The Guild of the Cowry Catchers, Book 1: Embers, Deluxe Illustrated Edition (8 page)

Gerard shrugged. “Perhaps. However, he was
the sort of faun who would highly resent being made to die for a
cause. I would treat any information he gave under duress as
suspicious.”

Morchella nodded. “You have a point. Please
present it to Admiral Lamire when you sail with him to Sern.” She
watched Gerard grimace. “You
were
planning on going with
him, weren’t you?”

Gerard said nothing.

“The Police have no ships,” said Morchella
softly. “The Sea Watch administers the ships. A journey to Maijha
Minor or any other place you wish to investigate must to be
coordinated with the Sea Watch. I expect you to work together.”

Gerard shut his eyes. He had not thought that
far ahead. He felt suddenly tired.

“
Try
to get along with Silveo,” said
Morchella. “I realize that you find him distasteful, but he has his
uses. Learn to exploit them. Silveo can be made to do almost
anything once you know how to steer him. You, on the other hand,
are a delightful enigma.” And she leaned up on her tiptoes and
kissed him. Gerard thought for one panicked moment that she was
going to kiss him on the mouth, but she only touched her lips to
his forehead in a vaguely maternal gesture.

Then she brought her lips down to his ear in
a way that was not maternal at all, tickling his skin with her
breath. “Now, you need to go home and love your minstrel girl and
sleep. You lost your temper this evening because you are exhausted.
Go home, Gerard. I’ll be watching over you.”

Chapter 9. Mine

The High Priestess of Wefrivain is a
mysterious, but stable figure for most of her subjects. She is
ageless—as beautiful and terrible as their grandfathers remembered
her. Some believe that there have been a long line of High
Priestesses, each chosen in great secrecy. They point to the fact
that she does not often appear in public, and some say that her
appearance has differed over time. Others claim that she is
deathless—a personification of the will of the gods, not a true
person at all. A few claim that she is a wyvern shelt, although
those who have worked with her closely swear she is a grishnard.
Her life and work are surrounded by secrecy, and while her Sea
Watch or Police may perpetrate atrocities, these acts are rarely
attributed to the Priestess, who is supposed to spend most of her
time in communion with the gods. The minstrels of the old school
(of whom very few remain) call her a servant of the Firebird. This
is curious, as the wyvern-gods of Wefrivain have completely
eradicated all monuments to that ancient deity.

—Gwain,
The Truth About Wyverns

Alsair met Gerard on the Temple steps. “I’ve
never seen a wyvern pick up a shelt that way. I thought perhaps
they’d sacrificed you.” He nosed Gerard this way and that, as
though to make sure he was all in one piece. “Lamire came out
looking like he’d just eaten a live eel, which gave me a bit of
hope.”

Gerard sighed. “Silveo probably hates me more
than ever for earning him a reprimand from the Priestess.”

“Oh? Does our silver tadpole fear something,
then?”

“Loves and fears, I think,” said Gerard. “But
neither will stop him from trying to kill me after what I said on
the deck of the
Fang
in front of his officers and crew. I
should not have lost my temper.”

Alsair shrugged. “I wish I’d said it for you.
Don’t worry; I’ll kill him before he gets another shot.”

Gerard took a fistful of Alsair’s ruff. “No,
you won’t. You’ll stay out of it. Please, this is already too
complicated.” He was feeling more and more confused by the
Priestess’s behavior, and he hated feeling confused.
Perhaps I
am just tired.
He’d slept less than a watch last night, and it
was already late. Thessalyn would be worried.

Gerard told Alsair the gist of what had
happened in the Temple as they flew back to the inn. He did not say
anything about Morchella’s kiss.

“We have to go to Sern?” whined Alsair. “With
those conniving sea rats?”

“
You
don’t have to go,” said Gerard.
“In fact, I’d be pleased if you’d stay and help Thessalyn settle
into the house.”

“Oh, no. No offense to your lady, but my
place is with you—now more than ever.”

“I don’t need you to protect me, Alsair.”

The griffin made a mock whimper. “You wound
me!”

Gerard refused to be drawn. “Silveo has an
order not to kill me. He has no such order about you.”
Or,
he thought with a chill,
about Thessalyn.
“Can we go any
faster?”

When they reached the inn, Gerard tore up the
stairs three at a time and unlocked the door to his room.
“Thess!”

She sat up in bed, her golden hair tousled
and gleaming faintly in the stream of light from the hall. “Gerard?
What’s wrong?”

He sagged against the doorframe.
Everything.
“Nothing.”

“Yes, it is,” she insisted. “Are you hurt?
Please come here.”

He shut the door and came to her in the dark
(it made no difference to her). “Your heart’s beating like a
bird’s,” she whispered. “What happened today? Did someone hurt
you?” Her hands were running all over him in a very distracting
way.

“No one hurt me. I had a fight with Silveo.
We almost attacked each other. The Priestess interfered. I thought
Silveo might think of hurting you to get at me.”

“No one has bothered me, unless you count
asking me to sing “The Tale of the Maiden’s Pearl” eleven times. I
suppose that could count as harassment.” Gerard smiled. Thessalyn
was undressing him with expert speed. “What were you and Silveo
fighting about?”

“I’ll tell you tomorrow,” he said, and then
growled in her ear, which had the usual effect of making her try to
crawl inside his shirt.

* * * *

Gerard dreamed that night that he stood on
the shores of a starless sea, with only a fingernail of yellow moon
shining through the clouds. He was lost and alone and very cold. He
was looking for something, but he did not know what.

Then light exploded in front of him. It
struck him like a hammer, so that he sank to his knees. Squinting
into the heavy brilliance, he saw a huge eagle with feathers so
bright they looked like flame. Gerard struggled to his feet. He did
not want to appear afraid.

The Firebird looked at him with warm, golden
eyes, and Gerard knew that he could hide nothing from this
creature. He also knew that the Firebird saw his courage in the
face of his fear and loved him for it. The huge eagle bent his head
until his beak brushed Gerard’s forehead and uttered one word.
“Mine.”

Then the light went out, except for one tiny
spark on the sand. Gerard picked it up—a golden feather, warm and
glowing. He saw a trail, then, leading away into the caves beside
the beach. He followed the trail, carrying the golden feather. The
darkness seemed to press against him. Darker and deeper he went,
until he could see nothing except the feather. He clutched it in
both hands, terrified that he would lose it, that he would lose
himself
in the darkness.

* * * *

“Thess, how does the Priestess know
things?”

Thessalyn stopped her tactile exploration of
their new home. “What do you mean?”

“Her wyvern probably saved my life last
night.” Gerard had already told Thessalyn about the fight. “It
happened so fast, yet she seemed to have sent the wyvern.”

“Perhaps the gods have been watching over
you,” suggested Thessalyn.

Gerard had thought of that. It made his skin
crawl. “But,” he persisted, “she knew things about the fight when
we arrived in her Sanctum. I don’t see how even a wyvern could have
gotten there ahead of us.” He hesitated. “And yet, she doesn’t know
everything. She didn’t know what I’d done with the prisoners or
what they’d said to me.”

“She
is
a goddess, love,” said
Thessalyn, “a servant of the Firebird. She may have once been a
grishnard like you or me, but now she is something more, something
different. Perhaps the Firebird himself speaks to her. Who can
say?”

The Firebird.
That reminded him of
something. “I dreamed of him last night.”

Thessalyn looked interested. She believed in
dreams. “Did he speak to you?”

“Yes…” The details were coming back. “He came
to me on a beach on a dark night. He said…”
What did he say?
That I was brave? That he loved me? No, he didn’t actually say any
of that.
“‘Mine.’ He touched my forehead with his beak and
said, ‘Mine.’”

Thessalyn smiled. “I told you, Gerard: you
are good. The light claims you.”

Gerard shook his head.
It was the
darkness,
he thought.
The darkness was trying to claim me.
Who won? Did I keep that golden feather?
He couldn’t
remember.

Chapter 10. Silveo Gives
Advice

The islands of Wefrivain were once home to a
rich variety of shelts and creatures, and there is evidence that
they once lived and worked (and sometimes fought) on equal terms.
However, grishnards eventually subjugated all the other races. They
believe that panauns (shelts with paws) are the natural rulers of
fauns (shelts with hooves) and nauns (shelts with neither hooves
nor paws). Grishnards believe that fauns are fit food for panauns.
However, grishnards were not the only panauns in old Wefrivain.
Wolflings once inhabited the islands, too, and the grishnards
slowly eradicated them as competitors. Foxlings were more
circumspect, more willing to serve and work with the grishnards, so
they were allowed to survive, though viewed as a lesser species.
Their animal counterparts did not fare so well and have been
largely exterminated from all but the deepest jungle. A few pockets
of other rare panauns still exist on some islands, such as the
ocelons of Sern.

—Gwain,
The Non-grishnards of
Wefrivain

The traditional residence of the Captain of
Police was, indeed, a humble place compared to the homes of most
government officials in Dragon’s Eye, but there was a small griffin
nest house and a garden. Thessalyn began at once to memorize the
layout of the rooms, and Gerard knew that by the time he returned,
she would be navigating the house as though she could see. He asked
Marlo Snale to look in on her daily and buy anything she required.
“I’ll be back soon,” he promised.

Gerard debated over whether he should take
any Police with him to Sern and if so, how many. He was appalled to
learn from Marlo that the Police presently consisted of only
fifty-five individuals. In the past, their numbers had ranged from
five hundred to more than four thousand, with offices on several
islands. Gerard’s fears of inheriting a bloodthirsty army of thugs
were replaced by fears of inheriting a tiny band of ineffectual
cowards. It seemed to him that the only Police to survive their
service in recent years were the lazy, the young, and the
incompetent.
Those the Resistance didn’t think worth
killing.

His officers consisted of three wardens, who
presently commanded less than twenty shelts each.
I had better
get to know them,
he decided.
Now is as good a time as
any.
So, very early that morning, he sent a messenger to each
of their homes with orders to report to the dock prepared for a
journey to Sern by the first watch of the day.

He left Marlo Snale in charge of the Police
on Lecklock, in spite of his ardent protests. (“I have never wanted
to be an officer, sir.” “With all respect, I am too inexperienced
for this, sir.” “Sir will please note that I take this position
under protest.”)

“I’ll be gone for a red month at most,” said
Gerard. “As far as I can tell, you’ve been in the Police longer
than anyone and, you know how they work. Besides, there are no
prisoners in the dungeon and virtually nothing to do. You’ll spend
more time running errands for Thessalyn than managing the Police.”
As an afterthought, he add, “Should you become bored, you have my
permission to do some recruiting.”

“Yes, sir,” said Marlo miserably.

Gerard kissed Thessalyn good-bye and left his
new house about mid-morning. He did not think Silveo could possibly
sail before noon on such short notice, and if he had somehow gotten
away earlier, Gerard would catch up on Alsair.

“I wonder what our dear admiral thinks about
going to Sern,” said the griffin as they flew low over the rooftops
of Dragon’s Eye. “Home sweet home, eh? Shall we ask him the way to
the best restaurants?”

“Only if we want our throats cut,” said
Gerard. In the time he’d been sailing with Silveo, they’d visited
every one of the great island kingdoms except Sern. A small, mean
part of his mind hoped Silveo was uncomfortable.
If he’d left my
prisoner alone, we wouldn’t have to go there now.

When he reached the dock with his three
bleary-eyed wardens, he found that only the
Fang
was
intended to sail to Sern. This meant that he would have no choice
but to sail with Silveo and Farell.

Farell was the lieutenant who commanded that
ship, and one of Silveo’s sycophants. Gerard suspected they were
sleeping together, though he had never cared enough to puzzle it
out. Silveo was sexually omnivorous and as restless as the sea, the
only common denominator in his relationships being that they always
involved shelts over whom he had complete control. This disgusted
Gerard.

“Ah, and here are the Police,” said Silveo
brightly as they came onboard, “come to bring order to the vessel!
I see you’re already whipping them into shape, Holovar.”

Gerard glanced at his wardens. One of
them—the one he’d met in the prison foyer yesterday—looked as
though he might already be drunk. Of the other two, one was hardly
older than Marlo Snale, and the other was a white-haired shelt of
perhaps seventy who looked mildly confused and was wearing boots
that didn’t match.