Chapter Three
Celieria ~ Teleon
“Well, well, look what the tairen dragged in.” Kieran vel Solande slipped a polished meicha scimitar into his hip sheath and turned to greet the warrior who had just passed through the Spirit weave protecting Teleon
from outside eyes.
Gaelen vel Serranis paused just inside the lower bailey and let his gaze sweep across the restored estate. “Impressive.”
The sounds of industry filled the air as on every level of the city-fortress Fey toiled in the midmorning sun. All Fey with
enough command of Earth to make themselves useful were once again busy replacing the remaining Spirit weave buildings with
real mortar and stone, while Air masters assisted in shuttling loads of blocks and wood, and Fire masters forged metal for
gates, door braces, and weaponry to aid in the defense of the city.
“Greetings, Uncle. You’ve been gone so long, I was beginning to think a lyrant made a meal of you.” Kieran made a tsking sound and shook his head. “Ah, well, hope springs eternal.”
Gaelen narrowed ice-blue eyes at his sister Marissya’s son. “Still full of sass, puppy? Clearly, vel Jelani isn’t working
you hard enough if you still have breath to jabber.”
“Ha. Where’ve you been?”
Gaelen reached out to ruffle the younger Fey’s head, a deliberately patronizing gesture that made Kieran scowl and jerk away.
“Not your business, youngling.” It was Gaelen’s turn to grin, and he took pleasure in it. “Where is the Tairen Soul?”
When Kieran just glared and pressed his lips closed, Kiel rolled his eyes and answered in his stead. “On the third level with Lord Teleos, finishing what he can before he and the Feyreisa depart.”
“And the Feyreisa?”
“On the upper level, planting a memory garden for her mother with Marissya and the twins.”
Gaelen nodded, then glanced at Kieran and furrowed his brows. “What’s this mess?” He reached out to straighten the leather
Fey’cha belts crisscrossing Kieran’s chest. “You call yourself a warrior? Sloppy, vel Solande. Very sloppy.”
Scowling, Kieran looked down to see what his uncle was talking about. The next thing he knew, he was flat on his back with
his own Fey’cha pressed against his neck, and death was glaring down at him from the eyes of the man who’d little more than
a week ago been the most dreaded and feared dahl’reisen who ever lived.
“Very sloppy indeed,” Gaelen repeated softly, his tone a cold wind, his eyes lethal shards of purest ice. “Are you so eager
to die?”
Kieran froze. Part of him was sure this was yet another of Gaelen’s humiliatingly effective demonstrations of how little the
current generation of Fey knew of true sword mastery. Vel Serranis had pulled one of the black-handled blades from Kieran’s
chest straps rather than a lethal, poisoned red Fey’cha.
Another part of Kieran feared that maybe this wasn’t a lesson after all.
“Answer me, puppy,” Gaelen snapped. “Are you so eager to die?”
“Are you?” Kiel growled with low menace.
That was when Kieran noticed the Water master leaning over Gaelen, two red Fey’cha pressed against Gaelen’s neck and belly.
Gaelen spat out an oath, and the knife pressing against Kieran’s windpipe eased back.
When Kiel’s blades withdrew as well, Gaelen rolled left, sprang to his feet, and glared at them both.
“The Mages are at work in the north. A warrior has disappeared for days on end, and you do not know where he’s been.
Yet you welcome him without suspicion? You stand there like a dull-witted fool while he strips you of your own blade and threatens you with it?
I ask you again, are you so eager to die? ”
He expanded his disparaging gaze to include Kiel and the dozen glowering Fey standing outside the blocking weave he’d woven
when he’d lunged for Kieran. “And that goes for all of you as well. Not one of you even cleared steel from scabbard before
I had a blade at your brother’s throat. Vel Tomar, at least, has tolerably swift reflexes . . . and good instincts.” The last
he added with grudging approval. He nodded at the deadly red-hilted Fey’cha still gripped in each of Kiel’s hands. “Red is
the right choice when you suspect the threat may be real.”
Gaelen dispersed his final shield, and the surrounding Fey muttered angrily and sheathed their weapons.
“That’s a good way to get yourself killed, vel Serranis,” someone called out.
“By you lot?” Gaelen scoffed. “Not flaming likely. I’d have to be sel’dor-pierced, bound, and blinded before you had the advantage. Are you the best the Fading Lands can produce? Gods save us all.”
Gaelen shook his head in disgust. “What is the Tairen Soul thinking to let his mate stay so long outside the Faering Mists
with naught to keep her safe but a pack of untrained infants scarce weaned from the breast?”
Kieran slapped the dust off his leathers and, scowling, caught the black Fey’cha Gaelen tossed back to him. “He was thinking
to protect her family on their journey to their new home—and to give the Feyreisa as much time with them as he could before
she passes through the Mists. Our scouts have been securing our path five miles in every direction. And, for your information,
there have been no attacks—nor any sign of danger.”
“Have there not? How lucky for you.”
The sarcasm rubbed Kieran the wrong way. “Is this how you honor your oath to the Feyreisa?” he snapped. “‘Learn to get along,’
she said, yet here you are again, taunting and attacking us. After she told you to stop.”
Gaelen’s mouth opened . . . then shut. His eyes narrowed, and he bowed his head to acknowledge the point scored. “Sieks’ta, kem’jita’nos. You are right. She would not be pleased.” His gaze became pointed. “That you started it is no excuse.”
Kieran’s face froze in midsmirk.
Kiel coughed into his hand. “He’s got you there, Kieran,” he muttered, which earned him a frigid glare from his friend. “Well,
you did,” he said, then turned to Gaelen. “Since you find our warrior skills so lacking, perhaps you could help us improve
them?”
Several of the other Fey stiffened in outrage.
“Are you asking me to be your chatok?” A mocking lift of one black brow accompanied the question.
Kieran snorted, thinking Kiel was making a joke. Only warriors of the greatest skill and most unbesmirched honor became chatok, highly regarded mentors of warriors. Gaelen vel Serranis, the rebel warrior who’d willingly thrown himself down the Dark
Path to avenge his twin sister Marikah’s murder, was the last Fey who would ever qualify for such an esteemed position.
Kiel wasn’t joking. “We lost too many masters in the Wars, and of those who survived, the greatest and most experienced gave
their lives to build the Mists. War will soon be upon us again, and we cannot afford to be ill-prepared. You have skills we
all need.” The Water master shrugged, the gesture a graceful ripple. “So, aiyah, Gaelen, I am asking you to be my chatok for whatever levels of the Cha Baruk you think I have not truly mastered. Will you grant me this honor?”
Gaelen was openly taken aback. “That was sarcasm, vel Tomar, not a serious offer. I have been dahl’reisen. I chose the Shadowed Path. I walked its bitter trails for a thousand years rather than ending my life in honor, as a worthy
Fey would have done.”
“That doesn’t change the fact that you have skills we all need. Even the Feyreisa advised us to learn from you.”
“So she did.” Gaelen’s lips pressed tight together. “And as I promised her, I will teach you what I know, but only as a brother Fey. I will not dishonor the chatok who mentored me by pretending I have the right to stand among their honored company.”
“Then I will accept your instruction, and I thank you for your willingness to share your knowledge and warrior’s skills with
me.” Kiel bowed smoothly, his waist-length, blond hair spilling forward like gleaming falls of sunlight.
Gaelen was silent for a moment, his black brows drawn slightly together as he regarded the other man. “You are surprising,
vel Tomar. And I thought the world held no more surprises for me.”
Kiel smiled, his eyes as blue and guileless as a calm sea. “I am a Water master, Gaelen. There is always much more to us than
shows on the surface.”
Gaelen laughed. “That I will grant you.” He glanced at Kieran. “And you, puppy, are clearly an Earth master. Head hard as
a rock. Will stubborn as stone. And so resistant to change, it will take an earthquake to move you once you’ve settled into
place. Just like your father.” When Kieran scowled, Gaelen grinned. “Ah, the Feyreisa will have to forgive me. Pricking that
pride of yours is too much fun to give up altogether.”
Kieran snarled.
Gaelen just laughed again and glanced at Kiel. “Where’s vel Jelani?”
Kiel pointed towards a small copse of white-trunked, golden-leafed Shimmering Lady trees on the uppermost level. “Up there,
with the Feyreisa and her sisters.”
“Beylah vo, vel Tomar.”
“Sha vel’mei,” Kiel replied as the infamous older warrior raced off towards the shimmering trees.
Kieran punched Kiel in the arm. Hard.
“Ow!” Kiel rubbed his biceps. “What was that for?”
“‘Be my chatok’?” Kieran exclaimed. “‘Teach me what you know’? Tairen’s scorching fire! What the Seven jaffing Hells are you thinking? You’re
my blade brother, and you’re taking sides with the enemy?”
Kiel glanced at Gaelen’s retreating form, then back at Kieran. “He’s your uncle, not the enemy. Besides, the Feyreisa told us to learn from him.”
“He’s a dahl’reisen.”
“Former dahl’reisen,” Kiel corrected.
“Where do you think he’s been this past week? Praying in the Bright Lord’s church? He’s been with them, the ones who walk the Shadowed Path.”
Kiel’s brows rose over eyes as deep and blue as the Lysande Ocean. “What difference does it make if he has? He is lu’tan to the Feyreisa. In life and in death, he is bloodsworn to protect her.”
“You’re too trusting, Kiel.”
Kiel’s blond brows shot up. “Me? I wasn’t the one who stood there while he stripped my blade and used it against me.”