“You are right. It was foolish of me.” She hardly sounded chagrined.
“I should get back to my watch,” he said, thinking it best to distance himself from her before … well, before he began to pursue what was in his heart, which he felt sure would lead to regret.
“Would you like a piece of fruit?” she asked before he could turn away. “They are sweet. Of course, now that I dropped them, they will be sandy as well.”
She knelt, a graceful movement that stole Kian’s breath. Swallowing, chiding himself for behaving like a lovesick boy, he inspected the surroundings for any sign of trouble. There was none he could see. Nevertheless, he felt it. He told himself he should simply excuse himself, continue his rounds, but he remained.
He watched Ellonlef, knowing she was the source of his trouble. Two nights gone while repairing his damaged bow, it had taken him far longer to get the job done properly, for Ellonlef had sat with him in silence, as if what he was doing was the most important thing in the world. The problem, he realized, was not that she made him nervous, but rather that having her about was so easy. Such distractions could be dangerous at the best of times, and these times were far from that.
And yet, he still did not move away, though he was sure it would have been the right thing-the safe thing-to do. After a deep breath and another glance around, he released some measure of his caution, and knelt to help gather the dates. Using a fold in her robes like a basket, they piled up the withered fruit. The last one, he kept for himself. After he dusted it off, Kian took a bite, relishing the sweet flavor, leftover sand and all.
“It has been too long since I have tasted anything this good,” he said. “At least since we departed Ammathor.”
“When did you leave the king’s city?”
Kian nibbled the fruit, thinking back. Despite his better judgment, he let her presence wash away his concerns, and a comfortable peace stole over him. “Four months, or there about.”
Ellonlef picked out a date and sampled it. “A long time to live rough.”
Kian shrugged. “There have been longer journeys. Merchants are the worst for wandering about looking for prospective buyers. As well, after they pay for two months of protection, they do all they can to squeeze four from you.”
They were silent for a time, then Ellonlef said, “Do you think what happened along the border has befallen Ammathor?”
Kian gazed off into the night. It was not the first time he had considered the same question. “At first I was sure the quakes happened only in the marshes. What we have seen since crossing the Kaliayth suggests that the whole of Aradan, perhaps all the world, has suffered.”
“What do you think is happening?”
Kian chuckled wryly. “I had hoped you could tell me. Are you not the scholar? All I am is a man with a sword.”
“You are more than that,” she said quietly, then rushed on. “All I really have are guesses. Once, my order studied all there was to study, but since Edaer Kilvar employed our services a millennia gone, we now mostly learn about the deeper workings of Aradan, her people, and her enemies. Varis, I fear, will prove to be the greatest enemy Aradan has ever faced. He is a man who has stolen the power of gods. While he has done miraculous works, I cannot doubt that he has only begun to understand his powers.”
There seemed to be a suggestion in her words directed toward Kian, but before he could think on it, she added, “The only certainty I have is this fear: if the same Prince Varis Kilvar who came to Krevar is allowed to reach even a tenth of his potential, for millennia his is the name people will remember when they tell stories of these days.”
“He cannot be allowed to survive,” Kian said before he could temper his words.
“I agree,” Ellonlef said at once.
“You do?” Kian asked, startled.
She nodded. “I saw with my own eyes how Varis raised the dead that he himself surely must have killed in the first place. His act was no mere crime to be judged, but rather the manifestation of a cunning evil the likes of which the world has never seen.”
“Why would he kill so many just to raise them again?”
“I believe he did it to curry favor among the living, adding true believers in his power and benevolence to his cause. What he did ensured that the people of Krevar owed him their lives, and the lives of their friends and family. Before Varis came, if the people of Krevar had been asked, they would have considered Varis Kilvar a prince with little chance of ever sitting the Ivory Throne. He was a highborn and royalty, but of no true real importance in their lives. After they tasted the bitterness of so many deaths, and then witnessed him raising the dead, he became more than a man, more than just another arrogant Aradaner prince-he became the Life Giver, a being who deserves absolute fealty, even worship.”
Although such machinations did not follow his normal manner of thinking, Kian understood and accepted her point, yet he still had questions. “You said before that Varis feared me because I may have some measure of the power he does,” he said cautiously, not wanting to admit openly that he now agreed with her, not when he had no idea how to employ those powers. “Even if true, I cannot see why he would be bent on finding me, when everything in my nature would suggest that I would ride north and leave him to rule as he will. After all, I am a mercenary.”
“After securing an unbreakable allegiance with the people of Krevar,” Ellonlef said, “Varis was able to fold his lies into certain truths, thereby creating a new truth altogether. Ultimately, his intention is to become a king, if not an emperor. To do that, he must overthrow House Kilvar, and that means he has need of an army. While there is enough discontent in Aradan for a gifted man to harness and use to his own ends, there is still you with which to contend. You can be likened to a bastard son of a king who may one day rise up with a claim to a throne. Only, in this instance, yours is not a claim of ancestry, but an opposing power to possibly match his own. In short, with you alive and possibly as powerful as Varis, he would never rest easy knowing you lived and could one day oppose him. I believe the solution in Varis’s mind is to build you into an enemy, a foe as much to his followers as you are a foe to him.”
Kian had to admit, her words made sense. “Do you truly believe he is this shrewd?”
“Whatever else he is, Varis is a man of the king’s court,” Ellonlef said. “Such scheming is as natural to any highborn as breathing is to you or me. And, yes, he is quite skillful,” Ellonlef added uneasily. “With little prodding on his part, his followers all but begged for the opportunity to march on Ammathor. In less than the passing of one night, he raised not only the dead, but he also birthed an army.”
“After the lands first began to shake,” Kian said, trying to gather all the pieces of the puzzle into one orderly stack, “how long was it until Varis came to Krevar?”
“The third night.”
Kian’s mouth fell open. “There is no way a man on foot could have traveled so far so fast.”
“As I said, he is more than a man.”
“You keep saying that, but if he is not a man, then what is he?”
Ellonlef swallowed audibly. “Without a better explanation, all I can say is that he must be something like a god poured into the flesh of a man.”
Kian finished his date, but the sweetness had become bitter. “If so, then do you really believe I can stop him with this remnant of the power of creation inside me, if indeed it is in me?”
“I do not know,” Ellonlef said quietly, “but I have great hope in … in you.”
Kian flushed, but when he opened his mouth to respond, he found no words.
As if trying to spare him further embarrassment, Ellonlef asked, “Do you intend to tell this story to the king?”
“Yes,” Kian said, relieved she had changed the topic. “I admit that I may be able to resist Varis’s power, but otherwise I am the same man I have ever been. I have no doubt that if a sword pierced my heart, I would fall. Perhaps it is the same with Varis. If he must die, I would rather his death come at the hands of his own blood. To do otherwise would surely result in Aradan tearing itself apart which, in the end, might be near as bad as letting Varis take the Ivory Throne. All Izutar needs is hordes of hungry, angry Aradaner refugees pouring over her border.”