Soulwoven: Exile

Prologue II

II

One hundred and nineteen days before the destruction of Eldan City

Quay watched the bird take flight.

It was a little sickening. Dead things weren’t meant to take wing. And this one was big enough to blot out the rising sun over the dune grass as it soared westward, toward the mountain city of Du Fenlan hundreds of miles away.

But a prince of Eldan made use of the tools that were available. And the best Quay had was a dead albatross, a necromancer, a scrap of paper, and a little metal tube to send a message in.

Because he’d failed. Terribly.

“You think they’ll send anyone for us?” Cole asked. He was next to Quay atop the dune, along with Leramis and Ryse.

Quay frowned. Truth be told, he didn’t have much hope anymore. He’d fucked up so royally trying to stop the dragon from being summoned that he no longer trusted his instincts. On top of that, he knew very little about how Sherduan had been stopped before—just some vague stories about its counterpart, the white dragon Arenthor, being called into the world by the Sh’ma. Nothing he was willing to stake the lives of everyone he knew on.

He wanted to tell Cole that. Wanted to confide in his best friend and beg his forgiveness.

But there were others around, and he had their morale to think of.

“Yes,” he said shortly.

Cole rolled his eyes. “If you don’t want to have an honest conversation, fine.” He walked down the dune toward the beach, where Dil and Litnig were roasting oysters over a fire.

Quay’s stomach rumbled. Oysters from Cenar had been a delicacy back in Eldan City, even in the palace. They’d eaten them twice a year on feast days, except for once when his mother had convinced his father to have them served for his birthday.

The prince sighed.

He missed his dead mother. And he was worried about his father and his people.

Eldan City was one of the biggest population centers in the world. If Sherduan was going to embark on a campaign to end all life as Tsu’min had said it would, the city would make a good place to start.

Leramis raised a hand to shield his eyes from the sun. The necromancer was staring after his bird. His black robe flapped around his ankles in a blessedly warm morning breeze.

“Well?” Quay asked.

Leramis turned around. Ryse stood by his side, her hastily shortened white robe leaving her calves bare to the wind. She had her arms wrapped around her chest. Cold, probably, even with the warm breeze. They all were.

“It should make it, I think,” Leramis said. He sighed and wiped his hands on his robe. “I’ve never tried to send one so far, but the weave went well, and the bird was in good shape.”

Leramis looked over Quay’s shoulder, and Quay followed his gaze. Everyone else was around the fire. Dil had started handing oysters to people. The Wilderleng girl had gotten up and plunged into the surf just as the western sky started to lighten. The North Sea was cold enough to kill a man if he swam in it for too long, but Dil had stayed in for nearly an hour, diving and bringing up little bits of food from the ocean floor.

She had strange powers. Nobody could tell him quite how they worked, and Dil was so sensitive about the subject that he’d decided it wasn’t worth asking her. She’d saved their lives several times. That was all he really needed to know.

“My prince, ah…” Leramis cleared his throat.

Quay turned around. The necromancer was looking sidelong at Ryse, as if seeking confirmation of something. She swallowed and stared out to sea. Her face looked as frozen as a winter sunrise.

Not cold, Quay realized. Her arms were crossed over her chest because she was worried.

“There’s something we think you should know,” Leramis finished.

A familiar uneasiness woke up in Quay’s gut. People never started conversations with him like that unless they had something unfortunate to tell.

“It’s about Litnig…”

Quay’s uneasiness grew.

And grew.

And grew.