Free Vault Of Heaven 01 - The Unremembered by Peter Orullian Page B

look confirmed what Vendanj had said. Tahn raised his brows in question. Sutter only shrugged.
    “Never mind the revelations,” Vendanj went on. “As soon as preparations can be made, we must depart the Hollows.” He fastened his steely gaze on Braethen. “Why do you wear the crest of the Sodality? Are you received into the order?”
    Braethen had already started to shake his head. “Not officially. I’ve been studying—”
    “Can you use a sword?” Vendanj interrupted.
    “I’ve held a sword before—”
    “Have you been in battle?” Vendanj’s voice rose, impatient.
    Braethen shook his head. “But I’ve been studying the Sodality for almost twenty years. I know what is required.”
    A dark question showed in Vendanj’s face. “Do you? You knelt at the side of a dying man who spoke of the opening of the Bourne, of Velle and Quietgiven. What do you think, with all your wisdom, awaits us when we leave this place? Are you ready for that with your studies ?”
    Braethen looked abashed. The light Tahn had always seen in his eyes at the prospect of being a sodalist dimmed to nothing.
    Vendanj wasn’t finished. “Lives will depend on this. Ideal notions read in a book or shouted from a rooftop won’t come to a single breath when the malice of the Quiet meets you in the darkness. Your mind will turn in upon itself and we will be forced to mother you while other lives fall.”
    Braethen shrank in his chair. Tahn had never seen him so seriously chided through all the ridicule he’d taken his long life for wanting to live the values of the Sodality. It was cruel. Tahn’s own anger flared.
    But words died in his throat as he watched Braethen not simply sit tall, but stand. Candlelight flickered, and shadows danced across the deep grain of the table. The smell of spent pine lingered from the fire, which popped and hissed as sap bubbled from the wood.
    “Please, Sheason—”
    “Hold, boy! Watch the mouth you use!” Vendanj himself stood up, his chair clattering back.
    Terror rose in Braethen’s face. “My apologies, but please consider…” He stopped, looking at the implacable gaze of the man. Slowly, he pulled a scroll from his coat. The parchment still bore the broken seal. Tahn looked at Vendanj’s face, anticipating fiery anger. Instead, Vendanj said nothing, his face now placid.
    Braethen placed the parchment upon the table, clearly unwilling to unroll it. He looked across at Vendanj, then down again at the scroll. It left silence in the room so profound that Tahn thought he could hear the candles burning.
    “I know the stories,” Braethen said. “My father is an author, and I know the stories. It is how I know … the path you follow. And Ogea was my friend. I want to come. If not to become a sodalist, then to honor the man who believed I could have.”
    In that instant, from the shadows emerged the girl Tahn had seen earlier. In the time of a thought, she stood at Vendanj’s right shoulder. Her appearance startled them all, though Tahn was glad to see her again. Her eyes caught the candlelight, reflecting it like bright hazel-grey mirrors. Her skin shone smooth and without blemish over high cheeks and a delicately formed nose. She’d braided back her dark hair. A black leather strip high around her neck bore the insignia of two white blades.
    Vendanj appraised Braethen’s face. As he did so, the woman whispered into his ear. She stood taller than most women from the Hollows, almost Tahn’s own height. As she spoke, Tahn observed the line of her jaw and watched her words silently draw full lips into round shapes. The sepia glow of the room bathed her skin. A hand on Tahn’s shoulder made him jump. He twisted in his seat to receive Sutter’s wide grin.
    “Very well,” Vendanj finally said. Tahn turned back, ignoring Sutter. “Only know this,” Vendanj cautioned. “Your friend is my friend, and his dead body yet lies in this very inn. I will not stand to see his memory trifled with. It is