A Dream of the Heaven

Chapter 26 (Part 2 of 2)

He packed his belongings.  He changed back into his travelling gear, freshly laundered, including his great green coat.  He found Menentor and Temith and explained what was to come before leaving them.  Then Isendrin waited.

The Aracarnus of Anthornadia.  What sort of a being lurked beneath that robe?  How did a diseased man come to rule such a realm?  Isendrin had no idea how the arcani chose their leader, but he knew it was not like a crown, passed from father to son.  There was some election or contest involved, and the man behind that mask had won it.  His power and authority were of a different sort from Agostes’s, or the Temple’s, or any other ruler. 

There was only one common element.  He had seen it in every eye in Myssir Astronae the previous night.  When he left the guesthouse for the last time, he saw it again, and when he approached the column outside the Caste Home, seeing the rigid, expressionless faces of the Aracarnus’s servants, busying themselves silently with the carts and horses, he felt it himself.  He took a deep breath. 

“Lord Held?”  One of those servants was approaching, holding the reins of a black mare.

“Yes?”

“Your horse, sir.”

“Thank you.”  Isendrin stroked the creature’s flank.

“Will you be accompanied, sir?” asked the servant.  “If so I must make the arrangements.”

There was a strange rippling of movement in the horse’s flesh, a nervousness.  Even the animals in the convoy seemed frightened.

“How long until we leave?”

“Half an hour.”

“Others may come in that time.  I don’t know.”

“Very good, sir.”

Isendrin watched him go.  He had seen royal progresses and journeys many times.  There was always noise.  Here, even as many black-robed arcani emerged from the Caste Home, there was a horrible quiet.  No one smiled. 

“God, give them some wine,” he said under his breath.  The mare whickered at his words, and he looked into her great glassy eyes.  “Let’s cheer you up, at least, eh?”

He swung himself up into the saddle and rode up and down the terrace, allowing her a little canter now and then.  She was nervous at first, reluctant to pick up speed, but he found her responsive and agile.  When he dismounted, he began stroking her again.

“You’re a good horse, aren’t you?” he muttered.  “Can you manage three days with me?  Of course you can.”

Footsteps approached him from behind.  “When did you start talking to horses?” said Imlon.

Isendrin turned his head, still patting his mount.  “About two minutes ago.”

Imlon didn’t respond.  He looked stern.  It was one of his immovable expressions.  As always, Isendrin couldn’t match it.

“I’ve seen the surgeon,” he said, turning away.  “This arm’s fixed.”

“That’s good.”

“Wasn’t the finest with the needle, though.  Stung like...”

“I’m coming with you, you know,” said Imlon.

Something warm but bitter stirred in Isendrin’s heart.  With his back to Imlon, he closed his eyes and breathed out.

“Thank you.”

“The others are too.  They’re on their way up.  Temith’s not too pleased.”

“I can imagine.  Menentor?”