The Ring of Eman Vath

By Hal Emerson

The land of Aeon has been at peace for a hundred years, and towns and cities prosper. There is a new, just king in the city of Caelron, and the Sorev Ael of Var Athel keep the dangers of the Wilds at bay. But when an ancient artifact is found and brought through Dunlow, a fleet of ships with black sails invades in the dead of night, leaving hundreds dead. The land of Aeon is left reeling, and the lives of three young people are changed forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Hal Emerson
• Release date: Jun 8, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370948079

Hal Emerson

Hal Emerson lives in the San Francisco Bay Area. He has an undying obsession with raspberries and good espresso.

Book preview

The Ring of Eman Vath

In the Land of Aeon Book #1

By: Hal Emerson

Copyright © 2015 by Bradley Van Satterwhite

All rights reserved.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

First Edition, Digital, 2015

Table of Contents

Chapter One: The Fairfield

Chapter Two: Visitors

Chapter Three: Stories in the Night

Chapter Four: Invasion

Chapter Five: The Great Ship

Chapter Six: The Kull

Chapter Seven: The Road to Var Athel

Chapter Eight: Rane

Chapter Nine: Wren

Chapter Ten: Flight

Chapter Eleven: Apprentice

Chapter Twelve: The Minor Arcana

Chapter Thirteen: Valinor Therin

Chapter Fourteen: The Last Thief

Chapter Fifteen: Captive

Chapter Sixteen: Need

Chapter Seventeen: The Northern Isles

Chapter Eighteen: Little Bird

Chapter Nineteen: Escape

Chapter Twenty: Blood of the Eryn-Ra

Chapter Twenty-one: The Wilds

Chapter Twenty-two: Binding

Chapter Twenty-three: Fort Turin

Chapter Twenty-four: Pursuit

Chapter Twenty-five: Blood, Word, and Song

Epilogue

About the Author

Preview of The Prince of Ravens

Chapter One

The Fairfield

Dunlow was a quiet place – sleepy, some might say – and it had no aspirations to be anything else.

It was a large village, possibly a small town, and known vaguely throughout the Peninsula as a place of people both hardworking and stubborn. Located a good distance south of the great city of Caelron, and also a good distance north of the sprawling inland city of Londor, it was just far enough away from both that most people could say they had visited even if they never had. It was exactly the same time and distance to both cities, in fact – five days by wagon; three if you had a good horse – and though no one really cared, the people of Dunlow loved to tell anyone willing to listen that their town was in the exact, dead center of the Peninsula.

Existing in-between as it did, Dunlow managed largely on its own, save for occasional trade with other towns. It had not seen a tax collector in over fifty years, and neither Caelron nor Londor seemed certain whose influence it fell under, so, in the name of good manners and shrewd politics, no influence was exerted. This left Dunlow to take care of itself, which it did perfectly well, thank you very much.

A streak of pride ran through the population of Dunlow – the stubborn kind that comes from rising before dawn and working past sunset. It extended to every aspect of their lives: Dunlowians were proud of the harvest, proud of each other, and by and large proud of their place in the world. They elected their own council to run the town and to ensure a fair shake for any accused of wrongdoing, and they were quite proud of that too.

They were also, it should be noted, proud of their humility.

Though the duly elected town council was enough for most matters, there was also a mayor for bigger events of smaller importance. Dunlow was just large enough of a village to need a mayor, and just small enough of a town that he did not have much to do. In the years of King Malineri’s reign, the office fell to the lot of Eldric Stonewall, owner of the Fairfield Inn.

Eldric was a bold man, though not particularly cut from heroic cloth. He was dark of eye and middling of height, and he tended to thoughtfulness instead of laughter, though he was courteous and affable enough for a good reputation. As a boy he earned his spending money mending odds and ends around Dunlow – a chair here, a wagon tongue there – and the older generation took note. The young Eldric was good with his hands – indeed, rather brilliant at times – and that meant he had a future. When the boy became a young man, the Council spoke to his parents.

The aging Stonewalls took the town’s advice and apprenticed Eldric to a carpenter in Ouldin, one of the fishing villages that lined the coast. He was gone for five years, visited briefly before his two-year stint as a traveling journeyman, and then returned for good several years later with Guild papers in hand.

His parents were delighted to have him home, and Dunlow at large was ecstatic. A man with Guild papers was a man employable anywhere throughout Aeon – even in Aginor or Londor or Caelron itself. The fact that Eldric had chosen to return home after earning the rank of Master was a huge boon for Dunlow; only a handful of people in its long history had been officially sanctioned by one of the twelve Guilds. Not that they thought such finery was needed – most of them got along perfectly well without such pomp and nonsense – but to turn away an official sanction would be unthinkably arrogant, which they most certainly were not.

When Eldric’s parents heard he was returning, they set aside space on their property for him to open up a carpenter’s shop. They were quite beside themselves with excitement. They beamed at him when he strode through their door and offered smiles and awkward, aging-elbow hugs. Old Rubin Stonewall fought to hold back tears at the sight of his full-grown son, though his wife Eda wept openly.

Eldric was glad to be home, or so he told himself. He ate well and drank, speaking deep into the night about the shop he would build and the tools he would order on credit with the backing of his Papers. He dreamed aloud about how he would help raise up the rest of Dunlow so that it would never again be considered just a backwater village but fully acknowledged as a town of solid reputation. When his parents retired for the night, he went to the bed and room of his childhood and watched the stars through his window.

There is a constellation in the land of Aeon that has never been seen elsewhere – a constellation called the Sisters. It consists of two starry women holding aloft a single Sorev Ael staff. It is only visible at midnight and only on the horizon, like a dream that fades as each new day begins. The story of the Sisters was always a favorite of Eldric’s, and as he lay on the soft wool blankets, his heels hanging off the edge of the short child’s bed, he remembered the story and grew sad.

There were men of learning in Aeon, men called Sorev Ael, who studied the hidden powers of the world in the city of Var Athel. Var Athel lay just north of Caelron, opposite the Shining City on the other side of Maiden’s Bay. From the Sorev Ael had come some of the great legends of Aeon, and the story of the Sisters was one of the most remarkable. Their deeds and adventures were many, but what Eldric remembered as he stared up at the bright white stars that hung in the black velvet of the night sky was that the Sisters had been issued Papers just as he had. They had been trained as clothiers to inherit their mother’s store, but when the time came for them to do so, they found themselves unable. They saw what the years had done to their mother, how she was bent, gray, and lonely, and they spoke to each other in quiet whispers about what they wanted for their lives instead.

The scene of their announcement played itself out in endless permutations in Eldric’s head that night. He wondered if they had quarreled, wondered if their mother had been so disappointed that she had wept. For in the morning, the Sisters told her that they could not stay – that they were only back for provisions before they departed again to report to Var Athel.

It was a lie, of course. In that day women were not tested for the spark of the Sorev Ael, the Servants of All. Still, the Sisters knew that to tell the truth – that they wanted nothing to do with their mother’s life – would have been unnecessarily cruel. Their mother was understandably distraught, but she could not oppose what she thought to be the will of the Sorev Ael. The Sisters left her what money they had received with their Papers – several years’ wages – and told their mother to do with it as she would. They left immediately after, desperate to escape.

They arrived at Var Athel penniless, with only the clothes on their backs. They had no proof that they had even a shred of talent, had never shown any signs of power, and had never even given the Sorev Ael much thought. But when they arrived at Var Athel they demanded testing – even though women were not allowed into the Sorcerers’ Court in that day. They were, of course, denied entry.

They stayed at the gate of the Citadel for three days and three nights, sleeping in shifts. Finally, it was Rothoc the Bold, then head of the Circle that rules Var Athel, who went out to test them himself. The Keeper of Var Athel, an ancient being part man and part enchantment, appeared before them and held out his staff. They both placed hands upon it without hesitation, and a brilliant light flooded the whole of the courtyard, blinding onlookers who had come to watch two foolish women be taught a lesson.

When the light faded, Rothoc came forward and embraced them like long lost daughters. When he released them, he smiled and said simply, You have come home.

Eldric fell asleep thinking of that story, and for the first time was confused by it. There was a sick yearning in his heart and a war in his mind between what was expected of him and what he wanted. He slept very little, and what dreams he had were dark and full of fear.

When he woke the next morning, it was to the misty gray light of pre-dawn. He tried to push away his thoughts from the night before along with his confused imaginings of his future. Stories were for children, and he had grown up. He splashed water on his face, tore off a chunk of bread on his way through the kitchen, and went out into the morning.

The air was crisp, though the cold did not seem to touch him. He was divorced from his body as only those on the verge of a profound change can be. His mind was awake despite the hours of lost sleep, and he went to the plot of land set aside for his shop, tools in hand, and made ready to build according to the plans he had drawn.

But then he stopped and began to think.

Eldric was of that strange and bygone breed of men that enjoys contemplation. For many in Dunlow, contemplation was at best a pleasant diversion when no conversation was to be had and at worst a dangerous distraction from the constant necessity of work. It was not so for Eldric. Thinking was a part of him, as much as his skin or bones. He had old blood in him – the ancient blood of the men who had made the first fire and looked at the world in wonder. So when he stood on that plot of land, the flat and level earth behind his parents’ modest home, thoughts rushed in on him the way that first love does: all at once, encompassing.

He thought again of the Sisters – how they had turned away from the easy life that well-meaning others had tried to force on them. He thought of his parents and what they expected of him; thought of the years he had spent training in Ouldin and later throughout the Peninsula. A typical man of Dunlow who had such thoughts would have dismissed them, for thoughts of such nature interfered with work and work was the height of virtue. Eldric, however, was not a typical man. He was perhaps more and perhaps less, but either way makes up a difference.

He slowly turned and looked around the family plot, held in the grip of something beyond his understanding. The Stonewall plot was old – one of the oldest in Dunlow – and the house had stood for generations. The road that traveled the Peninsula from Caelron to Londor was just visible from where he stood. The smaller road that branched off of it and passed through Dunlow all the way to the foot of the Windy Mountains ran right by the Stonewall plot. The Village Green was nearby too, and the oldest, biggest shops. Everything from the blacksmith to the clothier was within walking distance.

And so it was that in the fine mist of a breaking day, Eldric Stonewall realized what he was going to do with his life.

He woke his parents and told them what he planned, speaking feverishly. They listened in dismay as he made clear his intention to throw away a solid profession in favor of an ill-formed dream, but as he spoke, their minds began to change. He saw the spark in their eyes when it flared to life, and he did not let up until he had fanned it to a full blaze. He spoke through the morning, afternoon, and night, unfolding to them his vision, and when finally he fell silent they were bursting with pride and urging him onward.

He worked nonstop over the next week, as only a man devoted to a dream can do. He drew up plans in a feverish daze, sleeping in sporadic bursts that were broken by lightning bolts of inspiration that threw him back into frantic motion. When finally he was done, he slept for a day and a half.

He went to Lare, the town builder, and unfolded his plans with no less enthusiasm than he had to his parents. Lare, gnarled with age but still strong of eye and limb, was impressed. He too caught the fever, and the number of dreamers increased to four.

Together they went to the Village Council, a group of some dozen men and women from the most influential families in Dunlow. If Eldric had come on his own, a young man with a head full of strange ideas, he no doubt would have been dismissed. But together with his parents and Builder Lare, he drew their eye.

Soft-spoken as he was, and prone to bouts of quiet contemplation, not many had heard him speak before that day. But Eldric, overcome with passion, spoke with the fire and eloquence of men several times his learning; and as he had done with his parents, so too did he work his magic on the Council.

There was little on the docket that day, and Lilibet Struan, the current Head, thought that when the floor was opened for petitions the meeting would soon be done and over with. There was only old Lare and the Stonewall family in attendance that night from all the village, save for Poal the scribe, and she was looking forward to an early night. She went through the normal proceedings with extra speed, then opened the floor for comment. As soon as she fell silent, Eldric stood.

They greeted him with smiles – a young man with Papers is always considered an upstanding citizen by default – and commented on how much he had grown. He thanked them and began to speak.

At first, there was only stunned silence. The announcement that he did not wish to live a carpenter’s life shocked and appalled many of the older and more conservative members of the council, but, as he continued, the silence turned from shocked to captivated. He spoke the same way he had spoken to Lare and to his parents, for that was the way he spoke to everyone when the passion of a thing was in him. He painted a picture of what he intended to do and spoke of how the idea had come to him. He spoke until his mouth was dry and all his dreams had been laid bare, and when he finally fell silent the sky outside had turned from the amber-gold of sunset to the pitch-black of night.

It is doubtful that the Council had ever heard so audacious a plan before, but though the people of Dunlow are proud and stubborn, there runs in them a streak of imagination like a vein of gold buried deep beneath the earth. If it is uncovered and brought to light, there is much of wonder and excitement there, and such was on display that night. Lilibet Struan broke the silence:

How can we help?

Eldric grinned and told them.

The very next day a town gathering was called, which old Mayor Appledown helped to organize. When everyone was in attendance, Eldric laid out his plan. Some shook their heads in reluctance, and some seemed angry that time would be wasted on such a scheme, but most were excited, and soon Eldric had the help and supplies he needed.

It was on that day that he met Jaes Heatherfield.

Her father, Chester Heatherfield, came up to Eldric after he had finished addressing the village and told the young man that he regretted his inability to help. He was just on the far side of middle-aged, and so was his wife. The only child they had ever had was Jaes, and if they left the fields they owned at the foot of the Windy Mountains, they would never pull in enough crops to feed themselves, much less make a profit when the traders came.

But Eldric heard very little of this, because Jaes had come up beside her father, and as soon as he laid eyes on her he knew, just as he had known about his future, that she was what he wanted.

She was tall and curved and strong: a farmer’s daughter with no older brothers to help with the chores. She stood straight and looked him in the eye, and when she smiled her whole face beamed and his heart melted.

Chester Heatherfield, no fool, stopped speaking when it became clear that Eldric, while doing his best to appear attentive, was only hearing one in every twenty words. Mr. Heatherfield made the introductions straight away – for there is very little that will stand in the way of a Dunlow farmer seeing his daughter well married – and when Eldric took Jaes’ hand in greeting, they fell in love immediately.

It took three years to build the inn, which, actually, was quite a feat for such a small town. It was three stories tall – audacious in that time and place – and had a common room, three stables in back, and one whole side made of the same stone wall that had given Eldric his family name.

Jaes came every day to help him work. Chester Heatherfield, a clever twinkle in his eye, told her that Eldric had begged him for the extra help, and that if she worked well she could continue going. Jaes, no fool herself, went along with the ruse.

The inn, already a fantastic vision, was inspired to new heights by the presence of Jaes. Eldric built it as much for her as for himself – he pushed himself to new heights of ingenuity in order to show her what he could do, and every time her expression turned to one of surprise and wonder, he fell in love with her all over again.

Jaes, for her part, was Eldric’s equal in many ways, for she was as good with people as he was with ideas. She was known throughout the town and knew each and every resident in turn. She convinced Blacksmith Thomil to work practically for free and made sure Builder Lare was always on call but out of the house when Mistress Lionel was around. And when the Council met she was often in attendance, her ear pricked for any noise the older and stodgier members of the village cared to make about the racket or the way things were changing. For those who were leery of the inn, she often had a soothing word that put their minds at ease; and for those that downright opposed it, she had a sharp-taloned scolding ready to let fly.

But it was when she returned to Eldric and told him what she had done – how she had organized a meeting or turned a thorny protestor into an intrigued proponent – that she earned her true reward. His eyes would light up and he would stand a full inch taller, as though filled with excess life.

There are much worse ways to fall in love, and little better.

Three years passed all too quickly, and when they were done Eldric realized he had a simple choice before him: let Jaes return to the Heatherfield farm, or ask for her hand in marriage. He chose the latter.

Their wedding took place the day the inn was opened, and the whole village turned out for it. It was a grand affair, as only country folk can put on, with freely flowing ale from Danil Greer, apple tarts and fresh-churned cream from Village Head Lilibet’s sister-in-law Alice, sizzling meats from Lopin Buie’s stock, and fruit fresh-picked from the Appledown orchard brought by Mayor Appledown himself. There was dancing and music and beauty, and the midsummer stars watched it all with a twinkle in their eyes.

The inn was named the Fairfield, and it was exactly as they had imagined it.

The little girl came scarcely a year later – it is perhaps unsurprising to say that there was a fierce and constant effort to make her in those early months of marriage – and she was the talk of the town. Both Eldric and Jaes were well-regarded citizens by then, and many had heard Mayor Appledown speaking openly of retirement now that a fine young man had come to take his place.

But Jaes’ pregnancy was not an easy one. Despite the best help and care from Ellen Buie, midwife of the town and one of Lopin Buie’s wide and ranging brood of children, she was forced into bed rest, where her condition only worsened. Fear filled the Fairfield then, try as Eldric might to frighten it away with song and drink and guests.

The day of the girl’s birth was horrible, fraught with pain and suffering. It drove Eldric nearly mad to hear the screams that echoed from the birthing room, and he was well and truly in his cups by the time night fell, surrounded by a dozen well-meaning men who had been through such fathering before.

Little work was done in the village that day – Eldric and Jaes lived in the consciousness of the town as the prime example of good Dunlow folk, and not a single person could hear of their troubles and not offer up a word of prayer to the Creator. Many gravitated to the inn, as if drawn by a magnetic force, and though few entered, they all made excuses to be nearby.

Finally, the girl was born, but Jaes could not stop bleeding.

Ellen Buie, the midwife, grew desperate and sent for Doc Staevns despite the well-customed prohibition against men in the birthing room. He was known as a levelheaded man with steady hands and years of experience treating both man and beast. It is lucky that he came, for it was Doc Staevns that saved Jaes’ life. But after, when he came to Eldric, the doctor’s face was grim.

Jaes lived, but she would never again conceive.

It was at this point that all eyes turned to the newborn girl.

All that is left is to name her, Jaes said when she and Eldric were finally alone. Their tears had dried as they held each other, and now in the aftermath of the ordeal there was finally time for thought. Jaes was still weak, but she was young and her spirit strong, and you could see from her eyes that she was determined not to let this gift go to waste. The baby girl was laid between them on their wide bed, the best and widest in the village, and as they spoke she slept softly on, oblivious.

We wanted to have two, Eldric said, careful to speak gently. I never told you, but I dreamed of naming them… well, it sounds foolish now.

You’re always foolish, Jaes said as she tried to hold back tears. She smiled softly even though she wished to cry.

He smiled back and spoke slowly. My parents told me stories when I was younger. One set of stories in particular.

He looked at her, asking without words whether he should continue, and she nodded her assent, a watery smile pushing its way across her face. He nodded back, self-consciously cleared his throat, and told her of the stars.

There were two sisters – one named Amyl and one named Quinyl. They were Sorev Ael – the first women sorcerers, or so the story goes, and rarer still for their strength. Both of them earned the Staff and Ring only years after coming to Var Athel. Quinyl was one of the most skilled Namers the Citadel had ever seen, and Amyl became a Mage. She was even offered a position on the Circle itself…

He told the stories late into the night, going through the various tales, their storied parts in the early days of the war with Charridan, their travels through the Northern Wilds to the land of the fabled Eryn-Ra, and their rumored romances with princes of Calinae and Laniae. She listened to it all with rapt attention.

You remind me of those stories every day, he said quietly. You make me feel like a boy, hearing them over again for the first time, and I cannot help but love you.

Jaes cried in earnest then, and the tears were the bittersweet kind of slowly healing sorrow. But she held his head between her hands and spoke back fiercely.

There is no better man than you in all the world – and I love you with all my heart. Is it your wish to name our daughter after one of these women?

No, he said slowly, holding her hand to soften the blow, since there will be no sister to follow her. Jaes’ face fell and she looked down, feeling as though she were a broken thing that could no longer live up to its purpose. But Eldric raised her head again and looked into her eyes.

I wish to name her after both, he said. And she will be enough.

Jaes smiled through her tears. She looked down again at the sleeping child.

AmyQuinn, she said. AmyQuinn.

Chapter Two

Visitors

The girl stood tall on the hillside, squinting against the wind.

From the Lookout Spot, she watched the merchant train as it came down the PenRo and waited with bated breath to see if it would turn. It was smaller than others she had seen – barely four or five wagons and a dozen free-riding men on horses – but still clearly a merchant traveling south to Londor.

The wind shifted as it often did and whipped down suddenly from behind her. The cold sea breeze that gave the Windy Mountains their name raised goosebumps along her bare neck and arms, and she swayed slightly as the wall of air buffeted her. The force of it was strong enough to lift her heavy brown braid off her back and swing it around to her chest.

She shivered, then forced herself to stop. Bolin Buie had said he could plunge into the Silvercreek Pond without shivering and she had flat out denied such an outrageous assertion. He had of course insisted on the truth of his statement, and so the two of them had done the right thing and agreed to both do it, so that the person who shivered last would win a prize as yet to be determined. Both had agreed on nullification rights should the offered prize not suit on the day of the engagement, though that was mere formality. Pride was on the line – unless the offered prize was insultingly bad, there was no backing down. Determined to win, AmyQuinn had been practicing all week. A little wind was nothing compared to the icy cold of the Pond, and she had better buck up if she expected to show Bolin Buie that she was no chickenheart.

She hoped Ernin would not be there. Ever since her thirteenth birthday several weeks ago, he had started looking at her when he did not think she could see him. Not that she really minded it – it was just awkward, and she did not want distractions. Her feud with Bolin Buie was of paramount importance.

The merchant train turned, taking the loop in the road that led from the PenRo up to Dunlow.

A shivery spike of excitement raced through her, banishing all thoughts of ponds and boys. She squinted harder and held a hand to her forehead to shade her eyes. The train was still many miles distant but clearly visible from the Lookout Spot. She turned to share a smile with Lenny but stopped when she remembered he was not there today.

She frowned and smoothed her long wool dress with her hands. The dress was horribly scratchy, and as she thought about it she hated it all over again. Whoever had invented dresses deserved to be eaten by Lupin Buie’s pigs.

Sullenly, she glared around the Lookout Spot, but there was neither man nor beast in sight upon which to vent her ire. She hesitated for a moment, caught up in wanting to hate the dress and all the grown-up nonsense it represented, and then decided it could not hurt to do the thing one more time.

She twirled around and watched the skirt flare out, flashing in the setting sun. A thrill rushed through her, though she did not smile. She stopped and watched the skirt descend, eyeing its light floral pattern. The background color was the green of deep forests or the Silvercreek Pond in summer when the sun shines through the leaves. It really was quite pretty. She was not too proud to admit that. She supposed that though dresses were still exceedingly stupid, if she had to wear one, this one was not so bad.

She refocused on the task at hand.

The merchant train was closer now, and she knew that soon it would be visible from the Fairfield Inn itself. If she did not leave immediately, she would have been neglectful in her self-appointed duty. Picking up the hem of her skirt and baring her stockinged legs in a most unladylike manner, she raced down off the back of the Lookout Spot, an enormous half-buried boulder at the foot of the Windy Mountains, and flew down the lesser slope beside the rock, racing toward the inn.

The wind tore at her as she went, unearthing a smile as rare as any diamond. It whipped past her face and took hold of her long braid so that it streamed out behind her like the tail of a kite. She jumped and hopped the trail breaks, rounded the Meeting Oak that led to both the Silvercreek Pond and the Lookout Spot, and then came to flatter ground, blood rushing through her limbs and breath catching in her chest. She breached the final scrum of trees on the edge of town and then was off along the road that led all the way from the Windy Mountains through Dunlow and eventually to the PenRo itself.

She raced past the outer farms and houses, most of which were built of solid stone and stout oak with thatched roofs that kept Alister Thatcher in good business. The sun was making its way down the western half of the sky, throwing long shadows out before her. She felt light-headed and giddy as her arms and legs pumped furiously in her reckless sprint, and she used the momentum of her downhill dash to power her through the small dips and rises of the unleveled road. She felt like a sea-blown gust of wind; she felt free and unstoppable.

A few people called out to her as they made their way home from the fields or the shops in town. They knew her and knew too what it meant to see her running at such a tear from the direction of the hills. She left a commotion in her wake like a stone skipping across a pond, and the eddies of conversation brimmed with excitement as the conversants stowed their tools, secured their work, and followed after her. A few of the younger children tried to race alongside her, and one or two kept up for a time until their mothers called them back. The adults shouted questions that she answered back as shortly as she could:

AmyQuinn! How many this time?

Not many!

From north or south?

North!

Caelron, eh? How soon?

Sunset!

She reached the lowest slope of the hilly west side of Dunlow and then raced up the final rise on which was located the Village Green and the Fairfield Inn itself.

The air rushed in and out of her lungs with fiery insistence, but she neither stopped nor slowed. She pushed herself harder up that last incline, using the momentum she had gathered on her careening downhill run to give her extra speed. She broke over the top of the hill into the last slice of sunlight beaming down over the Mountains on that bright end-of-summer day, and breathlessly watched the merchant train peak around the side of the bend that would bring them up to Dunlow. With the sun behind her, her shadow stretched all the way out to touch the first wagon – a huge unwieldy thing with four spoked wheels each the size of her whole body. The darkness she cast was long enough that it almost fell across the driver and the man who sat on the running board beside him, both of whom she could only make out as slices of watery color in the light of the setting sun.

Something jarred inside her, like a heartbeat gone sideways, and in the same instant the man beside the driver suddenly raised a hand to shield his eyes. The colors of his cloak solidified as the distance closed: gray and black like volcanic ash. The wind grabbed eagerly at it, covetous, the same way it had clutched at her dress. She shivered, though she was not sure why, then shook off the strange feeling and rushed into the Fairfield.

Father!

Gasping, she pulled up just inside the door. There was no one in the common room. The fireplace off in the distance to her right, large and stone-lined with well-padded and well-worn chairs scattered before it, was dark and unlit on this summer’s day; the small bar with the door that led to the kitchen on the opposite side of the room was unmanned; and the stairs, directly in front of her past the wide dinning tables, were freshly swept but empty.

She hurried to her parents’ quarters – up the stairs that ran around the inn – and skidded to a halt on the first floor landing, ignoring the ascending path of polished wood that continued up and around to the lofted third floor. She crossed through a small corridor into the large apartments that were for her family’s use alone.

Father!

In here! came a distance reply.

She followed the sound, taking a set of steep and narrow stairs down to her father’s workshop – what had once been the inn’s basement.

Father, there’s a merchant!

She turned the final curve in the staircase, running her hands along the stone-and-mortar walls that doubled as the inn’s foundation, and emerged into a wide chamber where Eldric Stonewall stood fiddling with something on a large wooden table. Light came from high windows in the far wall, illuminating the slab of heavy oak that bisected the room. It was covered with knickknacks of every size, shape, and material – big, small, middling; wood, metal, ceramic; hollow, tubular, conic – that her father tinkered with when there was no other business to attend to.

But at the mention of the merchant, he looked up immediately.

His dark eyes peered over the rim of the little round glasses he wore when working, and he smiled. What would I do without you? he asked. I will be right up. How many?

He took off the glasses and placed them carefully in the breast pocket of his flowing white shirt, then quickly undid the heavy leather carpenter’s apron he always wore in the workshop. He threw it over a hook in the corner with the easy, practiced motion of a man half his age.

Only four or five wagons – but they’re definitely coming.

Excellent. Find your mother – she’s at the Hall.

AmyQuinn retreated back up the stairs as her father followed, the same excitement in her evident in him and his quick, sure movements. She hurried back through the common room and out onto the Green.

There was a crowd gathering, made up of those AmyQuinn had passed on the way down the road. Others were coming too: those who had ended their work in the fields and had heard the news, and those who always came for a drink at the Fairfield to celebrate the day’s end.

The merchant train was working its way up the long slope that led to the Green, and though AmyQuinn wished to stay and see it arrive, she had a job to do. She hurried through the crowd to a long, low building that lay situated across the Green from the Fairfield and ducked through the side door that led to the private council chambers.

She found her mother talking animatedly with a number of other women, two of whom had dour looks on their faces – looks that told AmyQuinn they’d gotten the short end of whatever stick they had been haggling over. When the women noticed her, the conversation stopped, and they all assumed identical scandalized looks.

Realizing her error half a second too late, AmyQuinn dropped the skirt of her dress so that it covered her stockings again. It did not stop the elderly women from exchanging of a number of dark looks, though, the most intense of which came from ancient Katlin Prue, who looked so much like a vulture that AmyQuinn could quite easily imagine her cawing over the fresh carrion of some poor rule-breaking child.

Mother, she said quickly, trying to skate over the incident, there’s a merchant train – father asked for you.

Excuse us, young lady, said Katlin Prue in a patronizing voice that dripped supercilious venom, but this is a council meeting, and we –

Oh let it go, Katlin, one of the few men on the council said from the other side of the room, rolling his eyes. It’s the end of the day and we’ve gotten nowhere.

Let’s meet again tomorrow, Jaes Stonewall said in a neutral voice that revealed nothing. I will see you then. She turned to go, and the others had no choice but to let her.

Once they were out of the room, her mother glanced down at AmyQuinn and smiled brightly, an expression that dropped a dozen years off her face. I’ve got old Jolinda running in circles trying to get that plot of land she thinks is hers, she said with a conspiratorial grin. She has the worst claim, of course, but we cannot just outright say that because she’s old enough and bitter enough that we would never hear the end of it until the day she dies. You came in at the perfect time to allow me to stall for another day. Now tell me about the merchant.

AmyQuinn quickly filled her mother in on all she had seen, and by the time she had finished they were at the edge of the Green, that wide and cultivated patch of grass that served as the meeting place for all public events in Dunlow. Currently, it was more yellow and brown as a seasonal consequence of the summer heat, but that did not bother anyone. A name was a name – chances were that even if it were burned completely to ash, the force of tradition would still have them calling the leftover dirt the Green for several further generations.

Go to your father, Jaes Stonewall said quickly, eyeing the merchants over the heads of those nearby. Tell him they’ll likely need both good stables and a double round of drink. Have the mutton ready in case they ask for it but offer the venison first – remind him that if we do not find someone to eat it we will waste the whole thing by the end of the week.

AmyQuinn nodded and hurried off through the crowd, trying not to swell too visibly with the pride of her importance as message-carrier. Her mother moved up to the front of the crowd, where she was joined by a number of the other members of the council, some of whom had just finished the day’s work on their farms and needed to hear about what was happening.

A-Q!

She did not stop when she heard her nickname, but she did look back over her shoulder. It was her best friend, Liv. Liv was older than AmyQuinn, and also the granddaughter of ex-Council Head Lilibet. Her auburn hair shone in the sunset and her beautiful pale skin was flushed beneath the scattering of her freckles. She was tall and lean, and though the dress she wore was wool, she had a light blue apron over it that made her look, if possible, even prettier than she already was. There was a boy beside her and slightly behind – the tall, dark-haired Lenny, Liv’s brother.

A-Q! Liv called again; AmyQuinn waved back but did not slow. She reached the entrance to the Fairfield just as the merchant train pulled up over the lip of the road that circled the Green. She had to tear her eyes away from it as she plunged once more into the relative shade of the inn.

Eldric Stonewall was behind the bar, passing in and out of the kitchen with the scullery maid, Winsley, and the cook, Jasper.

Father! she cried out before he could disappear again. He stopped and turned back to her. Mother says –

Venison pie, both good stables, double round?

She nodded, slightly crestfallen.

That woman thinks I would lose my head if she did not help me keep it attached, he said with an amused chuckle before ducking back into the kitchen.

A-Q.

AmyQuinn turned to her friends, both of whom had come through the wide double doors after her. A number of other inn-occupants were about now: there were always a half-dozen travelers in Dunlow on any given day, staying a night or two on their way from Caelron down to Londor or vice versa. They had stirred from their rooms and were moving out onto the Green, watching the commotion with interest.

What’s going on? Liv asked.

Merchants, AmyQuinn said quickly, letting some of her own excitement show through, though not too much. I saw them from the Lookout Spot.

I told you we should have gone, Lenny said sullenly.

Mother would have killed us, Liv replied.

AmyQuinn!

She turned back and saw her father leaning out of the kitchen door.

What’re you doing? he demanded, a twinkle in his eye. Get out there and let me know what kind of merchant we’re dealing with!

She grinned and went for the door, Lenny and Liv hot on her heels. They broke through the edge of the crowd and then managed to wriggle and squirm their way to the front. Jaes Stonewall and the rest of the Council were greeting the merchants, focusing on one in particular: a fat man with a purple crushed-velvet vest and voluminous indigo trousers. AmyQuinn, like a number of the Dunlow townsfolk, could not help but stare. She had never seen anyone wear that color – those clothes must have cost a fortune. And he wore them while traveling!

Looking past him, she saw that the others in the train were moving the horses, carts, and wagons around the side of the Fairfield toward the stables in the back. A number of men with a dangerous air about them had split between the two – some moving off with the wagons and some staying behind with the merchant.

But in all the commotion and with all the sights to be seen – the tall, imposing guards; the sleek, strong carthorses – her eyes were drawn to a single man standing back up the road, away from the crowd.

It was the man who’d been riding beside the merchant. His hair was full and jet-black save for two slim wings of silver at his temples, and his face was rough and creased, carved by the elements like an age-old rock.

He was dressed like a beggar, but he carried himself like a king. His cloak was simple – dark gray wool with a deep hood hung down the back – and his faded red vest, white shirt, and dark breeches were threadbare and travel-stained. His leather boots were scuffed and the heels looked worn. His head, though, was unbowed, and his back and shoulders were straight and stiff.

A sudden flash of light drew her gaze to his right hand. He wore a ruby ring there, set in gold, and when he reached up to pull his cloak more tightly about him, she saw that he carried a thick wooden staff as well. The ring shone in the waning light of the sun, throwing off red light, and the staff was nearly as tall as he was. He leaned on it slightly as if it were a walking stick and nothing more, but it was gnarled and twisted and unlike any walking stick AmyQuinn had ever seen.

Do you see that man? she asked Liv and Lenny quietly.

The merchant? Liv asked, eyeing the indigo-dyed clothing with envy as she fingered her light imitation-blue apron. I wonder if he’s willing to trade with us? Maybe he has some of that dye… just a bit cannot be too much, right?

No, not him. The other one – the tall man with the staff.

Maybe he’s another merchant, Lenny said slowly. He at least took the time to spare the man a glance, though he seemed unimpressed. Sometimes they travel together, you know.

AmyQuinn wanted to insist further, but just as she opened her mouth to do so, the man in the faded red vest and dark gray cloak turned his head and raked the crowd with his eyes. A sudden flare of heat rushed through her, sending her heart racing. His eyes were deep black, like the color of burnt wood before it turns to ash, and they seemed to hold her and pull her apart, looking into all the corners of her body and mind, summing her up – and then they swept past, over the rest of the crowd, combing and categorizing.

Cheers suddenly sounded from the townsfolk around her,