A Promise of Iron by Brandon McCoy (the reading list .txt) 📕

selected the appropriate silver key and placed it inside the keyhole. As the key turned, there was a click and then a grinding sound as the mechanism that held the heavy door closed released. The stone door creaked open. Richard peered his head through the crack.

The crypt was long and narrow, lined with several alcoves cut deep along the walls. I expected it to be dusty and old, sealed away from the world, but I was surprised to find the polished stone floors clean and in good repair. I could see no placards, no names upon the half-circle openings that we passed, but they were likely the same as in any crypt or borrow. Here lay nobles, priests, those worth their salt that lived and died in Windshear before the Monroes built the estate. Their dark silhouettes adorned the walls like old tapestries, seen but ignored as if that tapestry had just become part of the wall itself.

Venticle teachings never promised an afterlife. But this wasn’t Cyllia; this was Rukland still, if by another name. Our ways were of preservation, of old rites, and tradition, and here, north of the Burh, Illyrian tradition still lived.

Richard led us down the corridor until we reached the circular antechamber. He placed the lamp on one of the empty alcoves as I set Jaeron down on the center stone slab.

He moved as if to speak but remained silent.

“What is it, Richard?”

“My lord, if you permit me, I would like to say a few words.”

That was not our way.

I nodded.

Richard pulled a wooden six-star from his pocket and pressed it between his thumb and forefinger. “Jaeron was a good lad, honest and caring. We commit him now to your embrace, Lord Sereventus, watch over him. He shall be remembered.”

Richard put the token back in his pocket. “If you would like, I can wait here with you?”

That was not our way.

I shook my head.

“Thank you, but he is mine to watch over. Just tell Quill I will wait for him here.”

Richard put his hand on Jaeron’s and patted gently. “Goodbye, dear boy. Sleep well.”

Time seemed to slow as I watched over his body. The lamp flickered behind, but its light did little but cast shadows throughout the crypt. I could feel their eyes on me, watching, judging, waiting. No lamp light kept them at bay. The hair on the back of my neck stood as an ill-gotten breeze blew around me.

I stood.

“Here lies Jaeron of Forhd,” I called out to the darkness. “He was a friend. He was a brother.” I felt that the quin around me was listening, fell or otherwise. I unsheathed Nahdril and placed her on the table for good measure. “He shall see his rites.”

An hour or more may have passed when someone shuffled down the corridor. Lamplight trickled in through the crack of the door.

“Faerin, you in there?”

“I’m here, Quill. How is Crylwin?”

“Tits and kettles, boy. One hand, you tell me to get some sleep, then you run off starting a war with the long-ears like you had nothing better to do with your time. Crylwin is stubborn like his father. He will be fine.”

A slight smile crept up on me. I let it have its moment.

Quill ambled over and set a large leather bag down next to me. He placed his lamp beside Jaeron and adjusted the dial until the flame grew brighter. “Well now, let’s see here.” He patted at the pockets of his robe. “Ah, here we go.”

He set a small glass vial down next to my hand. “Drink this.”

“Quill, I’m fine, really. I would rather—”

He blinked behind his thick spectacles. “You finished?”

I sighed and uncorked the bottle. It tasted foul and bitter, with the slightest hint of licorice. I felt its effects almost immediately, a dulling of sensation and mild euphoria.

“Now then, let’s have a look at that leg.”

I took a seat on the stone ledge to the side while he scrubbed away at the newly dried blood with a thick cloth. The wound opened, and fresh blood began to well up. He placed a wooden bowl underneath to catch. From his previous ministrations, I knew his potions often contained a thinning agent that worked to expel any poisons or toxins; the euphoria was just a happy side effect.

He reached into his leather bag and handed me a grip of ironroot. “Here, chew this before you bleed out and leave me with two bodies to prepare.”

I giggled and chewed.

He took a thin silver needle and thread and began stitching my wound together. “You hear Richard tell it, I thought we would need to amputate here. This is little more than a scratch. You should be right in a few days, assuming you give yourself time to rest.”

He ran the needle through once more then tied it off. “You should be able to walk well enough, not that I needed to tell you that.”

I tested the leg and grinned.

He turned back to Jaeron’s body. “Right, now let’s get started here.”

“Huh?” I mumbled.

“Are you deaf or did my tonic just dull your wits?”

“I—um…”

Quill turned to me. “How are you feeling right now?”

A lazy smile crept on my face.

He pointed to my heart. “How about here?”

I felt the smile fade as tears begin to form.

Quill nodded. “Yeah, I suspected as much.”

“I’m just here to watch over him and protect him from the…”

Quill chuckled as he turned back to the table. “Sounds like Cole’s words to me. Six cycles in the grave and still spouting nonsense. Your sword won’t do us any good in here, Faerin. But if you want to help, go grab an apron out of the bag there.”

Quill spoke in High Illyrian—words I will not repeat here. They are for us and us alone. Several offerings were placed in a copper dish set upon Jaeron’s chest. Salt, in the form of a small crystal no bigger than my thumb, iron, in the way of a little iron button, and blood, an offering I willingly provided as I squeezed