Rubaloth stood on the portico, the sun-warmed marble under his naked feet, the warm breeze washing across his legs and bringing the sulfur scent of the hot mineral pools. Behind him in the chamber, the lord of the Fir-Noy, the one they called the Crab, lay on a couch, trying to gather his wits.
“Pour him another cup of the tea,” Rubaloth said to Leaf, the dreadman who was his guide. Rubaloth had just performed a seeking and then a minor binding on this man, forming a link between the Crab and an escrum, a weave that would allow them to communicate over distances. Bindings disoriented a man, made him dizzy and stupid. But Rubaloth did not have the time to let this man sleep it off. It would take a few days for the binding to cure completely, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t be useful before then.
He heard the clink of the teapot, the sound of a cup being filled with wizard’s tea, then Leaf’s footfalls over to the couch.
Rubaloth had been cold the whole time on the sea and rummaging through this man’s mind made him feel filthy. He ached to submerse himself in the hot water that lay at the end of the marble path.
“This is a bitter brew,” said the Crab.
Rubaloth did not reply. He waited for the clink on the platter that would signal Leaf had returned the empty cup.
“So what is it you want us to do?”
“I want you to find out all you can about this Captain Argoth. Where his family is from, his business dealings, the types of foods he eats. I want to know if he has a regimen of exercise.”
“Exercise, Great One?”
“I want to know what he puts in his body and what comes out. You’ll dig in his privy. You’ll search his pantry and root cellars.” Anyone who used the lore needed to eat certain foods to keep the body from wasting. They needed to exercise in a certain way to prepare the body for the moment of quickening.
“Do you suspect him?”
“I suspect everyone, Clansman, including you.”
“Argoth’s sister married a Koramite,” said the Crab. “There are a number of us in the Council who have never trusted him.”
“You will provoke nothing,” continued Rubaloth. “He must know nothing. His wife must suspect nothing. You will take action only upon my command. And that will come through this minor binding.”
“What about questioning the Koramite?”
“Your tower is not secure. You’ll move him immediately. Far from Whitecliff.”
“Yes,” said the Crab.
“Do not touch him.” If the Koramite had anything to do with the rebellion here, if he had any secrets, Rubaloth would seek them out himself. He did not want to risk incompetent men killing or damaging the man.
“You do not want us to press him?”
“What did I just say?”
The Crab bowed. “Please forgive my stupidity, Bright One.”
“Be faithful over these few things and you shall be made ruler over many. Fail me, and you will be cast aside like rancid meat.”
He heard the Crab rise. His voice slurred slightly. “My heart is given to Mokad,” he said.
His heart was given to Mokad only because he saw that as his path to glory. Rubaloth felt that clearly during the seeking. He also felt nothing to suggest the Crab was part of the cabal that had murdered Lumen, which meant such ambition could be used.
“Prepare yourself. Wait for my command to use the weaves I’ve given you.”
“Yes, Bright One.”
Rubaloth turned the screw one last time. “I expect great things from you. Remember, the Glory is searching to replace Lumen. Which means he is also looking to raise one or two as candidates. It is not”-he paused-“impossible for a man of your experience and talents.”
The Crab’s voice echoed strongly off the floor, which meant he was bowing deeply. “I will not disappoint you, Bright One.”
Rubaloth dismissed him. Leaf walked the Crab out. When he returned, he said, “Do you trust him?”
“I trust his ambition.” Rubaloth took a breath, satisfied with this part of his plan. “Where’s Uram?”
“He’s coming, Bright One.”
Moments later the sound of studded sandals echoed down the hallway and stopped in the room. “My Lord?” said Uram in his pleasing voice.
“Argoth must come to the ship willingly. That is your mission. If he tries to escape, subdue him, but avoid killing him at all costs. When we’re out to sea, I will be more comfortable pressing him. But not a moment before. Defer to him, treat him as you would a lord.”
“May I respectfully suggest that we do not know the enemy’s size or strength. Will it not be safer to take him directly to the ship, Bright One?”
“Safer, yes, but also less effective. This enemy is a serpent, Captain. The moment it feels threatened, it will attack or flee. And so we shall give it no cause for alarm. When he’s cut off from all help and all prying eyes, I shall crack his mind like a nut. In that moment, surprise will be on our side. We will know his secrets. And if he is Sleth, then I will direct our allies here to quickly and quietly move on them all.”
“Yes, Bright One.”
“You may go, Uram. I will see you on the morrow.”
Rubaloth turned to Leaf. “Now our part. We cannot let a pack of traitors think we are uneasy, can we?” He held out his arm for Leaf to take and turned to the pools. “Have you got the wine?”
“Yes, Bright One. I have arranged for a massage.”
They walked out of the chamber and down the path arm in arm. At that moment a clamor arose ahead, punctuated by screams.
Rubaloth felt for Leaf’s mind so that he might see. Had they underestimated the enemy?
Through Leaf’s eyes, he saw a number of knee-high, red-faced beasts run across the path. A troop of green-and-white-clad servants ran after them with sticks and stones.
“G’alls!” he exclaimed. “Woodikin?”
Leaf drew the sword he kept at his side.
The beasts ran up the hill on his left and disappeared over the top with many screeches. The servants followed, throwing rocks and ringing bells.
Another servant carrying the wine walked along another path as if nothing were happening. Leaf called to her. “Hoy, what is this?”
The servant bowed deeply. “Monkeys, Zu.”
“Monkeys?” said Rubaloth.
“Yes, Bright One, we must be ever vigilant to keep them from the baths.”
Rubaloth shook his head in disgust. “What Lumen saw in this land I will never know.” He released his hold on Leaf’s sight. It was not something he wished to do often, for after long periods of that a man could lose himself, leave his body and not return. He and Leaf continued to the pools and their fingers of softly curling steam.
____________________
Argoth sat upon Courage, his tall black warhorse, sandwiched between five dreadmen who rode ahead and five who rode behind. A breeze blew crossways and carried the dust from the horses’ hooves out over the half-mown fields of hay on his right.
The bright, brass armor of the dreadmen clinked and clattered and blazed in the sunlight. Beneath it they wore close-fitting scarlet tunics and black pants. But this armor was meant only to dazzle the eye. The metal of their cuirasses was exceedingly thin. Brass was not a metal to stop swords.
If they had wanted protection, they would have worn steel segments or plate on top, a chain mail tunic underneath, and padding beneath that. They would have worn helms with faceplates. All the better to deflect arrows. But they weren’t worried about being attacked by cohorts of men. They were worried about him escaping, about facing a smaller group of attackers. That much was transparent.
And why would the Skir Master expect a loyal servant to run? He wouldn’t. He would only expect it from someone he didn’t trust. These dreadmen would be on their guard, watching his every move.
His plan was simple. He would bind the Skir Master and force him to reveal who knew about his secrets. His plan hinged on getting a great quantity of Fire, which he would use to quicken a weave that had been in his family for generations, a weave that would enthrall the Skir Master.
Argoth had sent a messenger to Matiga with two requests. He knew the Skir Master would have the man followed, but what other choice did he have? Besides, the messages would be coded. The messenger would simply relay the news of the Divine’s arrival, then he would ask if she was going to need any help this year preparing her garden for the frost. That was her signal to bear the Grove away.
Next the messenger would say that Captain Argoth wanted a sour apple pie for dinner this evening. Matiga was known for her pies and tarts. In fact, there were some in Whitecliff who sent servants to fetch her pies once a week. What was not known was that this specific request from any of the Grove meant one thing-they needed to tap into the Grove’s reserve of Fire, something that could only be done in extreme need. Matiga held the Grove’s weaves, two of which were stores of Fire.
When he got the Fire, he would replenish his guttering flame. Then he would quicken the weave that would enthrall the Skir Master.
It would not be an easy task, but it was less risky than declaring open war. Keep small, keep quiet, avoid attention-that was the way the Order had survived all these years. But this time he did not want to run. And if he failed? He would fire the ship, sending all who sailed upon it to the depths.
He didn’t relish that idea. But at that point he wouldn’t have the luxury of finding out who had the knowledge of the Order and who didn’t.
This raised another issue. If he succeeded and returned, he would have to deal with Shim.
Tucked under his sash was a message forced into his hand back in Whitecliff by an unmarked messenger:
To Argoth, an Old Woman’s Delight:
I was right; we are now in our extremity. Remember the offer of a practical
friend. Do not turn your back on those who love you. We await your reply.
There was no seal or signature, but Argoth knew the sender. “Old Woman’s Delight” made that clear. Shim gave him that name one day long ago when he and Shim found themselves past the Gap in the wilds with the sun going down. They were forced to sleep in hammocks far above the ground to avoid the wurms that hunted below. It took them almost a week to escape that death trap, and during that time he told Shim a story from his distant past.
Of course, he didn’t reveal to Shim his true age, but eighty years ago, as a boy of sixteen, prime, and available for marriage, his father began to receive and make marriage offers. One such came from a very ugly, but very rich woman. She tried to seduce Argoth and, failing that, tried to pressure his father into marrying him off to her.
Shim found the story hilarious and made Argoth tell it a number of times. However, he’d never passed the story on. Only Shim had ever called him “Old Woman’s Delight.”
The practical offer obviously alluded to Shim’s offering to ally himself with Sleth. Shim knew what Argoth was, but that wasn’t as fearful as the “we” in the final sentence.
Shim had told others; he’d won them to his idea. Who they could be, Argoth did not know. Would it be men of Shim’s clan? Or had he talked to other warlords?
The Grove would have three choices when he returned: flee, kill Shim and all those he’d told, or bring them into the Order.
And if he brought them into the Order, as Shim desired, they would want to fight as multiplied men. Knowing Shim, this would not be a handful of men. Shim was thorough. He would have gathered up enough to defend the land.
There was no way to hide that many. Introducing such a force would reveal the Order.
He imagined this people throwing off the blinders put upon them by Divines. Some would live to the age of trees like the ancients had. A man and a woman would have the power to heal their children, but also every living thing in their domain: oxen, goats, chickens, a generous fruit tree succumbing to a blight. It was said that the ancients at times walked with the Creators. If then, why not now?
Of course, they’d tried. Many years ago, Lord Shaydis, the head of the Order, disappeared with many eager members into the deep interior of this land, intent on laying the foundations for a city patterned after the ancients.
A great secret trail led to that city. Groves manned the waypoints, each knowing only the preceding and subsequent waypoint and the places and signals for meets. This ensured the traveling members found help along the way, but it also reduced the risk that any in the standing Groves might be caught and questioned. Hogan’s was the last waypoint, but none in this Grove knew the final destination. Their instructions were to lead whoever was traveling to the city to a certain lake three days’ travel through the mountains. Lord Shaydis would send someone to gather them in.
But none from Hope had come for a number of years. Many had struck out to find the city. Most did not return. Those that did spoke of terrible creatures that burrowed vast warrens, small men that lived in the tops of the great trees, a salt sea, mountains that smoked, and other wondrous and perilous things.
Fifteen years ago was the last time any group had been gathered in. The flow along the great trail diminished to a trickle and then dried up altogether.
But the hope of such a city had not died. And Shim had unwittingly pointed out the opportunity to build it.
Argoth saw a land brimming with Divines. It was a bright and overpowering vision.
He had never thought it possible. Not here.
He took a deep breath.
It was possible that Shim was loyal to Mokad, that he was an agent of the Seeker, trying to ferret out information about the Order. But Argoth didn’t think so. He trusted Shim with his life. Always had. Still he would have to test him.
As he rode, he thought of how to write the message and get it to Shim anonymously. When he got home he found a new parchment and wrote:
Show me the depth of your love.
He sealed it with a blob of wax, but not with any mark that would give an indication of who had sent it. Then he secretly gave it to a servant and told him to deliver it without being seen by even Lord Shim himself.
There was nothing more to be done. Hogan would be furious. But he would come around. The vision was breathtaking. The opportunity was right. He could feel it quaking in his bones.
Argoth basked in that bright hope for a moment longer and then brought himself back to the present. Right now he needed to focus on the Skir Master and these dreadmen; otherwise that fine dream would never come to pass.