Harbinger

THIRTEEN Girding the Order

Sorcha felt as though she’d been drifting along a gentle forest creek that had suddenly and abruptly turned into a tumultuous white-water ride. In the beginning she’d been so busy fleeing the Circle of Stars that she hadn’t thought of turning to fight. Now it felt as if she was being shoved that way. It was useless to dig in her toes now—better to dive in and go with it.

Merrick’s visions, the thinning of the barrier, and now the revelation of the traitor told them all that they could no longer afford to hide. Before the deaths in the citadel, all of the Brothers had been merely scattered survivors hanging on to their scars and memories. The revelation of an infiltrator among them had given the Order something to rally around. Now they had a mission and that seemed to make all the difference.

Without Zofiya, Sorcha worried that her partner would never sleep again. While Sorcha felt stronger than ever, she could see the toll it was taking on Merrick. It was not just the lack of sleep—it was what he was doing.

Two days after the exposure of the reason the cantrips had failed, he had locked himself away with his Conclave and the rune Mesa. That was all the time Sorcha had felt comfortable giving him. When his partner caught a rare sight of him, she observed his pale look and deep shadows lingering around his face. However, she did not chivvy him about it, knowing full well that all of them were under strain, and all close to breaking.

Sorcha and Raed busied themselves by stepping up the search for lost brethren. While Merrick and his Conclave worked in a small room off the Great Hall, Sorcha found herself on the battlements, freezing cold, with a contingent of Brothers skilled in the art of weirstone.

“How does it go?” Raed asked as he carried up the last of the weirstone supply. He’d committed himself to splitting his time acting as general dogsbody for the searchers, and working to get the infirmary and its patients ready to move. Given the choice Sorcha knew which task she would have preferred. The infirmary was at least warm and not lashed by the chill winds that howled regularly down the valley.

She gestured to the line of Brothers, sitting cross-legged, with their various cloaks wrapped around them, clutching weirstones. “As you can see, hard at work, but it is a strain to keep searching. I have to make sure the Brothers don’t fall at their posts from exhaustion.”

Raed cocked an eyebrow at her. “Not using the weirstones yourself?”

“Believe it or not, there is a skill to it,” she shot back, knowing full well he’d heard her complain about the stones before. “Besides, I have another mission.”

Leading him away from the line of concentrating Deacons, she took him around the corner where Deacon Troupe sat at her work. Raed’s eyes took in the swirling weirstone at her lap and widened slightly. Troupe was too deep in study to notice either of them.

“What is she doing?” he asked Sorcha in a whisper.

“Tracking the portals,” she replied. “I finally managed to key a weirstone to their power, and Melisande and I have been watching where they are going. It should give us some warning if Derodak tries to make a portal to the citadel. Even though we’ve repaired the cantrip on the foundations, they could still appear in the valley somewhere.”

“Good idea,” Raed said, shooting her a sideways look. “I’m sorry, I heard Mournling passed away last night.”

Sorcha looked down at her world-weary boots. “He was a good man and a good Presbyter. He tried to hold on to see us through our task, but perhaps it is better he didn’t.” Mournling had been in the Order longer than she could remember. His passing was rather like losing an aloof grandfather. “He lived long enough to pass the torch to Merrick as the strongest Sensitive, and he will feel his passing most strongly.”

Raed opened his mouth to say something, but just at that moment Melisande jerked backward and dropped the weirstone onto her lap as if it were burning hot. She looked around and for a moment her eyes weren’t focused on them. The Young Pretender offered her his hand, and clasping the weirstone she rose to her feet.

“How are things, Presbyter?” Sorcha said, wondering at the other woman’s wide eyes.

Her pretty pink mouth twisted. “Nothing coming our way, but I detected a lot of activity to the west of Vermillion. I could feel people moving to and from there. I couldn’t tell if any of them were Derodak or the Circle of Stars.”

Sorcha’s mind raced. Could it be that there was some kind of assault on Vermillion planned? Or perhaps it was Derodak’s base? He must be working from someplace.

Just as that was all sinking in, the door to the inside of the citadel opened, and Merrick stepped through—though a more apt description might have been staggered. However, there was such a look of triumph on his face that Sorcha held back on admonishing him for driving himself too hard.

“I know the place!” Merrick said, his voice cracking as he stood there trembling in the cold air. He pulled the thick fur cloak tighter about himself, and the Bond between he and Sorcha fairly sizzled with delight.

Along it, she saw a devastated wreck of a town. Waikein, Merrick’s voice whispered. One of the first places attacked by the Emperor, overrun with geists. That is where we should go.

“You have a target?” Raed asked, glancing at the Deacons. Once again he was excluded from their sharing.

“Waikein,” Merrick spoke for his benefit. “All the paths of the future start there, and it is where we must strike our first blow if we are to have any chance.”

Melisande’s white blonde hair was tossed by the wind as she whispered, “A town to the west of Vermillion. Within a short distance.” She shared a questioning look with Sorcha as if wondering how much she was willing to bet on Merrick’s sight.

The answer was of course, everything.

“I will send word then,” Sorcha said, already turning toward the line of weirstone wielders. “All Deacons who can manage it will meet us in Waikein at the full moon. It’s only a week away, but . . .” She paused and turned on Merrick. “How much do we know about this place?”

His smile was victorious. “I can tell you a great deal about Waikein. You see, I have a friend on the inside.”

Her smile broadened. “That’s why I love you, Merrick. You make friends wherever you go, and many places you have not.”