The Shield of Weeping Ghosts - James P. Davis [45]
"Just remember, Thaena"-he gestured toward the fang- "where you lead, they will follow."
She heard the innocence in his voice fade. She was their ethran. What Syrolf believed, if she believed it, would become law. What the others might suspect, if she spoke aloud, they would act upon. Words-her words-could cost an innocent man his life.
Only one question remains, she thought as Syrolf approached. Is Bastun truly innocent?
"The exile has escaped," Syrolf reported smugly. "There is a passage behind one of the columns that extends for some distance into darkness. Do you wish us to pursue him?"
Thaena stared at the walls and the ceiling, imagining the size of the Shield and the myriad of places Bastun could be. She cursed him for making things far more complicated than they already were. She swore at herself as well, for believing she might be able to trust the vremyonni despite evidence to the contrary. He had betrayed what trust she had given him, and no matter his motives, she had to assume the worst-that Syrolf might be right.
"No," she said. "Though we will consider the vremyonni a threat until proven otherwise. For now the Nar must take precedence. What is the status of the western corridors?"
"No sign of the invaders," Duras answered, looking at the floor, his tone edging on anger. "The central tower seems mostly ruined, but there are stairs ascending into the north wall."
"My scouts reported lights flickering in the northwest tower." Anilya strode forward casually. "I suspect our uninvited guests will be found there."
Thaena nodded, considering the distance involved through unwarded sections of the Shield. The hathrans used only the central-most walls and towers from which to scry and watch upon the western lands. The rest of the citadel had been observed and debated over, but no direct solutions had yet been decided upon. Though she was concerned about the Shield's curse, as one of the wychlaren she was bound to deal with the Nar and the spirits they would disturb.
"We will make our way there," she said. "Guard towers along the wall may serve as safe points should we run into trouble."
Anilya left to prepare her men.
"I doubt the Creel will give us much trouble," said Syrolf. "No," Thaena said. "I fear the Creel may be the least of our worries."
Syrolf nodded, spat in the durthans direction, and went to assist the others with the bodies. The fang would follow her, but they knew the rumors of the Shield and would feel the borders of hathran wards as they crossed them. Syrolf, second only to Duras, spoke for them all, their readiness to do what must be done for Rashemen. Thaena was not particularly fond of the runescarred warrior, but she saw in his arguments a troubling logic that she was loathe to accept.
She rested her hand on Duras's shoulder, and they shared a look of brief understanding-a truce until they might be alone. She walked into the western corridor. Wild winds whistled through tall windows on the north wall, carrying snow and a chill that felt comforting after the stifling warmth of the entrance hall. The sky outside remained a solid gray wall of thick clouds, a storm front heralding the first of many more freezing days to come.
Leaning into the window she breathed in and enjoyed the freezing air as only a Rashemi could. Laying her hands on the stone, she lowered her head and prayed to the Three for forgiveness of her decisions and victory in battle against the Shield's invaders. Ice and snow on the stone numbed her hands and sent an odd sensation through her forearms. Her first instinct was to pull away, but as her heart began to hammer in her chest she thought of all she had seen in the last few hours, and she pressed her hands harder against the cold.
She spent so much time suppressing what she felt, in order to appear cold and emotionless, wise and infallible, doing it for the sake of the fang. Her mind filled with images of battle, of wielding a sword and losing herself to the bloodlust of a berserker. All this time she had spent