Oathen (57 page)

“Geret’s not working you too hard?” she
pressed, watching the ridges of scar tissue on his cheek glimmer as
he pursed his lips.

“Geret? Hmm…that name seems familiar somehow…”
Salvor tapped his chin with a scarred finger, pretending to ponder.
“Oh yes, I have it now. He’s the upstart princeling who thinks he’s
nearly in charge of the country. Seems he went on a quest or some
small thing, and came home with delusions of grandeur.”

“Ah, but the worst is yet to come,” Sanych
added.

“Do tell.”

“I hear he found some arrogant fop who thought
he could lie his way out of anything, and made the poor fool his
Seneschal.”

“Alas, poor idiot. I hear all he does is pine
for the days when he was the best swordsman in Vint. The man has an
ego the size of the Southern Sea; they say he had to have the
doorways of his ancestral home widened to accommodate
it.”

“I’ve heard that rumor too. Whoever put it out
did a fine job.”

“Thank you. So how is my employer
today?”

Sanych’s gaze unfocused and drifted to
Highnave. “He’s frustrated at the moment. Uncle Beret may be
retired, but he’s on nearly every council Geret leads, and they
tend to butt heads over the best way to proceed. It’s the finance
council today.”

“Ah.” He hesitated. “And, how’s
Addan?”

Sanych sighed. When Geret had returned to
Vint, the Magister wanted him to share responsibility for the
nation along with Addan. Geret wanted nothing of the sort. In the
end, the Magister trumped him…by quitting. By default, the Magistry
fell to Geret, according to Beret’s earlier ruling. Though he
hadn’t cared for the tactic being used against him, Geret did
admire the way his uncle thought. He agreed to be an Interim
Magister of Vint only until Addan had recovered enough to take
over. Beret accepted that, assigning himself to several of the
councils in order to smooth the transition.

“Addan’s doing well,” Sanych responded. “He’s
got some anger issues, which are understandable. He was an
unwilling pawn in an evil plot, after all. But other than that,
he’s learning very quickly. He and Geret were very competitive in
their younger years; that hasn’t changed, and Addan’s determined to
prove he’s every bit as capable a leader as his cousin. In
time.”

“How much time, do you think?”

“Another two years,” Sanych estimated, “and
he’ll be booting Geret out the door.”

“So you’ll be a Master by then,” he said,
looking over at the Temple.

“Yes. They’ve held Master Alii’s position open
for me since his death. I’ll be the youngest Master in the history
of the Temple.”

“Does the Temple require a quest for
Mastery?”

“It does. The Master quests are far more
narrow in scope, but,” she grinned, “I’m entertaining a few
possibilities.”

“Already?” Salvor asked.

“Already. And now that the quest to destroy
the
Dire Tome
has been fully transcribed for the Temple’s
records, I have the time.”

“You’ve finished?”

“Just a few days ago. Oh,” she blurted,
“Geret’s done with the meeting; he’ll be here soon.”

She saw the honesty of Salvor’s smile. On the
long voyage home, he’d witnessed her and Geret’s mental intimacy
numerous times, but rather than spawn jealousy, it had seemed to
help him settle into the sort of person who made an excellent
spymaster: one who shared no secrets, nor wanted to. She wondered
if he would ever fall in love again.

“All right,” he said, “I’ll not keep you.” He
rose with effort, leaning on his cane, and Sanych watched with a
frown of interest. He’d gotten that limp down perfectly. If she
hadn’t seen him practicing with Geret, both to regain a swordsman’s
flexibility and to limp convincingly, she’d never have been able to
tell it wasn’t real. Luring Geret’s potential enemies into a false
sense of security, he’d called it.

Salvor looked back over his shoulder. “You
know Vint doesn’t recognize Oathbinding; you should let that young
fool marry you properly. Anjoya and Kemsil have been married for
over a year now.”

“Once Geret is only a young fool again, I
will,” she returned. “I’ve as little interest in being Magistra of
Vint as he does in being Magister.”

Salvor sniffed in amusement and bowed again,
then limped off, remembering to stumble over a rock in the
path.

Sanych shook her head.
What an enormous
effort, with no guarantee of benefit
. But then, that was how
Salvor did things.

A while later, Geret rode up to the stables on
his bay stallion, dismounted, and let the boys take care of his
horse. He strode over to her, sprawling with a sigh on the bench by
her side.

“Afternoon, Archivist.”

“Magister. I could have come to
you.”

“It’s distinctly less council-like over here,”
he said, scootching toward her until his head was in her lap. She
idly drew her fingers through his long brown hair, and he
mmmed
his contentment. “So, you’ve finished the story of how
we destroyed the
Dire Tome
, and the manuscript is being
copied as we speak.”

“Yes.”

“I think it’s the best adventure story I’ve
ever heard. We knew what we were up against and we tried anyway.
Even better, we were successful. The world’s a safer place because
of us, and those we lost.” He raised a hand and traced her cheek
with a finger. “Nothing you ever do will outshine that. Except
possibly marrying me.”

She smiled. “You know my mind on
that.”

“Alas.” He sighed. “I can’t help knowing. But
one of these days, you’ll say yes, O wise Archivist.”

She smiled, and their bond flooded with warm
streams of love. “I like the end of the story best.”

“Oolat and the dragon?”

“No. The real end, after we got back from
Shanal.”

“You mean what happened down at the Shanallar
Shrine.”

When she and Geret had set foot in Meena’s
humble cave last year, she hadn’t had any idea of the wonders the
Shanallar had left behind. Now that the lands of Cyrmant were
becoming aware of Meena’s touch on the world, it was no wonder the
cave had been made into a shrine.

Geret was quiet for a long moment. “You’re
right. That was the best part, especially for you. Everything else
that we found there was for the world. But the scroll with your
name on it…I’ll never forget how our bond reacted when you started
reading it.”

Sanych smiled. “And I thought my life was
weird
during
the quest.”

Two years ago

Sanych smiled, watching Geret as he took in
the suspended drying rack, the deerskin tapestries and the simple,
evocative carvings on the cave walls.

“This place is amazing,” he said, his voice
hushed in respect for the dead.

She paused next to the abandoned fire pit, its
ash white and flaky around hard black lumps of charcoal. “Knowing
who built it, are you actually surprised?”

“No. But it seems to shout ‘Shanallar’ in
here. How could you not know it was her, with all these amazing
things around you?” Geret looked up at the aerial meat-dryer that
hung motionless over the cold fire pit.

Sanych glared at him a moment, sending mock
irritation along their bond. “I was fifteen, and fresh out of the
Temple for the first time in my life. I had it all worked out, and
Meena didn’t fit my mental profile.” She smiled, full of memories
of the Shanallar. “She didn’t fit anyone’s profile.”

They took some time to explore Meena’s old
home, careful not to damage anything. The cistern in the back
corner had overflowed, and wood and fur items on the floor smelled
of dankness and decay. Bundles of charcoal sketches and informative
pages on local flora, written in homemade inks, survived intact on
shelves.

“So, what do you think she meant?” Geret
finally asked, looking around. They hadn’t found what they were
looking for, nor was there another exit.

Sanych recalled the secret words that had
brought them here: “
Destiny is a complex creature. If you want
the full truth of your own destiny, seek it in my cave. Search
thoroughly. But once you know the truth, it cannot be un-known. And
if you seek it, I hope you can forgive me.”

“I don’t know what she meant, but considering
Meena and her penchant for secrets, it’s going to be something we
all could have stood to know a long time ago,” she said,
sighing.

“Maybe,” Geret allowed. “She was right about
Addan and me. I would have quested to destroy the
Tome
if I
could’ve, whether I was also going to save Addan or not, and she
knew that. I’m glad, now, that she didn’t tell me everything that
first night out of Highnave. If she had, I might have gotten so
angry that I’d’ve turned the quest around right then and there.” He
shuddered, and Sanych slipped her hands into his and squeezed
them.

“And then we would never have been Oathbound,”
she said.

He sighed, looking deeply into her eyes for a
long moment. “And that would have been tragic.”

She nodded. “Terrible!”

He grinned. “Whatever she hid in this cave
must be well concealed, or anyone who broke in here might have
spotted it.”

“Judging by the old and desiccated gifts on
her porch outside,” Sanych said, reaching out to help Geret shift
the shelves away from the wall, “several people have noticed her
absence the last two years. But the door was still locked.” She
waggled the makeshift key she’d whittled from memory in order to
enter the cave.

There was nothing of note behind the shelves.
Nothing lurked behind the deerskins on the wall, nor were any clues
inked on their reverse. There were no secret moveable sections in
Meena’s carved landscapes. Nothing lay sunk at the bottom of the
cistern.

Hours later, Geret started a fire, and
together they prepared a savory stew and ate it with some waybread
from their packs.

“‘
Search thoroughly’, she said.”
Sanych squinted, letting the flames before her dance in her
unfocused gaze. “She wouldn’t lie about that, not at the very end
of everything. It has to be here. Whatever it is.” Slowly, a frown
creased her forehead, and she lowered her eyes. Then she
smiled.

Geret followed her gaze. “Now I feel foolish,”
he said, giving her a chagrined look.

He pulled her to her feet, and they set to
work. A few torches ensured they’d have light once they dismantled
the fire pit. Cistern water doused the flames, and they began
scraping the ashes out.

When they finally moved the pit’s base stones
and exposed the secret carving beneath it, Sanych was shocked into
silence. Kneeling among the slate slabs, she couldn’t think of a
single thing to say.

“It’s…you,” Geret breathed, staring at the
image on the cave floor. In the flickering light of the torches, a
life-size image of a young woman’s head and shoulders graced the
stone, carved with the same sparse lines as the images on the wall.
In a raised hand, the carved woman held a burst of what Sanych
interpreted to be light magic.

“How?” she managed. “I don’t understand
how.”

Geret’s fingers explored the smooth contours
of the carving’s face. “The proportions aren’t quite right,” he
said. “Like she was working from another’s description of you.” His
dexterous fingers located a tiny switch in the carving’s hair. “Ah,
she stole this idea from the Green Dragon!”

He gave it a push, and a dull thud sounded
below the floor. A circle of stone that contained the entire
carving raised high enough that they could wedge their fingers
under it and pivot it to the side.

Below it lay a set of vertical steps,
descending into the depths below. Wordlessly, Geret handed Sanych a
torch. She dropped it into the darkness, revealing a shaft about
ten paces deep. She swung her legs over the edge and descended,
picking up the torch at the bottom and holding it high. Her loud
gasp echoed.

“Sanych? What is it? What do you see?” Geret
called down.

Rough bookcases stretched away from Sanych in
the low-ceilinged chamber before her. They were crammed with
various texts, small chests, scroll cases and framed documents and
paintings. The faint scent of old incense reached her
nose.

“There are scrolls…” Sanych began, her voice
hushed with awe. “Hundreds of them. Shelves and shelves of books.
Maps, sea charts…even portraits, all of Meena. I don’t recognize
half of these languages—”

Sanych dropped her torch with a clatter. She’d
found the source of the scent; a small round table nearby held the
ashes of many an incense cube. It also held a broad envelope; its
dusty surface read
Sanych elTiera
.

Sanych picked it up. In the dust-free square
beneath it lay a bronze torc. Fantastic dragons marched along the
torc’s sides, tails and wings flaring. Smaller sea serpents, birds
and squirrel-like rodents traced paths among them.

Absentmindedly nudging the torch away from the
table, Sanych picked up the torc as well. Among the Shanallese
dragons, she saw a faint line of text, nearly obscured with wear.
Mustering her grasp of the Shanallese language once more, she read
the words.