Oathen (5 page)

“What did he say?” Geret asked, leaning
forward, while Sanych was still digesting the fact that Meena had
gone back to the palace without her.

“‘
Free’.” Meena swallowed. “Your
cousin is under a spell, Geret.”

“What?” he barked.

“Oh, Wisdom,” Sanych murmured, her eyes
flicking.

“Do you see it, Archivist?” Meena asked, her
voice quiet. “Do you see their reach?”

Sanych felt rampant tingles shoot up her
spine, contracting her scalp with pinpricks. “Wisdom…” Her breath
felt thin; her eyes darted to Geret.

“What is it?” he asked her, taking a concerned
step in her direction. “Sanych, tell me.”

She licked her lips. “Dzur i’Oth used your
cousin with bloodmagic, and used me as well, to draw Meena to them.
They’ve been planning this for
years
. They cursed Addan,
then put the priest’s journal into your uncle’s hands. My quest…how
did they know I would seek Meena? Am I under a spell as well?” Her
breathing sped up, and she looked to Meena for an
answer.

The Shanallar shook her head. “No, Sanych.
Someone probably suggested that it was too bad no one knew anything
more about this
Dire Tome
your Magister wanted.”

Sanych’s mouth opened, and stayed open.
“Ahni,” she finally said, feeling her stomach turn.
That’s
exactly what Ahni said. We talked about it for hours one night. It
inspired my quest
. “My assistant at the Temple. Will they kill
her?” she asked.

“She’s perfectly safe, Sanych. I assure you,
she hates Dzur i'Oth as much as I do.”

“But how do you know?”

Meena raised her chin and smiled. “I have my
ways.”

“Why would they do this, though?” Kemsil
asked. “Spend years on a plot that might somehow fail to fruit, for
a magical book they’ve not had their hands on in four
centuries?”

Meena met the man’s eyes. “A persistent evil
must be very patient.” She straightened her shoulders and looked
everyone in the eye one by one. “Now, Sanych and I want to know
who’s willing to make a race across the sea with us. Anyone who
wants out, we’ll leave you safely out of harm’s way.”

Geret met Meena’s eyes. “This cult has cursed
my cousin. Cursed him, and ruined his entire life! You say that the
Dire Tome
won’t save him, but…if I help you kill them
all…will that free him?” The naked hunger for a “yes” was stark in
his brown eyes.

“Geret Branbrey Valan, Prince of Vint,” Meena
responded formally, “if you help me destroy every last member of
the Cult of Dzur i’Oth, there will be none to hold the spell over
your cousin. You will fulfill the spirit of your pledge, if not the
letter.”

“Then I’m going,” Geret said immediately,
stabbing his short dagger into Rhona’s tabletop. Meena nodded her
acceptance.

“And that means I’m going,” Salvor added in a
resigned tone.

“I’ve told you already,” Kemsil said to them,
“that my life is yours now. Twice over, in fact. So I’m going too.
Besides…” he added, paling, “I think I may know a small way to help
you.”

“With what?” Sanych asked. Kemsil still held
many unknowns for her; she’d rarely seen him during their sojourn
at Salience. All she knew was that another Jualan House had ruined
Kemsil’s life, separating him from Anjoya, the woman he loved, by
using the magical banns to force him into a political marriage. If
he hadn’t been kidnapped by Clan Swordfish on the way to his own
wedding, he’d already be a political prisoner, if a well-kept
one.

“I…” Kemsil let out a bracing breath and tried
again. “I know where you can find an ancient item that will hide
you from the cult’s eyes. From everyone, in fact.”

Meena leaned on the table with both hands, her
eyes burning into Kemsil’s. Her frost-tipped hair fairly quivered.
“Where is it?”

“In Juala, at the ancestral home of the House
of Aldib. The family that placed me under the banns.”

Geret frowned. “Gryme, you don’t need to come
with us to get it, if you can tell us where it is. We don’t want to
get you killed.”

Kemsil shut his eyes and swallowed. “You don’t
understand,” he said finally, meeting Geret’s eyes again. “You
cannot retrieve the item without me. In fact, you cannot retrieve
it at all. Each Jualan family that desires to be raised to
House-hood must lay claim to an item of vast age, power or mystery.
The Claim of House Aldib is a magical artifact called the Circuit
of Sa’qal. It resides in a warded pavilion on the House grounds,
and none but House Aldib may cross its threshold.”

“But you told us you belong to the House of
Jath. How are you going to get into another House’s Claim
pavilion?” Salvor asked, raising an eyebrow.

Kemsil managed a determined grin despite his
fears. “Because the banns mark me as one of their own. They may
have cursed me to live as a celibate fugitive for the rest of my
days, but if I help you steal their Claim to Housedom, it will
destroy all the power and prestige they have amassed among the
Jualan Houses. Though I fear my death, and Anjoya’s despair, rather
greatly, I would gladly accept it in order to destroy Aldib and
free Jath from their controlling grasp.”

Meena’s eyes sparkled, and an eager smile
parted her lips. “Then let’s go get it.”

Someone was rapping on Master Godric’s door again. He sighed,
putting his elbows on his desk and rubbing his forehead. “Come
in.”

The thick oak door opened. “Sorry, Master,”
said Archivist Ghant, a lanky man with dark red hair. “I know it’s
been a trying day for us all. But there’s a box here, sent over
from the palace. It’s addressed to Archivist elTiera.”

Godric sat up. “You can just leave it here on
my desk. I’ll put it with her other correspondence.”

“Begging your pardon, Master,” Ghant said,
waving in a pair of sweating workmen who carried a box nearly the
size of a coffin. “It’s rather large. May I suggest your floor
instead?”

Godric’s eyebrows rose, and he gave permission
for the men to set the box against the far wall. He stood and
approached it, recognizing the inked script emblazoned across the
box’s lid as Hrillian.

“I thought you said this came from the
palace.”

“It did,” came a new voice. Godric looked over
to see Ilvan Imorlar, the Magister’s Seneschal, step through the
door with a folded letter in his hand. “By way of Ha’Lakkon. And
you have my sympathies on the loss of Master Alii. He was a
well-grounded advisor. The Magister will be sure to attend his
remembrance ceremony.”

“Thank you. It’s been a difficult day. This
box, who sent it?”

“Salvor Thelios, over a season ago. The
troubles in Yaren Fel had it gathering dust in a warehouse for
several weeks, but now that the guilds have renegotiated their
power structure, trade is resuming.”

“The expedition got out of there before the
volcano erupted, then.”

“Barely. The halt on trans-oceanic trade
didn’t help matters in Yaren Fel, either. I hear Eirant lost most
every harbor on its eastern shores to some massive quake ripples.
Luckily, the ripples at Yaren Fel were far smaller.”

Godric frowned. “I hope the ripples haven’t
affected the expedition.”

Imorlar gave him a wry smile. “Aside from
interrupting their mail, you mean. I’d hoped to receive news from
Salience by now as well.” He looked to Ghant. “Give us a moment,
please.”

Ghant nodded and ushered out the delivery men,
closing the door behind them.

Godric waited. Imorlar stepped closer. “You
are aware that the Magister sent members from both factions in the
Dictat on the expedition to Shanal in order to stymie what he
perceived as moves against him.”

“I recall. I understand that his action has
succeeded in breaking the collusion between the remaining
dissenters here in the palace, but no one has yet figured out their
ultimate goal, and they’ve been clever enough to leave no evidence
to accuse them with.”

“Indeed.” Imorlar shifted to rest a lean thigh
against the edge of Godric’s desk. He unfolded the letter and
handed it over.

Salvor’s brief message to Imorlar, penned in
Ha’Lakkon, painted a grumpy picture of a man forced to spend time
with a fool who happened to be Prince Geret. Godric handed it back.
“May I presume that young Salvor’s commentary on our beloved prince
was more frustration than arrogance?”

“I took it as such. What I came to discuss
with you was the comment he made about your newest Archivist.
Salvor’s nearly incapable of giving compliments. Considering that
the situation out there may get vehemently political, or may have
suffered a setback from destructive waves, I wanted your opinion on
Sanych’s mental fortitude.”

Godric sucked in part of his lower lip,
gnawing on it. “She’s eager to please, but she also has a solid
core of idealism, and it rides close to the surface. As long as
she’s in Salvor’s good company, I have no worries for her ability
to withstand and properly advise the prince. Geret, though, I don’t
know much about. If he’s as politically clumsy as Salvor intimates,
there could be trouble with the dissenting faction. Either way,
there’s nothing we can do about it until we receive further
news.”

“A practical assessment. If you receive any
correspondence from Sanych, or anyone in the expedition, let me
know, please. I’ll do the same.”

“I will.”

Imorlar stood from the desk, preparing to
leave. “You know, that’s a rather large box. And all the way from
Ha’Hril.”

Godric smiled. “I’ll open it, then. I’m
curious as well.”

He sent for an acolyte to fetch him a pry bar.
Once he had it in hand, Godric levered up the wooden lid. It
squeaked along the square nails until they popped free, releasing a
small cloud of pale dirt. Indeed, the box was filled with it. On
top lay a small square of oiled leather and what appeared to be a
dried white root with little brown hairs sprouting from
it.

Imorlar raised an eyebrow. “Salvor sent
her…dirt.”

“A lot of dirt,” Godric agreed, reaching for
the oiled square. Unfolding it, he found a short note, detailing
instructions for the dirt and the root. Reading them, his eyebrows
shot up.

“What is it?”

Godric took a moment to digest the note’s
contents before replying. “That volcano, Heren Garil Sa. It nearly
blew Ha’Hril off the map.”

“Yes, it did.”

“Destroyed the entire toothspice trade. Every
last plant, buried under tons of ash.”

“I believe so.”

Godric picked up the root, a broad smile
spreading across his face. “I believe the Temple of Knowledge is
about to expand into the realm of botany.”

Meena sidled over to Sanych as everyone else
began to bandy about ideas on how to steal House Aldib’s Claim.
“How was your time with the Silver Hand?” she asked.

“It was busy. Those women, they can do so many
amazing things. They even tried to help me find you, but their
magic couldn’t reach far enough from Salience.”

“Did you find yourself having anything
particular in common with them?” she asked, eyes wandering to
Geret.

Sanych frowned for a moment. “Not really. I’ll
be glad to get these braids out of my hair. Salience fashion really
doesn’t suit me.”

Meena tsked.

“What’s wrong?” Sanych asked.

“Nothing. Let’s get this done,” she said,
moving away.

“So how will we know this Circuit when we see
it?” Salvor asked, eyeing his nails. Sanych gritted her teeth at
the man’s familiar gesture.

Kemsil grabbed a spare corner of the map and
sketched a circle the width of his hand. He gave it an open center,
then divided it into a few wedges.

“Awfully small for hiding armies,” Meena said,
leaning over his shoulder as he added four vague symbols on some of
the wedges.

“That’s its beauty: it’s incredibly portable.
Aldib embedded it in their Patrus’ battle armor generations ago,
and it remains that way to this day.”

“We need to rescue a suit of armor?” Geret
asked.

Kemsil chuckled. “No, just a single gauntlet.
The Circuit used to be worn as a medallion, but recent centuries
required a more martial approach. Possessing the Circuit has given
Aldib great power. Other Houses capitulated at the mere threat of
invisible armies invading their shores.”

Meena nodded. “Did they use this threat on
Jath?”

“No; again, times are changing, and a softer
approach is taking them further.” He sniffed in disapproval. “That
means ruining only one man’s life, rather than slaughtering
hundreds. But the other houses take note and reward Aldib for their
restraint; over the last two generations, Aldib’s softer choices
have helped elevate it to one of the three most powerful Houses in
Juala.”

“Where will they keep their Claim?” Sanych
asked.

“Most Houses have their ancestral homes on
smaller, outlying islands. Aldib is one of these. There is little
of value at the homes, and only the Patrus’s immediate family and
their house guards and servants live there. The ancestral homes are
all guarded well against attack. Just because it is nearly the only
thing on the island does not mean it will be easy to get
in.”