The Dreaming Hunt (23 page)

“In order to teach you the kind of combined weapon and battle magic mastery you will need to protect yourself and your companions, I have asked perhaps the finest warrior in Dupree besides your father to have a look at you. To ascertain if there's talent in you for advanced training. He is a wind magic caster. If you show some talent with combat magic, he may teach it to you.”

“Who is it?”

“Captain Krugar.”

“The captain in Anton's militia who caught us in the Forest of Thorns?” he demanded in dismay.

“The same.”

“Are you mad? He will kill me on sight!”

“Krugar never actually discovered your true identity. He knows you only as a boy from the woods, my apprentice, and possessed of more talent than my men can train. And he is a first-class weapons master. He will be good for you.”

Will seriously doubted that. And if Krugar should ever happen to figure out exactly who he was, the Imperial Army officer would lop Will's head off without a second thought. What on Urth was his grandfather
thinking
?

*   *   *

Gabrielle, Queen of Haraland, wanted nothing more than to explode up out of her seat and storm out of this sham session of the Council of Kings. It wasn't as if the council would ever dare gainsay Maximillian. Oh no. They made a fine science of sussing out exactly how he wished for them to vote, and did so with alacrity. Besides, the matters Maximillian deigned to pass to his Council of Kings were of little real import. Crumbs cast before pecking chickens.

She looked down from her perch in the gallery overlooking the council chamber at her husband, Regalo, King of Haraland and one of the most respected members of the council. His posture was tense. Tired. He was an accomplished peacemaker, but this year's session of the Council of Kings had been particularly fractious. He'd been run ragged trying to smooth ruffled feathers and make deals happen behind the scenes. Deals that were ultimately meaningless in the face of Maximillian's utter control of, well, everything.

Normally, she would have made her excuses and stayed home. But just before Regalo had been scheduled to leave for court, an unusual pack of Imperial hunting hounds had come to Haraland's ports bound for Haelos.

One of the handlers, with whom she'd flirted just enough to render the fellow talkative, had let slip that this batch of hounds had been specially trained to seek out elemental beings. He hinted that there was even more to their training than that, but no amount of flirting cajoled specifically what or who the beasts were bound for Haelos to hunt. Which was even more worrisome.

She had to find a way to get word to the Eight about this development and hope they could pass it to the northern colony in time for any elementals on the wrong side of Koth to hide or flee. If only she knew more of the Eight. She knew they had been at work for a long time to quietly undermine the Kothite Empire from within. Which hinted at members of the resistance at the Imperial Court itself. Because of the Emperor's sweeping mind powers and ever-present scrutiny of his subjects, the Eight moved with glacial slowness, affecting events in only the subtlest and innocuous of ways.

But that extreme caution left her without any means of passing along her urgent news in a timely manner. It nigh killed her to wait through the weeks of preparation and travel from Haraland to the Imperial Seat. Worse, her only contact with the Eight was not even in the Imperial Seat when she and Regalo arrived. She could only hope that her unusual presence at court was enough to signal her handler that she had news for him.

Of course, part of the reason she stayed as far from court and the Emperor as she did was to protect her knowledge of the Eight, scanty as it was, from falling into Maximillian's hands. The last part of her reluctance to come here was hatred. Of the Empire's utter control over everyone and everything. Of the rampant depravity tolerated at court. Of privilege and excess, unfettered ambition and breathtaking greed. She hated all of it.

At home, when she was sure she was alone and no one could read her mind or her facial expression, she indulged in thinking lushly vile, deliciously awful thoughts about Maximillian. Which was perhaps why being back at court and having to completely suppress all those thoughts and feelings chafed her so sorely.

Thankfully, she fretted in the Imperial Seat for only a few days before she received word that Talissar, consort to the Queen of Quantaine, had been seen stepping off a ship. Immediately, she sent him an invitation to come for tea in the Haraland chambers.

Lest anyone mistake the invitation for an assignation, she'd come to the gallery of King's Council Chamber so any reply from Talissar would be appropriately public in its delivery. She fingered the heavy Octavium Pendant on its long chain around her neck. It had been a gift from the elven prince who was her recruiter and only direct contact with the Eight, even to this day.

Supposedly, the pendant protected the wearer from his or her mind being intruded upon and read. But she doubted any magical item could withstand the terrible mental power of Maximillian himself. She'd heard tales of him making entire armies drop dead in their tracks, simply by willing it so.

She started as a voice murmured, “Mine eyes rejoice to behold thy stellar beauty, Your Highness.”

Startled, she looked up to see the spectacularly beautiful face of Talissar, as if her thoughts of him had willed him to her side. “Well met, my lord,” she replied courteously. “Do you also grow bored with the proceedings below?”

“My queen and your husband seem to have the debate well in hand. The air waxes close and stuffy here in the gallery. Might I importune thee to stroll with my humble self in the gardens?”

“That sounds lovely.” She pitched her answer in a tone of relief for any eavesdroppers and fanned herself with her silk fan for emphasis. “You must tell me how Lyssandra fares.”

“My queen is well, and thy graciousness in inquiring after her health will please her mightily.”

“Do give her my warmest regards. She must come visit us again soon.”

They wandered outside into the Imperial Gardens, which were as grandiose in scale and opulence as the rest of the Imperial Seat. The entire palace and grounds were built on a city-sized platform called the White Crown Plaza suspended between the eight mountains known as Thoris's Shield. The platform spanned the width of the mighty Crystal River. Giants were said to have grown the graceful and delicate fretwork of stone arches that supported the massive plaza.

They walked far enough into the Gardens of Nations to leave behind most casual visitors. Talissar spoke to her under his breath, his lips never moving. “Hast Haraland also received orders from Maximillian to double the usual ironwood harvest this year?”

“Yes,” Gabrielle answered in a similar fashion. “The foresters are furious and say it will deplete the ironwood stands excessively. I gather Maximillian plans to begin construction of another Black Ship?” The only object whose construction required anywhere near the amount of ironwood being ordered was one of the mighty, seafaring ships. The oceans of Urth were storm-tossed, dangerous at best and impassable at worst. Only ships built of the nearly indestructible iron-infused wood stood any chance of surviving an ocean crossing.

Talissar smiled slightly. “Our resplendent Emperor doth not share his plans with this lowly elf. I would not presume to speculate on his purpose. I merely stand and serve.”

And plot against Maximillian
. She smiled back, amused. It was a rare treat to speak or even allow herself to think so irreverently of the Emperor with another person. “Shipping overall has increased greatly in Haraland this year.”

“Indeed? What manner of cargo swells thy port?”

“Imperial hounds and their masters brought in from Pan Orda. A new lot. This pack excels in tracking the scent of elemental beings.”

“Interesting. How many were there?”

“Eight beasts and two hunters.”

Talissar drew in a sharp breath behind his pleasant expression. As well he might. “I shall most assuredly relay that information with alacrity.”

“To whom?” she asked curiously.

He merely smiled gently, and frustration soared through her. She spoke bluntly. “I've been part of this organization for a very long time. I want to know more. Do more. Who are the Eight? I think I've earned the right to know.”

“My dearest lady. Prithee, do not mistake my reticence as a lack of trust. It is, rather, my high esteem for thee which thusly stills my tongue. The less any one of our number knowest, the safer the greater organization and its goals remain. If an octopus should lose a limb, is he not still able to swim? But if a man should lose a leg, is he not crippled?”

She made a sound of impatience at his flowery analogy. He was trying to flatter and distract her. She was made of sterner stuff than that. “I would like to meet one of them.”

“Thou hast met our leader. Many times.”

“What? How is that possible?”

“He moves among us, of course.”

“Right out in the open?”

“Where better to hide?” Talissar asked shrewdly.

Good point. So. The leader of the Eight was at court, was he? A noble, then. Or at least some kind of high functionary. No, he must be noble. Who else would have the hubris to believe he could oppose Maximillian? At least she knew the leader to be a man now. That eliminated half the possible candidates. He would have to be someone intelligent—although maybe not visibly so. Mayhap he played the dimwit to throw the Emperor off the trail.

Assuming Maximillian even searched for rebels and conspiracies in his own home. Surely, he did. The Emperor was nothing if not paranoid.

Talissar chuckled. “I vow I hear the cogs and wheels awhirl in that nimble mind of thine, my lady. I would remind thee to do nothing to call attention to our cause.”

“I would never!” she exclaimed in quick horror.

“Perchance one day, our leader will choose to reveal himself to thee. But until that happy day, we two must remain, as ever, small islands stranded in a sea of ignorance.”

She huffed, entirely dissatisfied with his brush-off. Mayhap it was time for her to take action to prove her usefulness to the Eight. She had thought upon how she might do that long and hard, and she had an idea. Taking a deep breath, she felt her ribs contract around her lungs, a sure sign of nervousness.

Steadying her voice, she murmured, “I have an acquaintance whom I wish to approach. I know her to be a like-minded soul to me in every way that matters, and she is my oldest and dearest friend. I trust her with my life and beyond.”

Talissar's eyebrows first shot up and then lowered thunderously. He spoke urgently. “This is not how we work. Thou
knowest
this.”

“Indeed I do know this, my lord. I also know that she could be of immense value as an ally.”

He muttered in resignation, “Who is it?”

“Lady Sasha, wife of the ambassador from the Heartland to the Imperial Court.”

Talissar gave away no reaction whatsoever. None. He was perfectly still. Perfectly unreadable. And yet, his utter lack of a reaction spoke more loudly than any expression of surprise could have. He resumed walking along the garden path. “Tell me of this friend of thine.”

Yes
. He was interested. He hadn't dismissed her suggestion out of hand. Which meant he also saw the value of bringing a high-ranking Heartland noble, who was influential in her own right, into their group. Sasha was privy to the innermost workings of the Heart's diplomacy by way of her husband, Rafal. And she genuinely did have a kind heart. Gabrielle knew firsthand that her friend had no love for the Empire and its casual atrocities against life.

In answer to Talissar's inquiry, she replied, “Sasha is a gypsy by birth. She was taken in by the Heart as a foundling and raised in the house. She showed an early talent for magic and was trained as a healer. As you no doubt are aware, she rose far and fast within the Heart and serves it loyally.”

“Not an uncommon story,” Talissar commented. “Pray, enlighten this humble elf if thou canst. From which gypsy tribe dost the ambassador's wife hail?”

Gabrielle mentally lurched. A man of Talissar's race and rank knew that there were, in fact, tribes within the gypsies? Most perceived gypsies as the lowest scum in the Empire—thieves and cutpurses, the villains of children's hearth tales. And yet, this prince knew that gypsy society was complex and ordered? The only reason she knew the same was because of her close friendship with Sasha.

“She hails from the Lom Clan, I believe.”

“Indeed?” That news sent Talissar's eyebrows sallying forth toward his hairline. “The rarest of all gypsy clans, by far. Ancient practitioners of old magics, as I recall.”

Old magics? Sasha had never spoken about any such thing with her. Truthfully, Gabrielle was only vaguely aware that such magics existed. They, too, were mostly the stuff of children's bedtime stories.

“Mayhap a careful conversation with thy friend would be in order,” Talissar mused. “Employing the utmost in delicacy and discretion, of course.”

“Of course.”

“Utter privacy must be ensured.”

They walked a little more while Gabrielle's mind turned to the problem of exactly how to approach Sasha. But Talissar interrupted her ruminations by murmuring, “Mine eyes rejoice to spy the pendant that was my honor to gift to thee. Prithee, continue to let that lucky strand clasp the tender column of thy neck, particularly in these climes where oblivi are plentiful.”

“Oblivi?” she echoed. “What, pray tell, are those?”

“Creatures whose sole purpose is thus: deletion of memory. Were thou to discard yon bauble, an oblivi would come for thee. It would invade thy mind, and thou wouldst suffer instant loss of certain recollections most precious to thee. They would drift away with the languid certitude of dandelion fluff upon the wind.”