A Thread in the Tangle (34 page)

“If Lachlan had ties with Kiln, then you wouldn’t oppose his offer!” Yasimina replied with a rare slip of control.

The Archlord gestured for silence.
 
All eyes were drawn to him.
 
Isiilde studied her master with the eyes of a bird on high.
 
His long, white hair gleamed against his crimson robes, and the stiff collar and clinging sleeves lent him an air of authority, or perhaps it reflected what was already present.

“Oenghus, you’ve been oddly silent.
 
I would hear your thoughts,” Marsais said, but his voice was quiet, and his words lacked energy as if a breath of air could carry them away.
 
Isiilde was worried about her master, but most of all her friend.
 
Even she could see that something had been troubling him all day.

“I agree with Shimei,” said Oenghus.
 
“There’s a lot more than rumors floating around about his ties with Vaylin.
 
And then there’s that fool prophecy down in the South—”

“It is not foolish,” Yasimina interrupted, coolly.
 
“Lachlan
is
the one who will unite my lands.
 
Over half of the Thanes have already laid their sword at his feet.”

“Aye, well, it smells bad,” Oenghus retorted.
 
“I’d like to find out where a young upstart hero got the coin to equip an army of this magnitude.
 
Over half of the Thanes have sworn themselves to him, but he still gathers an army under his banner.
 
It screams of a man preparing to expand his borders, not unite a scattered land.”

Yasimina opened her mouth to comment, but Oenghus pushed on, “I admit, my views are as biased as yours, Yasimina, so hear me out first.
 
Warlord Kall’s reign hasn’t been forgotten.
 
Under his brutal banner, the Thanes waged war on Kambe, seizing a good section of their territory.
 
When Kall was killed, the Thanes squabbled for power amongst themselves, fracturing their kingdom into bickering provinces.

“If the Thanes unite, then Kambe will grow nervous, with good cause, and strengthen its southern borders, leaving Nuthaan to keep the Wedamen at bay.
 
Nuthaan’s borders are already hard pressed and we all know that the Fell Wastes have been stirring of late.
 
I’m bloody well suspicious of Lachlan.
 
And I won’t throw our Order in with his lot, but I also don’t agree with Shimei’s proposal of disrupting Lachlan’s efforts to unite the Thanes.
 
I think it’s too early to take action.”

“So you propose to sit and wait like a lazy hunter for his prey to come?” N’Jalss sneered at the Nuthaanian, black lips curling back to reveal a row of perfectly pointed teeth.

“Until Lachlan’s intentions become apparent?
 
I damn well do, because I don’t shift my colors as some do,” Oenghus stated, bluntly.

Marsais quickly intervened before the honor sensitive Rahuatl could react.
 
“Hmm, let’s not forget the purpose of this Order; to gather knowledge.
 
We do not meddle in the affairs of kingdoms.”

“We don’t meddle,” Tharios repeated, dryly.
 
“When have we not meddled?
 
Have you already forgotten Emperor Jaal’s latest request for aid in capturing this
Bastard
Prince
?
 
How can we aid Kambe, but turn our backs on a divided kingdom that is in dire need of guidance?”

Isiilde sighed with relief.
 
So the scroll bearing her father’s seal had not been about her, but a request for help.
 
She wondered if Sarabian had told their father about her visit with the Bastard Prince.

“This is different.
 
Kambe serves the Guardians,” Oenghus said.

“The Guardians,” N’Jalss cut in, failing to hide his disdain.
 
“Your gods—your gods who have not held a Council of Kings for nearly a hundred years.”

“How dare you mock the Guardians in this council, you Rahuatl savage!” Tulipin wheezed with outrage.

“At least I’m not a boot licking pup,” N’Jalss hissed back.

“Please, please, gentlemen,” Tharios interjected, smoothly.
 
“Now is not the time for petty squabbles.
 
Look past your prejudices, past your own motives, and ask yourselves what is the best course for this Order?”

Silence followed as tempers cooled and Tharios continued, “There is merit to N’Jalss’ words, the Guardians have been absent from our lives.
 
We’ve only had whispers from the Guardians of Iilenshar, and the borders of Morchaint have been strangely quiet.
 
So I propose we seize the opportunity which has been offered us.
 
We must take this lull in the Everwar as a sign—a sign to build our strength and numbers by uniting the lands and gaining allies to fight the Void.
 
We know that the Bloodmagi have not been idle.
 
While we have stagnated, they are growing in power and numbers, and what do we do?
 
We bicker and argue amongst ourselves while our numbers dwindle.”

“It is true.
 
We have grown weak,” Shimei reluctantly acknowledged.

“We’ve strayed from the point,” Yasimina pointed out.

“When do we not?” Marsais mused.
 
“Cast your say.”

Tharios, Eiji, Yasimina, and N’Jalss all cast their support for whatever Lachlan’s proposal was.
 
Oenghus, Eldred, Shimei, and Tulipin were all opposed.
 
And here came the reason for a Circle of Nine—a decision was always made, and as usual, the final say fell on the Archlord’s shoulders.

“I will not support this,” Marsais stated, gravely.
 
N’Jalss hissed with open contempt, his flat nose flaring, the ritual scars of his face twisting.

“Then may I make another proposal?” Tharios inquired, waiting for Marsais’ permission before continuing, “I propose to send an emissary so we can keep a finger on the pulse of the situation in the South.
 
As Tulipin so wisely pointed out, we shouldn’t close the doors entirely.”

This proposal passed unanimously.

Isiilde thought it high time she leave a place where she had no business being.
 
She snuck out the way she had come as she pondered what she had overheard.
 
She didn’t quite understand the situation in the South, but then she never understood war.
 
What did Lachlan want with the Order of Wise Ones?
 
And what of Eldred’s accusations—why would Lachlan need Vaylin’s help to unite the Thanes?
 
The Void-worshiping kingdom was on the other side of the Bastardlands, on the tip of the eastern continent, along the Bitter Coast.
 
Didn’t they have enough lands already?

Whatever the situation between Vaylin, Kambe, and the Thanes, she certainly hoped the Order didn’t decide to help Kambe capture the Bastard Prince.
 
She thought that it would be unwise to make an enemy of so formidable a man (aside from the fact that Sarabian had been rather taken by him).
 
The bounty on the dread pirate’s head was up to fifty-thousand crowns, and that was from Kambe alone, it didn’t include the bounties that Mearcentia and Kiln were offering.

As the nymph flitted from one teleportation rune to the next, hopping corridors and floors with mindless expertise, she became lost in her thoughts, imagining the infamous dread pirate as her sister had described him, which led to far-fetched imaginings and romantic fantasies worthy of any young woman.
 
She soon forgot all about the Imp, as well as the flagon dangling from her belt, and her empty stomach unconsciously led her through the castle.

The Spine was connected to the main Keep by a curtain wall that skirted the edge of a dizzying cliff.
 
The rock face dropped three-hundred feet to the ocean below.
 
On brighter days she liked to walk along the top of the wall, peering over the edge to watch the waves slam into the base with a spray of misty brilliance.
 
But on a stormy evening such as this, she didn’t dare venture outside, instead she took the warmer route—a long hallway called the King’s Walk.

The passage was rightly named for the myriad of masterpieces placed in perfectly symmetrical alcoves that flowed like waves along the stone walls.
 
The statues had been carved or chiseled from marble, obsidian, rare woods, and precious metals, each representation as unique as the great men and women whom they portrayed.
 
The statues were of rulers long dead who had shaped the face of Fyrsta.

As always, Isiilde stopped in front of her favorite queen, and smiled at the rosewood carving of a woman who stood tall and graceful.
 
Her name was Lith, the first queen of Kambe, and as the nymph had recently learned from Marsais, she had been a faerie—one of the Lindale.
 
Of course Kambe had been little more than a wooded valley at the time, but Isiilde always liked to think of herself as a distant relative of the wooden beauty.

“I haven’t been very good today,” she whispered, confiding to the wooden ears of the proud queen.
 
The nymph ran her fingertips along the gleaming wood, tracing the queen’s hands.
 
What had occupied those hands so long ago?
 
Did her elegant fingers caress the strings of an instrument, or did she tend to the trees and earth?
 
Had she been a warrior?

Isiilde had trouble imagining those fine hands curled around a sword hilt.
 
Marsais’ calm, gentle voice had tickled her ears when he described the Lindale, and the memory of his words made her glow, but still, it was difficult to imagine a time when faerie were not scorned.
 
A faint sound tore her attention from the sculpture and her heart skipped a beat.
 
She was not alone—a man stood beside her, but her alarm quieted a moment later.

“Hello, Thedus,” she greeted.
 
“I see you’ve been walking outside again.
 
Not a very good day for that.”

The Wise One who was neither old, nor young, was soaked to the bone and a small stream of water trailed in his wake.
 
His tattered brown hair was plastered to his sunburnt skin (she was never quite sure where he managed to find sunlight on the Isle) and his torn trousers were soaked with mud, while his shirt was absent.

Thedus did not greet her, but this was unsurprising, since as far as she knew he had never uttered a word to anyone.
 
However, his mute company was always welcome, and the inconvenience to conversation was minimal, because he always listened to whatever she had to say.
 
Isiilde thought Thedus a fine friend, and she hoped he thought the same of her.

Most everyone in the castle claimed he was mad, and a good number had warned the nymph away from him, whispering that he was a dangerous sort.
 
The Wise Ones did not cross him, they did not trifle with him, and even Thira appeared uneasy in his presence, but Isiilde had no such qualms.
 
She had spent a good part of her youth playing Raven and the Prey with him.
 
Thedus always assumed the role of the Raven, because through trial and error, she had found him to be a terrible hider.
 
His milky, half blind eyes, drifted slowly over to the statue of the faerie queen.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Isiilde sighed, wistfully.
 
“Thedus, if I tell you something, do you promise not to tell anyone else?”
 
He didn’t take his eyes off the statue, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t listening.
 
“I opened this warded flagon, and accidentally let an Imp loose in the tower.”
 
She trailed her fingers along the long neck of the container.
 
“I don’t suppose you know how to catch an Imp?
 
I must put him back, but I don’t know how.”

Thedus did not move, or show any sign of response for a full five minutes.
 
She nearly gave up on him, but suddenly, like the slow creaking of a rising drawbridge, he turned, focusing milky eyes on the nymph.
 
Thedus moved with sluggish purpose, as if the air were a quagmire and he was trapped within.
 
He reached towards her, his fingertips harsh and worn as they trailed down her forearm.
 
When he came to her hand, he picked it up, turning her palm face up and pressing something cold into her skin, curling her fingers around the small gift.

Isiilde stared at Thedus in amazement.
 
This was more of a response than she had ever received.
 
The faded Wise One let her hand fall, turned and shuffled down the hallway towards the Spine like a Forsaken spirit drifting aimlessly from one thing to the next.
 
Isiilde uncurled her fingers, narrowing her eyes at the object sitting disgustingly in the palm of her hand.
 
It was a tooth—a molar covered in blood to be exact.
 
She glanced from his gift to the flagon and thought she better get a second opinion.

Compared to the rumbling pit in her stomach the flagon swinging from her belt was a distant (if somewhat uncomfortable) thought, so the nymph reversed course, heading straight to the main kitchens.