Chapter 7

Harlodeen stumbles upon two new truths. One will make him a better young man, while the other will lead down a path few would tread.

Chapter 7

The training hall was quiet on this afternoon. It usually clapped with leather boots on stone or zinged with bolts shot from rods or Lightstaffs. Today, the trainees of light Adeptation were seated in a collection of chairs shaped into a half-circle, three rows deep. Harlodeen and Yayeena sat next to each other, much like they trained together. Yayeena’s eyes scanned the front of the room for their instructors. She was eager for this lesson. Harlodeen looked around at his peers. Of the initial hundred-something trainees, about eighty remained. It wouldn’t be long until they were all sent to The Tear to interact and train with water adepts so their elements could blend and they could understand the necessity of fluidity and trust in battle. Harlodeen was eager for that day, and spent much time wondering why Yayeena was eager for this one.

He was born and raised mostly on the outskirts of the island. The population of Lightwater was quite large, and had continued to grow while Harlodeen did the same. While Lightning Bay was one of the greatest strongholds of the entire region, its population was relatively low. Most people, logically, did not want to live under Darkstrand and suffer through endless rain and thunder that made it nearly impossible to sleep through a night. Harlodeen, perhaps because it was driven into him as a child, felt quite the opposite. Lightning Bay was the home of the men and women of light. It seemed natural for adepts to live here. But the vast majority of them chose to live in the surrounding towns or even closer to The Tear.

If it were up to Harlodeen, he’d rebuild his parents’ home on the edge of the bay and live there in solitude. But he was still a child when the Shadow Islanders landed and pushed through villages and towns towards Lightning Bay. They managed to cross the bay successfully for the first time, and while they did not get far once making landfall, and while not a single one of them touched the walls of the fortress itself, one of the first homes they put to the torch was Harlodeen’s. His parents sent him running to the fortress while the raiders approached, and he never looked back while his mother and father, newly versed in the ways of battle, fought valiantly but futilely. The line of adepts set to defend the fort allowed Harlodeen to pass. Once he was safe he turned and saw flames and smoke rising into the sky, homes and families destroyed. If it weren’t for the scorn of Lord Venyo VI, who wiped the nearby sea clean of the islanders with swift decisiveness, Harlodeen may have ran away. The sixth Lightlord of that bloodline was like a new father to him, one of power and vengeance, qualities he could never find in his brainy and weak great-grandfather or distant, fat uncle. That Venyo passed, as did the next two at surprisingly young ages, and the royal family of light all but forgot Harlodeen. His bitterness forced Old Hab and Fat Ham to keep their distance. So Harlodeen was alone for years, a stewing young man waiting for his opportunity to train. He had his powers, and his friendship with Yayeena, and his anger, all of which grew parallel to one another and at exponential rates.

“Attention!” Perriodon Nord shouted from behind the table set up for him. He took a seat in his cushioned, high-backed chair and folded his hands on the planks in front of him. “We are here for a history lesson.”

The collective group before him let out sighs and noises of disdain. Harlodeen looked around, but stayed quiet. Yayeena kept her eyes on Nord. Their instructor scanned across the faces in front of him, giving his stone-cold glare. The room fell into silence as a wave.

“If you do not know the histories of our people, of Lightwater, I don’t expect you to survive,” Nord said. “You all may think you have something to fight for, but you are wrong. It is not enough. Because when you’re out there, in the throes of war, you will not be standing in front of your young children or older siblings as a defender, and you will not be at the graves of those parents and aunts and uncles swearing vengeance. You will be fighting. It will be alongside men and women of light and water, adepts. You will be fighting to survive, and you will be fighting for your land, to stop your enemies from disrespecting it and to stop the blood from soaking it any further. You can’t respect this land unless you know how it was forged, and changed, and improved, and finally perfected in the days we all now so comfortably enjoy.”

Harlodeen couldn’t help but roll his eyes at this, but Nord was looking in the other direction, and Harlodeen was tucked in the middle row. Nord couldn’t discipline him this time. The older man did manage to captivate the group with his fancy speech, however. Harlodeen had no choice but to continue listening, despite having learned and relearned these histories before.

“It was nearly two hundred years ago when Lightwater was established, a region with no true dividing lines from the rest of the world. What united us was a common idea of moving forward, of rehashing traditional beliefs to forge a new world of equality and prosperity. Who can tell me the person who initiated the Adepts’ Alliance?”

“Lord Voltaggio Venyo the Firstlight,” came a voice across the group from Harlodeen.

“Indeed. And Voltaggio I came into power after what?”

The voice didn’t burst out again, nor did another. Harlodeen knew the answer.

“No one?” Nord asked. “This is what I’m referring to. How can you have pride in your land if you do not know how it came to be?”

“The Venyos were chosen by vote,” Harlodeen said with a hint of exasperation.

“Why?” Nord said, keeping his eyes glued on Harlodeen. “Had there ever been an election in any region before that besides The Tear?”

“No,” Harlodeen said. He knew it was a bad idea to offer an answer. “Lord Marlow was a victim of the Shadow Islanders’ long and terrible poisonings of the tides rolling into the bay.”

“Did Lord Marlow have no children?”

“They all died, as did most all our adepts, when we discovered the Shadow Islanders on the outreaches of the horizon and led a massive offensive.”

“We did not win this war?”

“The Shadow Islanders cast darkness too deep for us to penetrate. We were slaughtered.”

“I’m impressed, Harlodeen,” Nord said as he stood up from his seat and walked around to the front of the table. “We were defeated, by an enemy we thought weak and cowardly for poisoning us. Our ranks were decimated. Voltaggio Venyo suggested a vote. He won based on what he proposed�"outreach. Voltaggio Venyo was not afraid to ask for help. Pallio Lepriss was Lord of The Tear, and more than willing to help purify the waters of Lightning Bay. But Pallio was shrewd, as well. He knew that there was no point in offering help if you could get none in return. Isolated adepts created waterwalls which always protected The Tear, but he wanted more. Pallio and Voltaggio met on many occasions, and ultimately, with the help of many other great minds, came up with the Conduit. It took another generation to build it, and both lords were long since dead before they could see their vision come fully to life. What is the lesson there?”

Nord looked at Harlodeen. The boy was good with facts, but he didn’t know what Nord wanted to hear, and so he stayed silent.

“Doing something for the good of the future, the good of strangers, is just as important as doing something for the ones closest to you,” Yayeena said. Harlodeen turned and gazed at her, as did many of the other students, but she kept her head straight and her eyes on Nord.

“Yes, Yayeena,” Nord said, a grin coming to his face. “And ever since our lords learned that, the ideals of light and water have been safely preserved. The Venyos rule in peace today after fending off the last of the Shadow Islanders’ mindless sacking some years ago, and our numbers have since returned to their full strength. Lord Constance rules in the same peace, and was elected to further strengthen and improve Lightwater. He stepped into the role played by the handful of great Waterlords who came before him.”

A burly, built man, starting his training a few years later than the others in their mid-twenties, raised a hand. His index finger extended even further up to gain Nord’s attention. “Word travels around the bay that our peace is in danger,” he said without hearing a word from his instructor.

Nord nodded his head, blinking slowly as he took a few steps forward so he stood right in front of the man who had spoken. “Do you feel as though you’re in danger, Baretto?”

            “Not imminently, no,” he answered bluntly.

            “You are always in danger, remember,” Nord said, now looking across the entire group. “Don’t be so foolish as to think that your life is set in stone, a guarantee of old age and a peaceful passing in your bed with loved ones surrounding you. Lightwater is at peace, and we prosper greatly in numbers and knowledge, but there is an enemy out there yet.”

            “An enemy that destroyed one of its own armies,” Baretto interrupted.

            “What lesson does that teach us?” Nord asked him, annoyed, not liking the interruption.

            “That our enemy is dumber than we thought,” a woman near Baretto said.

            “No,” Baretto said. “It means they are confident enough in the powers they have in the Blazelands to exterminate an entire army of mages who did not fit their expectations.”

            Nord grinned again, nodding. “Very keen, Baretto.”

            “That is a crazy theory!” Yayeena exclaimed.

            “And isn’t the infamous line of the Antrums, steeped in the tradition of fifty Greatmages and generations of entrapment in their own lands, known to be a little… crazy?” Nord asked, stepping sideways a bit to place himself now in front of Yayeena and Harlodeen.

            “They are,” Yayeena conceded.

            “Then can we agree that Baretto’s theory might actually be fact?”

            “I suppose,” she answered. “But what does it mean?”

            “For us?” Nord asked. “For us it means there may very well be a greater number of mages capable of wiping out armies and fields than we could have imagined. When is the last time an adept, or any living man or woman of Lightwater, even looked upon the Great Chasm, much less stepped foot in the Blazelands? The answer is never.”

            “The last men of ours to step foot in the Blazelands lost their footing, and their lives, and fell into the Great Chasm at its birth,” Yayeena said.

“And do you think even the wisest of our population can tell us what happened in the Blazelands before they were able to cross the chasm and leave their region?” Nord asked. “Could they tell us what the Greatmage is up to now, what the mages of wind and fire are planning?”

Yayeena had no answer, nor did Harlodeen, or Baretto, or any other trainee. They all sat in stewing silence. They knew the answer was no. Baretto looked on the verge of asking more questions, prying deeper into the mages’ mysteries, but Nord turned away from the group and walked back to his desk.

“Please,” Nord said. “Go enjoy a filling, strengthening meal, and join me again tomorrow morning. “We will get back to the art of battle. This history seems to be boring the lot of you. Just remember that we will visit it again soon.”

Baretto snuffed and was the first to stand up. He seemed to appreciate it, as did Yayeena and Harlodeen, as much as he tried to resist. The rest of the group started to disperse.

“Baretto, a minute please,” Nord said as he took his seat. “Harlodeen and Yayeena, too.”

The pair looked across the group at Baretto, and he at them. They approached their instructor together and stood side by side in front of his table.

“It is no secret that this is the least exciting part of your training,” Nord started. “The three of you are promising as warriors, yes, but there is more to Adeptation than just fighting. Knowing… or better yet, understanding… our history and being a great wielder of light is the making of a leader. And while many of your peers may still remember the histories taught to them as children in the classrooms, they chose not to participate today. Tell me, the three of you, are you interested in your histories?”

“Yes,” Yayeena answered. “My mother was a teacher, and her forbearers on her father’s side helped plan and build the Conduit.”

“Very good,” Nord said. “I can tell you know plenty about the past. Even better, you question the future and wonder just how much our past and present can protect us, and for how long. Baretto? Harlodeen?”

“Yes,” the bigger man said, nodding emphatically.

Harlodeen only bobbed his head up and down slowly.

“I can see it in your eyes, Harlodeen, that you want to know where this is leading. Will I make you a historian rather than a warrior? Of course not. I will nominate you all for leadership training once your Adeptation training is complete. Ask any of the current men and women of rank in the armies anything about our history, and they will explain it to you in great detail. ”

“That is excellent,” Baretto said, beaming.

“Thank you, sir,” Yayeena said. Her expression was similar.

“Yes, thank you,” Harlodeen said, almost out of necessity.

“Very well. You will be the three I suggest as top of this class. Dismissed.”

They turned around in unison.

“Harlodeen,” Nord said.

The young man’s back was to his instructor. He tightened his face in frustration before letting it settle to its normal placated state and turning again to look at Nord. Yayeena and Baretto continued walking towards an exit without looking back. Harlodeen wished for a moment that Yayeena had stayed behind with him. She always knew what to say.

“Perhaps you really are honored to possibly earn this rank right out of training,” Nord said, standing and pushing his chair in under the table. “But your acting is abysmal. Let me tell you, in all earnest, the truth about yourself.”

Harlodeen bit his tongue. The gall of this man was shocking. Nord walked around the table and stood in front of Harlodeen. They appeared as equals then, save the age difference.

“You are gifted with the rod and the light, more so than any student I’ve come across in nearly two decades. As you proved to me today, surprisingly, you are smart. And while you don’t like drudging through history, you know history. With your abilities and your knowledge, you could be one of the greatest adept to come out of our academy since its inception.”

Harlodeen was at a loss for words. Such high praise was not what he expected.

“But,” Nord said expectedly. “You are bitter, and unpleasant, and standoffish.” Nord took a step towards him then. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Release whatever’s eating away inside you, however you need to do so, and start becoming as great as you can be. Once I finally started, it all fell into place.”

This was the kind of talk he was expecting. “I will,” he said honestly. The only thing Harlodeen knew better than the rod and the light was himself. It was rare to find someone that wanted to be in his presence voluntarily, and those that did were either leading different lives so far off his track or dead. “I’ll try.”

“Start by talking to your great grandfather,” Nord said.

“Why?” Harlodeen asked, baffled. “Old Hab is not my family.”

“You may think he owes you something. If that’s the case, you’re dumber than I thought,” Nord said matter-of-factly. “You’re a strong tree, Harlo, with great reaching limbs and thick bark. But Old Hab… Old Hab is your roots.”

            Harlodeen nodded, and Nord saw the understanding in his eyes.

            “You’re excused. I hope you make good use out of your time away from training.”

            The room was quieter than Harlodeen had thought possible. He turned from his instructor and headed to the door leading out to the courtyard. It was raining, but the stone ceiling around the perimeter of the yard kept him dry. Dozens of stone pillars held up the slates. Yayeena leaned against the nearest one, looking thoughtfully into the yard, at the constant puddles and overflowing fountain. Harlodeen approached her from behind. She heard the footsteps and turned, standing straight and meeting his eyes. She was short, petite, but there was fierceness in her eyes and strength in her jaw.

            “Is everything okay?” Yayeena said, and a bellowing thunder boomed over the bay.

            “Yes,” Harlodeen said, stepping into the courtyard, Yayeena keeping pace. They stepped into puddles and mud and let the rain soak them. Being wet was second nature in Lightning Bay. It was unavoidable lest you aimed to be a hermit. “Have you plans for the afternoon?”

            “Where are we going?” Yayeena answered with her question.

            “To visit my great grandfather.”

            “Haberdeen?”

            “Yes. We should speak, perhaps make amends, before it’s too late.”

            “Where is he?”

            “We’ll start at the guild’s library.”

            The walk through the island fort’s main square of merchant tents and shops would be longer, more winding and congested. It was quicker but messier to travel around it, especially by foot. They passed the outer walls of the square as they trudged through the muck. Next came the guards’ quarters, the main kitchens, and then the Light Tower and royal quarters. The sky grew darker as they approached the Conduit Tower. At its base was the Engineers’ Guild, the first place Harlodeen thought his great grandfather would be. It was nearly on the northern edge of the island, jutting up from a hillside that quickly turned into a mudslide that was nearly impossible to climb. It fell into the bay and disappeared into the murky waters.

            “Do you need to take a break?” Harlodeen asked when they were about three-quarters of the way to the tower.

            “You know, I could probably walk through the rain and the mud longer than you could.” Yayeena joked, “I haven’t all that weight sucking me deeper down like you do.”

            “Stop,” he said, extending an arm across her midsection, and they froze in their tracks.

            Yayeena looked in the same direction he was, at the manmade burrow that led down and winded around the buried Conduit just before it crossed under the inner walls of the fortress. A man descended the stone stairs, his hooded cloak large enough to prevent either of them from identifying him. Harlodeen turned and looked down at Yayeena.

            “Who is that?” she asked.

            “I’m not sure. It’s not Haberdeen, I’m certain.”

            “He didn’t want to be seen,” Yayeena said.

            “Too bad,” he said as he was already walking towards the gravel lain around the stairwell. Yayeena was close behind him.

            “You must walk lightly, Harlo,” she reminded him as they reached the top of the steps.

            “Stay close to me,” he said, almost ignoring her.

            The first ten steps or so were wet, but it wasn’t long until they turned dry and their surroundings started taking on the characteristics of a cave. It was gutted, of course, and almost perfectly shaped. A large descending curve turned them completely around, and then they were heading south, under tons of earth. Lit sconces hung intermittently along the way. There were short periods where they walked through total darkness, only looking at the next light a few dozen paces ahead.

            “I think we’re nearing the end,” Harlodeen whispered behind him.

There was a small opening ahead with what had to be multiple lights beyond it. Harlodeen slowed his pace, and Yayeena followed suit. They came to the chamber entrance, Yayeena perched behind him cautiously. To the right lay a pocket of darkness. To the left, perhaps thirty paces in, ran the Conduit, its large tubular frame coming in from one wall and leaving through the opposite. The rods and glass tubes had a constant charge of light running through them. The cloaked man had his hood down and his robe opened. Carter Libson scratched on a pad of parchment with his quill. He was in his own world, working diligently. Harlodeen let Yayeena swoop in at his side, and they watched the man walk from wall to wall, stopping here and there and inspecting certain pieces before making further notes. Libson placed his pad and his quill back inside the folds of his robe and bent down, fiddling with pieces of the Conduit. He removed one. It was a large glass tube with copper wiring coiled inside of it. Libson placed it in his robes alongside his notes.

Yayeena moved herself a bit to the side to get a better footing. As she dropped her weight, a small rock scratched against the ground underfoot. Libson stood up immediately, his eyes perking and his muscles tightening. Harlodeen felt behind him for Yayeena and then started stepping backwards, ever so softly, back into the darkness on the other side of the chamber. He wasn’t sure if they were deep enough in the shadows when Libson turned his head with a sudden snap, but they must have been. The man, his thinning gray hair on end and cold gray eyes squinting, did not see them. Perhaps he thought the noise was a bit of crumbling tunnel or a scurrying dirtrat. No matter, he didn’t take long to move back to the tunnel and begin his ascent back to ground level.

They were in the dark. Yayeena watched Libson leave the chamber and then hurried to find Harlodeen’s hand. She squeezed it tight, and he squeezed back.

“Stay,” he said. They stood hand in hand in the blackness, still, for some time.

Old Haberdeen often found himself having to entertain Young Venyo. The boy was legally a man, by the laws of the land, but he was still childish. He was impulsive. He lacked focus. It was hard to picture him as the future of Lightning Bay. Men and women still chose their leader at The Tear, but there was no need for that here again. Under the light, veiled by the clouds, people were placed beneath the whim of the Venyo line with no say in the matter.

Old Hab respected the Venyos. They were great and fair leaders. The eighth Voltaggio, a man who often kept to himself in the Light Tower, had allowed Haberdeen to stay on as First Engineer despite his age. Old Hab knew the Lightlord rather well, well enough to know that in this case, the apple fell rather far from the tree. The ninth Voltaggio was an adventurer, to say the least. Rumor had it the only time he spent in the Light Tower was his sleeping hours.

One could believe that based on the time he spent at the Engineers’ Guild, a place that most people found relatively dull. It was quiet. Its occupants were almost entirely men well past their prime. Old Hab often found himself bored, if truth be told. It may have been his age, but nothing seemed to hold his interest anymore except the rush he felt upon reaching the Stormcharge. To pass the time Haberdeen sat at a table and read through a history book. It bothered him that even if he lived another fifteen years and reached one hundred, he still would not be able to read everything this great library had to offer. Young Venyo often sat with him, reading books that would put other boys his age to sleep. On this day he had his nose in a book and his eyes were glued as they so often were.

“How does one become an engineer?” he asked, looking up from a page.

“It is often a trade picked up by men who are not qualified to fight, but have brains beyond bakers or butchers,” Old Hab answered, not taking his attention from his book.

“I should like to be an engineer,” the boy said. “Even if I can fight.”

This caught the old man’s attention. “You are not to be an engineer,” he said, “or an ordinary adept. You are to be a lord, a great one like all the Venyos before you.”

“A lord is only remembered because people have to,” Voltaggio said. “People will remember you because they want to.”

The wisdom coming from the boy almost astonished Old Hab. He looked down at the book Young Venyo was reading and saw a diagram of a detailed segment of the Conduit. “Has this impulse struck you simply because you’re reading an engineering book?”

His lips pursed as he fell into thought for a moment. “No,” he said. “I have no wish to be a lord or an adept.”

“That will not sit well with your father,” Old Hab said, not wanting to prolong this train of thought much longer. “And you know, I’m an adept myself. I completed my Adeptation, though I must admit it was many decades ago and I’ve forgotten quite a few chunks.”

“Someone else can sit in the tower after my father. I’ll let that person lead the light. The people can choose him, like they did the first Venyo long ago. Or even her.”

Footsteps from the next room pulled Haberdeen’s attention from the boy. He turned and saw Carter Libson pacing into the chamber, wrapped in a thick white wool robe.

“Off to the steam baths,” he announced, nearly colliding with a soaked man whose sudden halting at the door caused the woman behind him to bump into his back. Yayeena stepped to the side, finding herself as close to Libson as Harlodeen was.

“Harlodeen?” Old Hab asked in disbelief, moving to get to his feet. Young Venyo stayed seated, looking at the dripping visitors.

Libson sidestepped the two, scanning them up and down suspiciously. Yayeena stared forward, but Harlodeen followed the man with a hard glare.

“What brings you here, my dear boy?” Old Hab asked, having walked to the two. This pulled Harlodeen from his stare down. “Don’t mind Carter. He is a bitter man, that is all.”

“Bitter?” Harlodeen said. “Bitter why?”

“Come, sit,” he said, ignoring the question.

Harlodeen looked over at Yayeena, and the woman gave a quick nod of her head. They followed the old man to the table and took their seats, Harlodeen across from his great grandfather and Yayeena across from Voltaggio Venyo IX, future Lightlord.

“Sir Haberdeen�"”

“I am no sir, boy,” Old Hab said, cutting off his great grandson. “I’ve never wielded a Lightstaff in battle and I’ve never even fought a man with more than words. Call me Old Hab, for I am what I am.”

“…Hab,” Harlodeen started again. “This is my friend, Yayeena. She’s also training for Adeptation under Perriodon Nord.”

“Ah, good Perriodon. That man, yes, that man is a sir,” Haberdeen said, nodding slowly in reflection before turning his attention to Yayeena. “I’ve spoken with him on occasion. I sought him out to learn more about my great grandson. He had good things to say. And he mentioned this beautiful young woman, as well. Your ancestors are well known across the region, Yayeena. More eyes follow you than you may realize.”

“It is an honor,” Yayeena said, smiling. “I have great respect and admiration for you.”

“From what Perry has told me, if you are as fierce as you are polite, our family will live on as long as you stay by Harlo’s side.”

The two looked at each other and smiled, but only for a moment.

“I came here…” Harlodeen started, “to bond with you again. I remember you vaguely from my childhood. But I was… brash… and immature. My grandfather, your own son, dying in battle… and then, especially after my parents were killed, just yards from the home where we all felt so safe, I felt like we were the only two members of our family still alive. We were so close, on this small island, but you seemed so far away, always tucked away with the guild, always climbing the tower. And decades separate us. I always thought we had nothing in common, nothing shared or sacred. But then I realized, with some help and inspiration… what’s more common and more sacred than blood?”

Harlodeen was looking down at the table by the end of his speech. When he looked up, he avoided Old Hab’s eyes, but noticed the young lord looking at him with wide ones. Harlodeen’s face reddened and he looked back down at the table.

“This young man is the future Lord of Lightning Bay, as I’m sure you know,” Old Hab said, and Harlodeen lifted his head again to look at him as he spoke. “He reminds me of you when you were his age. There was so much the world had to offer, especially considering the bloodline with which he was blessed. But he’s wild, to a degree, while somehow remaining distant, at least from the ones to whom he should be closest. He doesn’t know what he wants yet, or how to seize it, although everyone else knows it is his destiny, and the role fits him better than any gauntlet has fit any warrior.”

Harlodeen nodded. “Forgive me, Old Hab?”

“There was never much to forgive,” Old Hab said with a grin. “I’ve just spent every night praying that you’d come visit me before I closed my eyes for the last time.”

“Uncle!” a voice shouted from the next room. “Uncle!”

“Ham?” Old Hab asked, rising to his feet again as his plump nephew plodded into the room, short on breath. “What’s the trouble? Your trip to the Conduit outside Boltown�"”

“Took too long, I know. A rider on a horse was watching us as we tried to dig, but the rains from the bay stretched too far inland and the land was inundated, so we stayed at an inn in Boltown. Except that we were being spied on, by fire and wind, and they attacked us once we caught on and nearly killed one of my diggers. We rode to The Tear, where my story was heard, and then scouts were sent to the surrounding villages, and I back to Boltown with Adepts Immellion and Gergens. Commonfolk spotted similar activity, well, at least the riders, riders on massive firesteeds with faces of malice. I was sent back here to speak to Lord Venyo, but I needed to find you first. Why are the mages spying, uncle? Why were they watching us dig to the Conduit? Will you come with me to speak to Lord and Lady?”

Throughout his tirade, Hammerveen kept his eyes glued to his uncle. Once done, and even further out of breath, he looked at the rest of the audience. Young Venyo, future lord himself, an unfamiliar woman, and his snide great nephew Harlodeen, a most unwelcomed guest, were all still seated around the table.

“What are you d-d-d-doing here?” Hammerveen asked, the derision clear in his voice.

“I’ve come to make amends with Old Hab,” Harlodeen said firmly. “He’s the only family I’ve left, and I felt it time to visit.”

“Only family? What about me?”

“I had bitter feelings towards my great grandfather, but they were foolish and meaningless,” Harlodeen said. “I have no feelings towards you.”

Hammerveen simply glared at him, and the young man did the same in return.

“Young Lord Venyo,” Old Hab said, trying to break the tension. “You had best come with us as we head to the Light Tower. We must speak with your parents and inform them of Hammerveen’s last few days, and you should return to your chamber.”

Harlodeen stood up, and Yayeena followed. “We’ll come with you.”

“That’s not n-necessary,” Hammerveen said. “This s-seems to be a matter having to do with en-engineer-eering, and the Conduit itself. Haberdeen and I c-c-can handle it.”

“Yayeena and I have already sworn oaths to protect the Conduit, and we’ll soon be Adepts of the Light.”

“Soon, b-but not yet. Perhaps ret-t-turn to your training quarters, and come back in a y-y-y-y-year,” Hammerveen struggled.

“Enough,” Old Hab said. “Let us all go, at once. And send word for a guard to fetch Carter Libson from the baths. He should be present as well.

“Sir,” Yayeena said, and everyone suddenly gazed at her with surprise. “And yes, I will continue to call you that.” She smirked. “Sir Haberdeen, I’m curious. Was Carter Libson sent to the western tunnel to inspect the Conduit?”

“When?” Old Hab asked, confused.

            “Not an hour ago.”

            “Most certainly not. Libson does no inspections, not until myself or Hammerveen are no longer able.”

            “We saw him,” Harlodeen said. “And we followed him. All the way down to the Conduit. He took notes, lots of notes, and took glass tubing and hid it in his robes.”

            “What are you sug-sug-gesting?” Hammerveen asked. “You are already m-meddling and throwing accusations about-about things and men you could n-n-n-n-never understand or know.”

            “Ham,” Old Hab said, looking directly at him. “Enough. There is no record of this inspection, and there is no reason for an engineer to take parts from the Conduit without multiple, thorough inspections and the right legal course.”

            The room fell to silence for near a minute.

            “My instincts are telling me something foul is amiss,” Old Hab said.

            “What should we do?” Yayeena asked

            “Leave Libson to his bath,” Harlodeen said, “and let us speak with Lord and Lady.”

            “Not yet,” Young Venyo said, breaking a silence that had lasted some time. Almost everyone seemed to have forgotten the boy was there. “We should learn more first.”

            “Yes,” Old Hab said, sounding relieved. “We should learn more. Vigilance, yes.”

            “You want us to spy on Carter Libson, a respected engineer and trusted colleague of more than two decades?” Hammerveen said directly to his uncle, suddenly finding his voice again.

“It is time to realize there are more sorts of people worth listening to in this world besides engineers, Ham. And tell me if you truly believe Carter Libson is a man of honor. You’ve heard how he addresses us.”

Hammerveen just nodded. The five of them were all standing by then, and the room was quiet save the pattering of rain lifted from the mouth of the bay and the ominous thunder above.