Temple of the Traveler: Book 01 - Doors to Eternity (24 page)

To bind together his scattered thoughts and remove some of the road from his feet, Tashi’s last stop was a bathhouse. While soaking in the warm water, he stared at the model temple strung around his neck. Eventually, Gamael’s name popped into his head as the fifth Abbot of the Spirit Temple. Before the water cooled, another thought popped into his head unbidden. Who had Nigel been expecting at the crossroads, and what else was the confessed spy concealing? When Tashi finished, he surprised everyone in the establishment by paying on the way out. Local knights rarely paid.

By dark, everyone had heard how much kinder southern knights were. By the hour the pair made the river crossing into the Pretender’s realm, the boatmen were gossiping about the tattooed gentlemen and how good life might be under the rule of Lord Kragen. The word of hope trickled downstream with the supplies they hauled.

****

The fifth Abbot of the Temple of Souls had been from this area. Between the abbot’s advice and Nigel’s handling of the natives, they made uninterrupted progress. However, the sheriff was out of sorts the next, overcast day. His dreams for the past few nights had been about bleak wastelands populated by gray men; however, he remembered little but the sweat that clung to him on waking. “This land has no soul,” he muttered.

Tashi was tired of everything in Nigel’s cooking pot being called “gumbo.” Several days of mud, mosquitoes, snakes, rice, and pepper plantations had wearied him. The road here was not well-paved, but packed dirt, sometimes a finger’s width above the water line. The path was often overgrown from lack of use. Cattails and bulrushes lined the road. The reek of the rice fields still clung to his boots and his cloak. Tashi grumbled, “Is there any filth in this kingdom that hasn’t smeared itself on me? I need a hot bath.”

“’Tis only because the god of this realm rejects you. Intaglios prefers the miser and the dabbler in intrigue. You’re not to his taste,” the actor reasoned.

Tashi rubbed his forehead and the band covering it. “My tattoos give him indigestion, more likely. When we first met, why did you think you knew me?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” the actor said calmly, hand drifting to the hilt of his foil.

Tashi pressed his advantage. “You’ve bargained before with a being of power. You thought I might be one. Did I look familiar?”

The actor snorted again. “No, it was that supreme arrogance and confidence you always wear. Perhaps it had to do with the way you seemed so unconnected with the world around you. I never rely on outward appearances; they change too frequently. The powers enjoy passing in secret among us.”

“Direct communication to the powers is forbidden, this is the law of Osos, given to us by the Traveler.”

“You seem to waste a lot of breath insisting things must be a certain way when all evidence points to the fact that they are not. Does this tell you anything important about your narrow worldview, killer?” Nigel spat into the cattails.

“Have you met the Traveler?”

“Men who kiss and tell don’t get repeat invitations,” the actor said, laying a finger aside his nose and winking.

“It must have been long ago, just before the Answer,” Tashi deduced, frantic for some clue that might aid him in his search and angry that such a resource had been at his side for weeks, keeping silent out of spite. “What did he tell you?”

It was Nigel’s turn to visit his youth. The lines in his face softened as his eyes lost focus. “I met him at a three-way crossroad, just like I did you. We had a friendly rhyming competition, and he rewarded me with this lucky coin.” The Sheriff now understood the man’s obsessive flipping of the thing during their journey.

“Do you remember his rhyme?” the Sheriff asked.

“It was for me alone. But he did promise that if I always kept my word, one day before I died I’d meet him again.”

With no warning, an enormous alligator charged out of the bulrushes, striking at Tashi’s leg. Faster than Nigel’s eye could follow, the sheriff drew his sword and sliced the end of its snout off. Two stabs later, the predator was dead.

The House of Kragen was of
ficially at war. The Mandala courtyard had become the command center of the campaign. Workers delivered messages from the birds, couriers, and the Shadow at all hours and flew off again with new orders. The ki mages, their lieutenants, and head servants all gathered around a collection of maps rolled out in the center of the courtyard. All of the major players sat in elaborately decorated, wooden chairs, the height of each determined by their respective rank. The Lady of the Deep’s chair was just a knuckle higher than all the rest and had a brilliant, crimson parasol to shield her from the rays of both suns. Her robes were the blackest silk, elegant in their simplicity. Her only jewelry was the thin chain around her neck that suspended the traitor’s life-stone above her chest.

The chief steward read the balance sheets for the latest battle and then summarized. “In short, our first few ambushes against the Brotherhood caught the victims completely off guard, both in the streets of Innisport and other cities of the south. Even so, our own casualties were higher than expected. Our mercenaries were under-trained and poorly armed by comparison. Worse, the enemy has already adapted to our tactics. They have orders not to go anywhere in less than half-band strength. Fighting a minimum of seven expert killers requires overwhelming force, which becomes difficult to mask. Because of this, our recruitment expenses have doubled.”

Vlekmar, the elder ki mage, made a sour expression on his already narrow, pinched face. “I told you we should’ve waited till we summoned our armies to the palace. Now we’re vulnerable.”

Necrota was calmer, happy in his new role in the Kragen triumvirate. “Oh, do stop whining, cousin. The goal in these feuds is to hurt the other guy before he even knows there’s a fight going on. In this goal, we’ve succeeded. Our nearest enemy is a week’s walk away and they know better than to poke at a hive of wizards. If you don’t think our reputations alone will keep us safe till the rest of our soldiers arrive, then consider the hundreds of peasants we’ve just pressed into service. No one could possibly get through these defenses.”

Vlekmar sneered, gripped his cane with claw-like fingers, and muttered, “So thought Kragen.”

The lady had scarcely registered the comment before aides around the courtyard chorused in unison, “Long live Lord Kragen!”

She allowed herself to smile slightly in favor of the display of devotion to the Heir. Humi glanced at her steward, cueing him to continue. “The cost of continuing with our current strategy will fast become prohibitive,” he said, concluding his report. Nervously, the steward offered up a sheaf of unpaid bills and returned to his seat.

Humi stared at the map. After a long moment, she announced, “I agree. We need to change our tactics. What would you suggest, Chamberlain?”

“Lady, Dhagmurna is distressed by his own losses and claims total ignorance of wrongdoing. He begs to meet with you to discuss terms of peace,” the steward said, trying to put an early end to the conflict.

“So he can finish the job?” scoffed Vlekmar. “Not while I draw breath.”

Humi wasn’t amenable to the offer either. “I am in agreement with the esteemed wizard. We have incontrovertible proof of his intent fr many sources. His armies won’t save him from justice. Post a bounty on the head of any executioner. Enlist the poor in our cause. No man can survive long against so many discontented.”

The steward squirmed in his seat. “Milady, this is contrary to the rules of blood feud. Only our House and uniformed employees may take part, no outsiders.” The Imperial rules were designed to prevent just such an escalation and allowed houses to resolve disputes without endangering the rest of the world.

But Humi wasn’t feeling diplomatic. The pregnancy was making her moody, and the palace cooks could never satisfy her anymore. Worse still, her arcane powers grew as fast as the child inside her. She hadn’t yet learned to control some of her most potent outbursts. “Rules? There are no rules in
war
!”

The steward bowed, almost cringing. “Your pardon, I merely meant that it is early in the conflict to expose ourselves to the public perception of dishonor. The enemy will invariably commit some egregious wrong and justify your worst response at some later date.”

Humi sighed. “Very well, we choose to exercise restraint for now.”

“An excellent decision, Lady,” applauded Necrota. “War, natural or supernatural, is about control: the field of battle, your opponent’s options, and eventually his very thoughts. If we maintain control, our enemy will do anything we wish. Might I suggest that we concentrate the bulk of our efforts in Innisport where we are strongest and have the easiest access? We can pin his forces elsewhere and concentrate on systematic annihilation at this one focal point.”

Humi considered the advice. “Any word on the smith?”

The steward shook his head. “Just that we have the roads sealed and city gates monitored. He has to be hiding somewhere in Innisport.”

Humi nodded. “Then we shall focus our efforts in the city of my father as you have suggested. Both Navara and our signet ring are there, making it a convenient power center. We were pleased to hear of the punishment of those who wronged Lord Kragen.”

“Long live Lord Kragen!” intoned the audience.

Drawing her lacquered nails over the arm of her high throne, she continued, “If our good ki mages can provide the same assurances about their leader, that sheriff, a proclamation can be issued and the strength of our house reclaimed.”

The old mage examined the empty whorls on the ground before him. The great project was already being disassembled for profit and to make weapons of war. The work of a lifetime was being scavenged like a corpse. “I’ve explained the cloud which covered his aural traces. But if he is indeed dead as Tumberlin and the executioners insist, it would explain our difficulties.”

“Impotence seems to be a recurring problem,” whispered the Lady to a handmaiden beside her, too softly for anyone else to hear. The girl giggled. When the scribe asked for her words, Humi said, “If he died in the courtyard, even someone with your failing… vision could have found a body.”

The younger mage defended his cousin. “Ah, but we have a theory about that. He was disguised and carrying a Kragen weapon. One of the craftsmen may have interred his body, thinking him one of our Honored dead. We’ve encountered the same blocking resonance inside the Halls of Remembrance, Lady. The crypts are many and the tunnels deep, but we hope to find his corpse and remove it from our hallowed grounds.”

Vlekmar huffed. “I don’t care about the body anymore. I want to know what he stole from the garden, what he was willing to die to obtain.”

“So would we all,” Humi granted. “What are you really asking?”

“It would help us immensely to see the lord’s notes on these matters. It would enable us to see the larger picture,” the old mage wheedled. Every practitioner’s mouth in the palace watered at the thought of access to the great lord’s treatises on the Project.

The Lady put on the mask of sincere apology. “Those books are for the Heir alone. I cannot give away that which he will need.” But she had read the documents, as much as she could, every night. She had gleaned enough to see the very picture they required. “The Mandala is no longer necessary. It was a ram for a gate that has since vanished. Know that my lord was right in every prediction and every mechanism; he was lacking only in the time.”

“Long live Lord Kragen!”

“Find the sheriff. Then, all will be revealed to you,” promised the Lady vaguely. She paused for a moment, reflecting and redirecting her will. “As for our tactics, I am certain that the guild members will eventually disobey orders and go somewhere alone. Since our business holdings can participate, we’ll take the battle there. Every brothel, alehouse, and gaming house where these assassins play shall become a place for our revenge.”

Vlekmar swallowed hard. “But Lady, they’ll retaliate. Any property involved in a slaying will be burned to the ground. It’ll impact our profits for years to come.”

The Lady’s rage built and the entire courtyard fell silent. “This isn’t about making a profit. It’s about cutting off the head of a snake that has bitten you and freeing your home of any future threat.”

Necrota put a hand up. “My cousin knows that we will pry the cost of our victory out of the enemy’s corpse. Such is always the way. What he means to say is that he wants to make the feud just as expensive for our opposition.” When he had everyone’s attention and tacit agreement, the mage continued. “To this end, I propose that we don’t do business of any kind with anyone who hires the guild.”

Vlekmar chuckled. “I like that. I would add anyone who gives them food, money, or aid of any kind, even the repayment of debts.”

Humi smiled as well. “Yes, it might hurt us for a brief moment, but it’ll suffocate the enemy. I could endure anything for that. If they can’t eat, they can’t fight. Effective immediately, stop all shipping and water transport to their stronghold at Tamarind Pass.”

The steward taking notes paused. “Lady, did you mean to say all of
our
shipping?”

Humi shook her head, eyes blazing. “No, I mean all of it. Where we don’t own it, we can use other means to halt it. It’s time this cur Dhagmurna realizes the true power he’s up against.” The courtyard was again quiet, this time in awe. The diver girl was waging war against a man only slightly less than a king and she showed every sign of winning. The House of Kragen would surely be great again with blood such as this in its line.

“Anything else?” she asked before dismissing her court for the day.

The steward had one more item on the agenda. He had saved it for last cause of its potentially explosive effect. “Captain Onira of the Zanzibosian Scouts wishes to speak to you in private.”