women in her guard, and an Emperor only men. While I could guess the reason for an empress to have women in the Imperial Guard, there was no one still alive who could confirm it to me. The Imperial Legion had only men.

  “Yes. Frankis Alba is in the Zarand Mountains. I shall take you there sometime. I will return in four weeks,” Dochia repeated. She meant it to be casual, but all I perceived was her weariness.

  Chapter 2 – Dochia

  The sounds of the waking camp followed us through the forest. A horse neighed, echoed by another. Then another, and another, until the valley was full of dread, and I thought I caught a whiff of rotting corpse – a tepid stench, like a perverse intention, meant to provoke aversion. They are feeling the coming bloodbath. Animals have their own way of seeing the future. On my chest, the Wing Talisman was pulsating against my skin. I hurried my horse, fighting against the temptation to open the Light and see if Codrin would win the fight. It was not only the Rules I was obeying, but also the feeling that, victory or not, Frankis’s future was going in the wrong direction. There was no evidence to match my intuition, it was something I could not probe with my skills, but I had it nevertheless. Since when do we need proofs for our feelings? The most I could see in my visions were black stripes of mist stretching through the future’s meanders. Enough to worry, not enough to understand. Sometimes our visions are clear, sometimes there is a persona answering our questions. The mist is mute. I must talk with Valera. The first Light of the Wanderers was now old and weak, and opening the Light is physically demanding, but her mind still had no match in our Frankis order. If only Livia hadn’t gone. She was our second Light and the only one who could replace Valera, until she died in a strange accident two years ago. I am not sure it was just an accident. A thought that I always kept to myself.