Lords Of Existence (Book 8) (3 page)

“Nothing real,” Will said.

“You will tell me if you get such a sense that is more … real?”

“Yes, Lord J’ravi—Darien—I will.”

“Good.” Darien paused. “So, you were coming to address issues with the wounded?”

“Yes, I was. Garrick was dealing with them before he stepped away. Now they are calling out, and those that are able are gathering. If we don’t arrange a medical center outside the walls, I don’t think it will be long before they or their families begin to draw on Lord Ellesadil and his staff.

“I understand,” Darien said, nodding. “And I’m sure you’re right. Thank you. I’ll attend to that at once.”

He turned to leave.

The apothecary was certainly already out and working to save lives. He could reposition them, though it was probably wise now to have a detail stand guard for them.

“Darien?” Will said.

Darien stopped and turned back to Will.

“Can I do something? I want to be useful.”

Darien smiled. “I can’t imagine you would feel any other way.”

“What can I do?”

“The stables,” Darien said. “We’ll need a steady supply of fresh horses around the city for the next full day. I can’t think of anyone who will fit that role better. Tell the stable master I’ve assigned you to manage the process. Tell him your word is my direction. I need you to quell the horses, and ensure they regain strength as we shift them out to the city. Take care of them.”

“Thank you, sir. I think I can do that.”

“Then go and make yourself useful.”

Will’s face took a serious set, and he turned toward the stables.

Darien smiled as he made his own way down the hallway. It was hard to be depressed for long when you were around a boy who was that … enthusiastic.

Chapter 3

Zutrian Esta, High Superior of the Lectodinian order, had been enjoying the early morning darkness when the call arrived. It had snowed the day before, but the sky was a clear slate now—filled with pinpoint stars and a moon that was nearly full. His doeskin breeches and blue tunic were soft against his skin, and he sat on his open balcony encased by a sphere of power that kept him warm despite the altitude and the time of year.

Now, though, Zutrian’s link sizzled with news of the most intriguing nature.

“The government center is in ruin,” the ethereal voice reported. “By the time I arrived, Garrick had already disposed of the Koradictine.”

“And what of Ellesadil?” Zutrian asked.

“The Lord of Dorfort still lives, sir.”

Zutrian grimaced, but despite that news he could still barely contain himself. His plan was working to perfection. His Lectodinian mages had spent the winter quietly picking off members of the already weakened Koradictines, and now, through a quirk of fate or luck, Garrick had disposed of Ettril Dor-Entfar. The Koradictines were, for all purposes, extinct.

His smile etched deep crevasses into his face. Life was beautiful after all. With Dorfort now needing to rebuild, this was the time. He was finally ready to take control of the plane.

“And there is something else, Lord Superior,” the spy continued.

“Yes?”

“They say the Koradictine Garrick defeated was none other than Hezarin herself.”

“Hezarin?” Zutrian said. “The planewalker? Not Ettril?”

“Yes, Lord Superior.”

Zutrian paused. This story grew more intriguing with every breath. Hezarin, defeated by Garrick?

“Is there more?”

“No, Lord Superior. Not now. I’ll stay in contact, though. There are bound to be ramifications.”

“I am sure you are correct about that.”

Zutrian broke the link. He sat under his magical shell and looked up at the moon that hung high in the sky. The wind howled outside his sphere, but he breathed only sweet mountain air. The discordance between the calmness of the moon, and the rugged essence of the wind was apt, he thought. The moment had grown interesting.

Garrick, the Torean god-touched, was a wild card. That he could be powerful enough to defeat a planewalker was worrisome. Zutrian was aware that a rogue mage hunter had been on the prowl in the early months of winter, and had assumed Garrick was the culprit. He had nothing to base that assumption on beyond his understanding of the Torean mind—he assumed that only a dogmatic adherent to their view of individualism would be wanton enough to go on such a spree—and the fact that whoever it was had been strong enough to defeat some good wizards. He couldn’t think of anyone else who might be so inclined to pursue such a dangerous path, or gifted enough to survive it. Zutrian had considered dispatching mages to take care of the problem, but Garrick’s pace kept him from being a major concern, and—to be quite honest—it was better to have him preoccupied with such vigilantism than focused on supporting the Torean House.

If Garrick were powerful enough to destroy a planewalker, though, he would need to be contained.

On the other hand, such news has ways of fitting its proper proportion with the distance of time, so he would wait for further reports before jumping to conclusions. And even if it were true that Garrick had destroyed Hezarin all by himself, her involvement at Dorfort would suggest that earlier reports of Ettril Dor-Entfar’s death were also likely to be true. Elsewise, Dor-Entfar would have been there. And if
that
turned out to be the case, if it happened that Garrick had rid the world of both the planewalker the Koradictines had made their deals with
and
its high superior, well … then this was truly one of the more remarkable days in the history of his order.

He paused with satisfaction.

A thin cloud passed before the moon, bending its rays in a glorious act of diffusion. The rock was solid below him, firm and real. The foothills of the Vapor Peaks fell below, spreading from his balcony like a carpet blackened by shadow and lined with leafless trees, populated with bears in hibernation and birds of prey that searched endlessly for whatever scraps of food that carpet would offer.

It was a good land.

A fine place for a capital, he thought, rubbing his sore knee and doing his best to ignore the toll the past year had taken on his body.

He needed to call his leadership council together to lay out the details of his plan. There would be logistics to cover, supply lines to put in place. The master plan had always been to approach Dorfort from three directions at once, so the order of battle had to include communications to ensure deception and timing.

There was much to do now.

Still, Zutrian was pleased enough that he found himself humming a tune when footsteps fell upon the stone balcony behind him, and a gentle rap came at the doorway.

“Superior?”

The Lectodinian High Superior grimaced.

“What do you want?” he said, turning to begin his day.

Existence

Braxidane entered his brother’s node without being invited. A social error, certainly, but Agar—posting himself so near to Adruin’s gate as he often did—would be among the first to sense Hezarin’s loss. He would be expecting Braxidane by now, and the others would not be far behind. To adhere to artificial amenities at a time like this seemed ridiculous.

“I want your help,” he said as he took solid form against the node’s wall.

Agar was braced against holds and was trailing filaments into the flow to draw energy. He pulsed with impatience. “When are you going to Joint Authority?” he replied, his voice soft, yet somehow still scouring.

“Why should I do that?”

“Surely you’ve considered throwing yourself at their mercy?”

“Are you suggesting I am guilty?”

Agar laughed a lemon-scented flow. “We are all guilty of something, Braxidane.”

“Your point?”

“Maybe I have no point, brother. Maybe I have no point at all. But I don’t need to remind you that Hezarin had ties. She gave her word throughout All of Existence before going to Adruin. Now she is dead, and each of the lords she bargained with will be looking for someone to make good on those debts.”

“So?”

“My guess is they’ll expect her killer to provide for them.”

“Garrick killed her,” Braxidane argued.

“Don’t jest with me. You, of all of us, know that we are responsible for the behavior of those we gift. And if I have my guess right, the problem you’ll face next is that you won’t be unable to step into Hezarin’s debt without exposing your other dalliances across the Thousand Worlds.”

Braxidane became uncomfortably warm.

“What are you saying, Agar?”

“Unlike our sister, I am not a fool.”

“I would never have called Hezarin a fool.”

“But you would treat her as if she were one, wouldn’t you? You would treat us all as if we were fools, really. Haven’t you, after all, spread champions across the planes as if they were weeds?”

“How did you …” Braxidane hesitated.

“I listen, Braxidane. And I ignore your sleight of hand and blustery conversation to focus on what you actually do.”

“Sleight of hand?”

“Do you actually think you can drop a tendril into every world you get even the slightest interest in without disturbing the flow? Did you actually think you could grow a fleet of champions without someone noticing?
Actions and consequences, indeed,
brother. Actions and consequences, indeed.”

Braxidane condensed himself.

“Perhaps …” he said, trying to find words.

But he stopped there, unable to carry on without actually voicing the full facts of his gambit. Everything had been moving along so well until now. He
had
been exploring several of the Thousand Worlds, and he
had
made champions in every one of them where he had been able to establish a presence. Garrick’s case was just one example. He had found Garrick early and had pushed him in the right directions at the right times. But Garrick, unlike most denizens of the planes, was proving to be obstinate. He refused to play the game as it was meant to be played. Still, Braxidane wasn’t going to admit everything to Agar if Agar wasn’t actually aware of the
entire
depths of his game. His champions were growing older and stronger across the whole of the Thousand Worlds. In only a few short years, as measured on the planes, he would be strong enough to gain control of a majority of the gates across All of Existence.

When that happened, life as his brothers and sisters knew it would change.

But now Hezarin was dead, and, as Agar insinuated, things had become so much more than dangerous. Agar was also correct in his assessment of Hezarin’s political foibles. There was every chance that her death, if not properly attributed, could result in a schism across the Lords of Existence that had not been seen for millennia.

Agar finally broke their silence.

“You do appear to need help, though, brother. Do you feel their approach?”

He did feel them. Their progress was a pressure across the media, which meant he had little time.

“I believe that means the Lords of Joint Authority have now learned of Hezarin’s fate.”

“What do you suggest?” he replied.

“Cut ties,” Agar said. “Cast Garrick and the rest adrift. Leave all your champions lie fallow for long enough that All of Existence forgets they exist.”

“And if I do that?”

“Then I will back you, of course. I will block the other’s motions when they petition Joint Authority themselves. I’ll stall their arguments, and I’ll argue that you are policing the situation properly. I’ll offer to oversee your self-imposed sanctions. In other words, I’ll give them an easy way out, but I’ll be a pain in their side until they set you free.”

Braxidane trailed cilia in the flow as he considered the offer. He chuckled sardonically.

He saw Agar’s game now. He felt it, tasted it, in the essence of patience that rolled from his brother’s node. He sensed the aroma of Zutrian and the rest of Agar’s Lectodinian mages stationed throughout Adruin. And now that he saw those patterns, he heard urgent whisperings in the flow. Preparations were being made, messages passed from Lectodinian lips to Lectodinian ears.

Braxidane’s withdrawal would leave Adruin to Agar’s influences, and it took only a few moments to sense similar situations among his other worlds. Agar had come along silently and set up camp behind him—a situation that could leave Agar in control of a majority of the worlds across All of Existence, the exact position Braxidane himself had planned to be in.