The Collapsing Path (The Narrowing Path Series Book 3) Read online

  Inside the square, the images of the distant Greens and marshals vibrated in the shimmering air. Bowe and the other mentors approached the dry fountain at the center of the square. A small abstract figure twisted about itself in the fountain’s center. The Greens had occupied three of the four corners of the square, one for each family, and Bowe found his gaze drawn toward the fourth corner. The Bellanger corner where he had waited six years ago stood empty, awaiting Bellanger teenagers as yet unborn.

  Each of the other mentors chose a different section of the low fountain wall to stand upon until they faced all four directions of the square. The Greens reluctantly drifted toward them.

  “Come closer.” Bowe waved them forward with his left hand.

  “That’s right, we don’t bite. We are here to help you.” Alandar's smile was that of a predator.

  “Merge together, boys,” Kirande said from the other side of the fountain. “Today you are no longer Grenier or Raine or Lessard or Bel...” He trailed off, remembering that none of the Greens were from House Bellanger.

  “Today you are all simply Greens,” Eolnar said. “Without a family, you are unprotected. Worthless bugs about to be squished. But you are luckier than most bugs.”

  “For you have a chance to ascend from your lowly status,” Kirande said. “To become more. To become great, even. But not all of you. Only the very best. Arcandis needs the best, and accepts only the best.”

  “Thus you walk the Green Path,” Bowe said.

  The Greens were still bunched in their family groupings, staying close to those they knew best. The Greniers were recognizable because they were well muscled, and because they walked with more grace and confidence than the others. Bowe spotted Coinal among the Raines. Every Green was at least nervous, but Coinal was positively terrified.

  “Traditionally, there are four Selects, one for each family,” Eolnar said. “You boys are a lucky generation. Because of what has happened in the Bellanger family over the last several sexennia, the Guardians have decided to allow the Bellanger family to select three boys, making six Selects in total. As usual, each Select will decide on another Green as their Chosen. Thus, twelve in total will become ascor, members of the great houses of Arcandis.”

  “The rest will die,” Alandar said.

  Bowe was watching Alandar out of the corner of his eye. The Raine mentor fingered the hilt of his sword and concentrating his gaze on a group of boys that included Coinal. Bowe swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. Coinal had feared he’d be the one that was to be killed. And Alandar had someone in mind, probably someone from his own family.

  Coinal was likely going to die anyway, and Bowe knew that he shouldn’t be worrying about any of the Greens in particular. As mentor, his job was to make the Path harder for each of them and certainly not to favor one Green over any other. If just a short time spent with one boy could have Bowe this invested in the boy’s fate, what would happen when Bowe had sons of his own that he had to send to die on the Path? How would he manage that?

  “So be it Elect, Defender, Wolfling, Shadow or something new,” Kirande said, “over the next few weeks, the eyes of Arcandis will be upon you, and it is up to each of you to prove yourselves worthy of a place in the Refuge.”

  Alandar stepped down off the low fountain wall. Nearby Greens shuffled away from him but by now the marshals had herded the boys into a tight circle so there wasn’t much room. Those, including Coinal, who tried to edge away were wedged in by those around them. Raw panic flooded Coinal’s face.

  “Fools,” Bowe said suddenly, adding a touch of maniacal laughter for effect. “Sweet innocent fools. I see your hopeful faces, looking up for us for guidance. Fools, the lot of you. We are called mentors but we aren’t here to help you. You’ve heard the stories of the Path. What exactly are you waiting to happen here in the square? You know that one of you is supposed to die here today so why wait here like cattle at the butcher shop?”

  Alandar realized what Bowe was doing, and he hurried forward through the crowd of boys. Confused expressions showed that the Greens weren’t sure if Bowe was joking. Some near the back decided that they had nothing to lose and had turned to leave. Marshals moved to block them, but for every one they blocked another two sneaked past until they just gave up and let them go.

  “Flee!” Bowe shouted. “The Path has begun and there’s nothing more for you here. Nothing good anyway.”

  The trickle of Greens trying to escape turned into a flood. With a loud rasping sound, Alandar drew his sword, and every single Green in the square scattered. Bowe knew he couldn’t interfere any further, so he forced himself to just stand and watch. He’d gone too far already. Coinal struggled to force his way through the tightly bunched crowd. Alandar made better progress because those closest to make were frantically making way for him and his raised sword.

  However, as more and more Greens escaped the square, space opened up. Coinal charged through the gap between two other boys, his head twisted back to watch the fast-approaching Alandar. He was concentrating so much on what was behind him that he collided straight into another Green, and the two of them went down in a heap. Coinal jumped to his feet with Alandar almost upon him. Bowe stepped off the fountain wall, but they were too far away for him to do anything.

  Both Coinal and the other boy were scrambling away, but Alandar was too close for them to escape. The other Green reached behind his shoulder and ripped off his cloak, throwing it behind him at Alandar’s feet. Alandar ran straight through the cloak. It seemed like it would barely slow him, then part of the fabric tangled around his feet, and he fell.

  One of the marshals tried to stop the two fleeing Greens, but one went to either side of the man, both avoiding his grasp. And then they were gone, disappearing into the crowd of escay, a few of who gave a cheer.

  Alandar struggled to his feet and kicked the cloak off his feet, spitting out dirt. The last Greens were disappearing down side streets, rushing past the market-sellers who were wondered whether it was safe to set up their stalls. Inside the square, the marshals were scattered about, looking around with confused looks, wondering what had just happened.

  Alandar swiveled toward Bowe. His chest shook as he took in deep breaths and his face took on a purple tinge as he tried to control himself. He couldn’t contain his anger, though, and he raised his sword and charged. Bowe froze, suddenly very aware that there were no Bellanger marshals in Drywell Square. Alandar skidded to a stop in front of Bowe, holding his sword high and wide, ready to slice it down for a killing stroke. His arm paused, vibrating with the effort it took for Alandar not to strike.

  “Go on, defend yourself if you are able, you one-handed escay-lover!” Alandar shouted, spittle flying from his mouth.

  “I don’t have a weapon.” Bowe was surprised at how cool his voice sounded. “So it doesn’t matter how many hands I have.” Bowe had never learned to swing a sword well.

  “I, however, am armed.” Kirande drew his sword and stood in front of Bowe. “Alandar, put your weapon away. If you killed the Bellanger Guardian, your life would be the least that you’d lose. The streets would run red with Bellanger and Raine blood. Have you so little care for your family?”

  The tension went out of Alandar’s arm and his sword fell to his side. “Your luck will run out, Bowe Bellanger,” he said. “And I’ll be there to see it.” He started to sheath his sword, then changed his mind and speared it into the ground between Bowe’s feet. It took all of Bowe’s willpower not to jerk away. The blade quivered in the dirt, then fell. A moment of stillness fell upon the square, broken by Alandar stalking away.

  “Thank you,” Bowe told Kirande.

  Kirande didn’t return his smile. “Alandar handled this in the worse possible way, but what you did was outrageous. You made fools of the rest of our mentors by ignoring what we agreed upon and forcing your own way. You got away with too much when you were a Green, but a Guardian doesn’t act like that. Not and retain any friends among the other families. Be ca
reful.” With that Kirande followed Alandar out of the square.

  Bowe watched him go, realizing he’d made a big mistake. Not only had he ensured that Alandar would be an enemy for life, he had turned against him the one Grenier who had ever helped him or showed him any support.

  Realizing that it was all over, those of the marshals who had swords drawn now sheathed them. Bowe wiped sweat from his brow, the awareness that the sun beat down as strong as ever coming to him all at once. He wasn’t sure how close he’d come to being killed, but it was certainly too close.

  In a rush of footsteps, Toose and two other Bellanger marshals raced across. Toose skidded to a stop in front of Bowe, sucking in deep breaths.

  “It’s okay,” Bowe told him. “Emergency over.”

  “I’m not leaving you alone like that again in public, no matter your orders, Guardian,” Toose said.

  “It wasn’t a big deal, I wasn’t in any danger,” Bowe said. “Just a bit of posturing.”

  “Even so.” Toose folded his arms in front of him in a determined manner.

  “Remember who gives the orders around here.” Bowe didn’t want to be always hobbled by over-protective guards.

  “When it comes to your security, Guardian, it could be me soon,” Toose said. “I’m going to talk to Thrace and Sorrin.”

  “No need to go that far.” Thrace and Sorrin would likely agree with Toose.

  “We’ll see.” Toose gave a firm nod, indicating that he thought the matter settled for the present.

  There was a cough and Bowe turned to see Eolnar waiting behind him. “I believe we are due to have a talk.”

  “You still want to? Even after all this?”

  Eolnar nodded. “Especially after all this.”

  “Very well. Let’s talk on the way back.” Bowe turned to Toose. “Stay back out of earshot.”

  Toose’s objections were expressed in a glare. Nevertheless, he and the other Bellanger marshals hung back as Bowe led Eolnar back toward the Silken Palace and their rickshaws. For the first few steps they walked in silence as Eolnar gathered his thoughts.

  “It’s about the Green Path and the rumor that you are opposed to it,” Eolnar said

  “The rumor is simply not true,” Bowe replied.

  Eolnar nodded. “Yes, you would tell me that. You have no reason to trust me. So I’m going to be the first to make myself vulnerable here. You see, I also despise the Green Path.” He shot a sideways look at Bowe.

  Bowe kept his thoughts from his face, trying to work out what game Eolnar was playing.

  “I can see you don’t believe me,” Eolnar continued, “and I’m not surprised. If someone else had come to me and said the same, I wouldn’t believe them either. I’d expect some trap. Perhaps an enemy trying to get me to incriminate myself.”

  Bowe smiled. “Certainly the last thing to expect when talking to another ascor is to be told the truth.”

  “Indeed.” Eolnar returned my smile. “But I was never the best at the ascorim. Understanding it, yes, but never at playing it.”

  “I doubt that. No one gets to your position without being a master.”

  “Perhaps I am better than I think,” Eolnar mused. “Maybe I just tell myself that I’m not as deeply embedded into all things ascor as I am.” He blinked a few times, seemingly lost in thought for a moment before continuing. “In any case, I’m not lying now. I do despise the Path. I haven’t done anything about it because what can one person to do? But I don’t believe you when you say that you only want to tweak the rules of the Path. I think you feel like I do.”

  “And do the other ascor think the same as you?” Bowe asked. He still intended to be cautious, but in spite of himself, he was beginning to believe Eolnar. “Perhaps we all only pretend to uphold the importance of the Path?”

  “No. I think it is inconceivable for most ascor to see anything wrong with the Path, thus they wouldn’t expect others to feel as we do.”

  “Then they feel as I do,” Bowe said, not willing to commit himself. “The Path is an essential bedrock of Arcandis society and I can’t imagine it any other way.”

  “If that’s the way you want to play it.” Eolnar nodded, seemingly unsurprised. “As for another way, something other than the Path, I can’t imagine it either. But I know there must be something. However, it wouldn’t be easy. Which begs the question—is there any point in putting the effort in exploring options if there’s no will to implement anything? The crazy originator of any such plan would likely end up rotting in the Fortress. So, at the moment, there’s no incentive to even consider ideas.”

  “I agree, it does seem hopeless. Even if one or two people had the desire for change,” Bowe said. They were coming up to the Silken Palace and their rickshaws. “I’ll think on what you have said.”

  Eolnar nodded. “If a replacement for the Path was worked out, and if two of the great houses were in favor of such a plan, then it couldn’t be just dismissed as the ideas of one crazy person. The plan would have to be seriously considered. And who knows? The impossible might just be possible.”

  Chapter 3

  47 Days Left

  The smell of musty paper hit Bowe the instant he opened the door. The floorboards creaked as he stepped into the dark room. The light streaming in from behind Bowe provided the only illumination. Finshire covered his eyes with his arm. “Close that.”

  Bowe closed the door behind him; then, to banish the worse of the darkness, he went to the window and edged open the heavy cloth curtains—enough to provide light, but not enough to hurt the old man’s eyes. “I still don’t understand why you like the darkness so much. How can you write and read if you can’t see?”

  “I could see fine until you came in,” Finshire grumbled. “Now I can’t see a thing.”

  Bowe shook his head. He had no idea how the strain of reading in near-darkness hadn’t caused the old man to lose his eyesight decades ago. Finshire was a small man with a bald wrinkled skull and a hunched back. He shuffled across the room, picked up a ledger and thumped it down on his desk and opened it. “Now, what news of the Path?”

  “It only started a few days ago.” Bowe had told Toose and the other marshals to send away any Greens that came to Bellanger Mansion. He’d hoped that none would arrive due to his speech the day before about how mentors—despite their name—did not actually help the Greens. However, Toose had reported that several had arrived. If they came again, Bowe would have them chased away with swords. The most important thing Bowe could teach them was that they were on their own.

  “The Path started the day they were born,” Finshire said. “The boys have been watched all their lives; there’s plenty of information on each of them. We need to know which ones are most able to form the lists.”

  “Surely you can get that from the houses where they grew up.”

  “I’ve been in contact with other newswriters, and the leanings of the other houses are known. However, since the Bellanger house will have three picks instead of one, and since you are both Guardian and mentor, your word will have a large weight on how each boy is ranked.

  “Yorshin.” Bowe remembered a name that Coinal mentioned. “He’ll do well.”

  How was Bowe going to make the choices he needed to? He needed to know each boy’s history, personality and achievements to make the decisions. But once he knew that much, could he be involved in sentencing most of them to death? He thought back to Eolnar’s proposal. Bowe was still suspicious of it, but he couldn’t afford to ignore it. Another powerful ascor helping him end the Path was too great a reward.

  “Yorshin, yes, he is already in the top three,” Finshire was saying, “but your mention will make him firmly number one. Who else?”

  Bowe wondered if he should mention Coinal. Would having him move up the lists benefit him, or would it just put a target on his back? Bowe shook his head; here he was, again trying to favor the only boy he knew. How much more difficult would this process become when the rest of the boys became more than
a faceless number? “You’ll just have to assume that my thinking is in line with the other families for now.”

  Finshire closed the ledger with a snap and a puff of dust. “So that’s all you have for me? The other newswriters know that I’m the conduit for Bellanger information—what do I tell them?”

  “I’m sure you’ll think of something. You deal in stories after all. Now, how it going? You know, my special request.”

  “This is supposed to be a two-way street.” Finshire took a different ledger from the shelf behind him and opened that. “You help me with information, I help you with this ridiculousness.”

  “I’ll increase your stipend if you want.”

  Finshire leafed through the ledger, shaking his head. “A bigger stipend? What use is that to me? I don’t even bother to buy candles, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  “I figured you had plenty of candles and were too lazy to light them.”

  “I deal primarily in stories and information, not coin. If you were less close-mouthed about so many things, I wouldn’t require any coin.” Finshire tapped on a page. “Now, your special request. You wanted to have stories told about you that reflect you in a good light. To change opinions. I still don’t get it. In all my years as a newswriter, I’ve never heard of such an idea.”

  “You’ve made it clear many times how stupid you think the idea is. But you still tried, right? Is it working?”

  “Maybe a small bit,” Finshire said. “But overall, no. Newsbards tell the stories and gossip and news that people want to hear. They don’t get coin for telling stuff that people don’t want to hear—people move on to a different square or tavern and end up listening to a different newsbard with juicier stories. The ones I’ve tried to spread about at your request aren’t the ones that the people want to hear. The story about you and the escay girl, now that one has legs. If you can just give me more details—”