The Splintered Eye (The War of Memory Cycle) (69 page)

Cob grimaced, but shrugged.  “Not like I knew that’d happen.  Did you?”

Mouth open, Dasira forced herself to consider her words.  She could not speak freely in front of Fiora, in part because the girl did not know about her but also because she still suspected Fiora of…something.  Erestoia, the arrowhead, her invisible sword-wielding ally.  The prayer-book.  It made no sense but she still planned to watch her tongue.

“
No,” she said.  “I went to the Gold patrol as one of their own, undercover in Turo.  Told them you’d gone east, since I thought you’d piking go north if anywhere.  How was I supposed to know you’d flitter off like that?”

“
So you don’t know of anythin’ in the east?”

“
Only Trivestes.  Or the Garnets.  But that’s wild territory and has been for hundreds of years.  No roads, no towns, no Imperial outposts.  If Enkhaelen has a lair out there…”

“
Sounds like the ideal place for a necromancer,” said Fiora.

“
He’s not just that.”

They all looked to her, even the sleepy wolf perking his ears.  Dasira took a deep breath, trying to sort her thoughts, then stared across the fire at Cob as she said, “If he answered to Enkhaelen, then he could be Inquisitor Archmagus Shaidaxi Enkhaelen, the Emperor’s right-hand mage and a Councilor of the Silent Circle.  Our intelligence also suggests that he’s the Emperor’s monster-maker—the creator of the abominations that riddle the Imperial Armies.”

She glanced sidelong to Lark, who looked momentarily shocked, then started nodding supportively as if it was common Shadow knowledge.  Making a mental note to thank the girl, Dasira continued, “If he is the necromancer, then he’s possibly the hardest target in the Empire.  He commands the Inquisition, holds the Energies chair and has the Emperor’s ear, and it’s impossible to say where he’ll be at any given time.”

“
Or if he’s ever in his real body,” said Cob darkly, then frowned.  “Wait.  The Emperor’s monster-maker?  The Emperor knows about this?”

Oh Cob
, she thought.

“
Of course he does,” said Fiora, gesturing with her cup.  “The abominations act at the Emperor’s command, they’re not some kind of anti-Imperial infiltration.  Though if they’re wrought by necromancy, I guess that explains why they can’t tolerate Trifold areas…”

Cob started to speak, but Lark overrode him to address Fiora.  “That’s not necessarily true, the Emperor thing.  I mean, we’ve been watching the Imperials for a long time, and the normal soldiers don’t run with the abominations.  When they see abominations, they freeze up.  This officer I talked to, Lieutenant something, I was trying to tell him about…this abomination in his patrol and he got this glazed look on his face, like he was being kept from thinking about it.  I’m pretty sure they use the mentalists to keep the normal humans in the dark, so if the monster-maker is also the head of the Inquisition, who can say if anyone in the armies actually knows what’s going on?”

“So…the Emperor might not be aware of the monsters,” Cob said.  The poorly concealed hope in his eyes made Dasira’s head hurt.

“
I wouldn’t bet on that,” she interjected, unsure how to squelch the idea without giving away too much—not just to Fiora but to all of them.  Some things she was too ashamed to say.  “The abominations are too widespread for the Inquisition to keep down all knowledge of them, and the first person anyone would tell is the Emperor.”

“
But what if he’s bein’ mindwashed too?” said Cob.  He leaned forward, gaze intent on her, and she tried not to squirm.  “What if Enkhaelen has everyone under mind-control and is slowly takin’ over the world?”

“
Trust me, there’s no way the Emperor can’t already know about this.  Even if he’s not aware of the full extent of it, he still permits it to happen.  So don’t think you can run off to the Palace and tell him, then have him turn around and smite Enkhaelen.  He’ll laugh in your face.”

Cob sat back, brooding, and Fiora touched his arm comfortingly.  “Even if he didn’t know, that wouldn’t make him a good man,” she said.  “He’s subjugated most of the north and driven my people and Lark’s underground, wiped out the remnants of spirit-worship in the Heartlands, made alliances with the haelhene…”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” mumbled Cob.

“
So if we chase Enkhaelen to the Palace and happen to get close to the Emperor…”

“
We’re not talkin’ about that.  All right?”

Fiora sighed.  “If you say so.”

Silence fell for a time, broken only by the occasional sniffle or sip of tea.  Then Cob lifted his head and looked to the door.  “How safe is this place?”

“
It’s blessed by Iroliyale the Traveler,” Lark said, pointing at the big charcoal sigil with her spoon.  “From what I’ve heard, that means no violence is allowed here.”

“
Doesn’t mean people can’t come up our backtrail and burn the place down, though.”

“
I can take care of that,” said Ilshenrir, rising.  His cloak slipped over his shoulders to close neatly in front of him, almost as if acting on its own.

“
No, wait.  Sit.”  Cob gestured him down.  “Not yet.  Can we be scryed-on here?”

The wraith did not sit, instead tilting his head to regard Cob.  “I do not believe so.  This place has emanations similar to Turo, in that it is not expressly enchanted to evade scrying but produces interference significant enough to prevent such a delicate arcane breach.  If you are concerned about the gods, I imagine that they are likewise barred from spying upon others’ blessed places.”

“See, I’m telling you this shelter can’t have been here before we arrived,” said Lark.  “It has to be some kind of sneaky god-thing.  They’re watching us, just like the Imperials.”

“
Good thing Iroliyale is on your side,” said Fiora.

“
Yeah.  I think.”

“
Ilshenrir, is there anythin’ else you can tell us?  About anythin’?” said Cob.

With a faint smile, the wraith said, “It would take you a lifetime to hear it.  But on this matter, no.  I do not know of this Enkhaelen, nor will I voice an opinion on your Emperor.  Shall I erase our trail now?”

“Yeah, if y’don’t mind.  Oh, and…nice work out there.”

“
Thank you, Guardian.  I do my part.”

They watched the wraith sweep out, then settled again into thoughtful silence.  Lark excused herself to dig for dishes among the junk they had pulled from the bins.  The contents of the pot were bubbling now, filling the air with the scent of herbs and beans, and Dasira’s stomach growled; despite her nature and her ability to draw energy from Serindas, she still had to eat.

As Lark returned with bowls and spoons, Fiora said, “Strange thing.  That name, Enkhaelen, it reminds me of Brigydde’s title, Ecaeline.  ‘Of the fire’.  Enkhaelen sounds a bit more Gheshvan though, which makes sense since that’s where Brinvan came from…”

At Cob’s baffled look, she added, “Brinvan, that’s our liturgical language.  From when the religion was being formed, back when humans were all still slaves of the ogres.”

“Shaidaxi is Gheshvan too,” said Lark, trying to wrangle the bowls and the ladle.  “At least the first part, shaidax.  Means ‘shadow’.  It's what some people call babies so Death can't find them before they’re old enough for a real name.”

“
What, so if you don't have a name, you can't die?” said Cob, scratching his forearm.

“
That's the theory, but in practice a shaidax-child comes to us—to Kherus Morgwi—if it dies.  It's how the eiyets are made.”

He blinked for a moment, then shook his head.  “
So what, Enkhaelen’s secretly an ogre?”

“
A baby ogre!”

That would explain his temper tantrums
, thought Dasira, amused.

“
Shadow, imagine an ogre necromancer though,” Lark continued with a shudder.  “Huge muscular tusky fellow who can turn you inside-out with a touch.”

“
Can ogres even do magic?” said Fiora.  “I thought they were…dumb.”

Cob shook his head sharply.  “Trust me, they’re smart as anyone, and that half-ogre kingdom of theirs, Gejara, that’s full to the brim with mages of all bloodlines.  Pikin’ bastards, they used to raid Kerrindryr same as the Jernizen until the Empire stepped in.”

“All right, so maybe Enkhaelen is from Gejara,” said Lark, waggling a bowl at Cob until he took it.  “Not that I know how it helps us…”

“
He couldn’t be,” said Dasira, interested despite herself.  She knew no Gheshvan and though she had thought fiercely on the subject of Enkhaelen before, it had always been about how to kill him, not where he came from or even what he wanted.  She regretted not having dug deeper while she could.  “The Empire would never let a non-Imperial control the Inquisition.”

“
Unless he pledged fealty,” said Lark, handing Fiora her bowl.  “I’m sure they could make that magically binding.”

“
But if he controlled the Inquisition, it would be easy to get himself unbound,” said Dasira.  “Especially since he’s a necromancer—the only necromancer outside of Haaraka, apparently.”

“
Haaraka and the White Isle,” said Cob.  “The haelhene are necromancers.  Maybe he’s the reason they’re allied with the Empire.”

“
So Enkhaelen, the Inquisition, the haelhene and the abominations against the Emperor?” said Fiora, balancing her bowl on her knees.  “I have to say that sounds pretty overwhelming.”

Dasira half-rose to take the bowl Lark offered, then sat back down.  It looked like beans and long-grain skiliorum with some dried mushroom chunks and crumbled herbs, but as dubious as she felt toward Lark’s cooking, at least it was hot.

“Don’t be fooled,” she said as she stirred the soup with her chipped spoon.  “Cob wants to see the Emperor as innocent because he still believes in the Empire.  You shouldn’t be helping him, you should be pointing out the holes in the theory.”

“
Like what?” said Cob tightly.

“
Like how come Enkhaelen keeps rescuing you.”

They all looked at her in surprise, and she took a moment to blow over the steaming stew and collect her thoughts.  She did not want to stand up for her abhorrent maker, but that was what troubled her most about this situation: his persistent assistance.  “I know we’ve all been deluged by the recent chaos—running, fighting, hiding, running some more—but I’ve been noticing things.  Hearing things.  Someone sabotaged the Gold assault at the edge of the Mist Forest, back when Cob was nabbed by the haelhene.  The same someone intervened in the fight by Akarridi—that place on the lake.  If Ilshenrir was here, I bet he’d say he felt the same arcane signature.  So—“

“He came to us in Haaraka too,” Cob interrupted thoughtfully.  “And…I think while I was bein’ flown to the crystal spire.  Dead birds everywhere.”

“
So the question is, what does he want from you?”

Cob shook his head.  “The question is what are we gonna find in the east.”

Lark set down a bowl for Arik, who heaved himself up to lap at the stew then recoil, panting.  She gave him a look and said, “Do you need to go chill your tongue?”

The wolf whined but laid back down, staring at the bowl intently.

Conversation lapsed again, everyone either pondering the question or intent on their food.  After a few spoonfuls Dasira decided she’d had worse, even though it could use salt and probably a handful fewer herbs.  She had to wonder if Lark had just dumped their whole packet into the pot.  Ilshenrir returned when she was about halfway through, and after Cob’s quick question and Ilshenrir’s confirmation that he had felt the same arcane signature on both battlefields, they all subsided into thought.

Dasira watched Fiora move progressively closer to Cob.  He had pulled his patched tunic on, and she saw when Fiora’s fingers slid under it by the shiver that ran through the young man’s frame.  He glanced to her as if startled, and Dasira saw her sidelong look and slight smile, saw the red crawl across Cob’s tanned face.  In that moment, she could have leapt across the fire at the Trifolder girl, so sure was she that Fiora was toying with him.

But she held her temper, though it meant biting down on her spoon hard enough to leave marks in the old metal.  Cob had his own life to live, his own mistakes to make, and when he hooked his arm around the girl’s shoulders it was obvious that he intended to make them.

Once the bowls were washed and the fire was banked, Dasira watched the two of them move off into the stables area to ‘talk’, and had to convince herself that it was not worth it to punch the knowing expression off Lark’s face or follow them and break up their fun.

In all her time trailing Cob, angsting about how to protect him from himself, she had not imagined that the hardest part would be just watching.

*****

Two hundred miles to the northwest, Rian hung shivering from the eaves of a tavern half-set within the base of the Citadel wall.  He had tracked Geraad’s captors here three days ago, following their roundabout routes with the aid of the dead trellingil, but since then he had not seen the bird and had found little opportunity to get closer.  He knew the room that the kidnappers used—one of the few that had been carved into the black basalt, windowless and practically soundproof—but had no way to get in.  No way to reach his friend without being captured by the nasty mages who came and went at all marks.