"I had an idea that her childhood was harsh, but that's brutal," Tarrin said, pitying his sister. "She won't talk about it. And now I know why."
Miranda nodded, handing him another stack of books. "She's good. Too good. Now everyone in Wikuna honestly believes that she's been left slow by her ordeal, and that she's not fit to rule. Just about everyone in a position of power in Wikuna has tried to kill her, because she's the heir apparent, and they don't want a damaged monarch on the throne. Even her own father has tried to kill her. But she's still alive, and that drives them wild."
"Her own father?"
"He thinks she's weak," Miranda said bluntly. "He thinks that a real Eram wouldn't have been affected by something as silly as love and friendship. Damon Eram goes through the motions of trying to mold her for the throne, but he really wants to get rid of her. That's half of what sending her here was about. It was an attempt to root her out of the very secure power base they think I've built around her, to leave her open and exposed and easier to get at. I've already eliminated about ten assassins sent to kill her. Jervis, poor soul, he has the task of rooting out assassins that the man who sent him to do the job is sending in the first place."
"I can't believe this," Tarrin said in shock. "What kind of man is he to try to kill his own daughter?"
"A power-mad maniac," Miranda said calmly. "Damon Eram only cares about three things. His throne, the continuation of the Eram line on the throne, and the power of Wikuna as a whole. In that order. He is absolutely ruthless. He killed his own brothers and sisters to be the heir, killed his father to get the throne, and has killed and destroyed to keep other noble houses from gaining enough power to challenge his rule. Damon Eram could stand eye level to a Giant if the skulls of everyone he's either killed or ordered killed were stacked underneath him."
"That is awful," Tarrin said voicelessly, in total disbelief.
"Unfortunately, it's set a bad trend," Miranda said sadly. "In order to beat the Eram line, the other houses have had to sink to their level. It's made politics in Wikuna very bloody."
"I'm just shocked," he said sincerely. "I can't believe that people would be that cruel."
"It's the real world, Tarrin," she sighed. "I don't like what I do, but I do it. Keritanima depends on me. She'll make a good queen, if she ever comes to accept her role, and can convince the nobles of Wikuna that she's fit to hold the throne."
"Do you want her to be queen?"
"I want her to be happy," she replied. "But sometimes, what one person wants or needs is overshadowed by what others need of them. Wikuna is desperate for a good, compassionate, fit monarch. The savagery of the Eram line has weakened the entire kingdom, and if it's not stopped, then Wikuna will be like Yar Arak. Keritanima is the only possible choice. She's the only Eram left with decency, and few in Wikuna could be a better ruler than her. The fight over the throne would destroy the kingdom, if there ever was a succession."
"But if she orders you to run with her, you will."
"Of course," she said calmly. "She's my Princess, and she's also my friend. I'll always be here for her, even if I don't agree with the decisions she makes."
Tarrin put a paw on her shoulder, and she gave him that cheeky grin that magnified her almost unbearable cuteness. "I think Keritanima is in good hands," he told her sincerely.
"I'm so glad you appreciate me," she smiled. "You know, if we're not careful, we could end up being friends."
"I think that's already happened," he told her with a smile.
"Ah well. Water under the bridge, and all that," she said with a roguish smile.
"Guess you're stuck with me."
"I can think of worse people to be stuck with, believe me," she told him. She closed another chest lid. "Looks like we're down to scrolls."
"Let's finish up, and I'll escort you back to Binter and Sisska. That way your cargo is protected."
Miranda picked up the first two, then modestly slipped them into the bodice of her maid's dress. "I think it's protected now,"she winked.
"What a hiding place," Tarrin mused. "But you've got a bulge in your stomach."
"Most people don't look at my stomach, Tarrin," she said, using her hands to emphasize her white-furred cleavage.
"I know. I'm more of a tail man myself, though."
Miranda laughed. "Well, I think I can give you something to look at, then," she said, sweeping her very, very thickly furred blond tail around and brushing it up against his side.
"I do love that tail," Tarrin mused as they closed the chest holding the scrolls, threw canvas over the chests and table, then left the tent.
It was a cold blustery day everywhere but in the garden. There, though it was still overcast and blustery, it was pleasantly warm, and the flowers and green plants continued to thrive and bloom. On cold days, the garden became a very popular place, as katzh-dashi, servants, guards, and Knights visited it to feel warmth on their skin not made by the dry heat of a fire, and to recapture a bit of spring green when surrounded by leafless trees and winter-browned grass. The blustery day brought many into the garden, and its white gravel pathways were crowded with many people as they walked along the flower-lined pathways and marvelled at the Tower's one true vanity. One of those pedestrians was Miranda, wearing a lovely little gray maid's dress that offset her white fur and blond hair and tail perfectly, and her passing caused more than a few heads to turn. Unlike Allia's ethereal beauty, Miranda's cuteness seemed to awe and sweep away everyone who crossed her path. Where Allia's intense beauty inspired jealousy in women, Miranda's cuteness only made them treat her like an old friend. Miranda always left a trail of whispered "how cute!" remarks wherever she went, but she was careful to always dress in clothing that showed a bit of fur-clad cleavage, or hugged her curves, so that the onlooker firmly understood that he or she was dealing with a woman, and not a little girl. She could easily change her clothing to look like a younger teen--she was only nineteen, just a year older than Keritanima--because her type of cuteness was always associated with youth. And like Jervis, Miranda had learned how to use her appearance as a weapon. Nobody--nobody--ever associated such a cute, precious little thing with activities like spying, extortion, blackmail, even such grisly things as interrogation, and even murder. People tended to say things in her presence that they normally wouldn't say, for they were disarmed by her cuteness, and the trend in both human and Wikuni alike to treat someone like her with inordinate friendship than they would with others. Miranda had learned from her employer in how to raise vapidness to an art, for few associated people as cute as her with intelligence either. A few little eyelash flutters, a couple of breathless, brainless remarks, and a whole world of priviliged information was opened before her. Sometimes it took a bit more, and more than once she'd had to trade kisses and even more in darker alcoves in the palace...but such activities in themselves were occasionally quite enjoyable. Provided she was trying to get information from a handsome young nobleman.
It was a meeting of deceptive importance, on more levels than people who witnessed it could possibly understand. The foppish rabbit Wikuni, Jervis, happened to cross paths with the mink at a meeting of pathways, and they travelled on in the same direction at the same pace. At first, nothing was said. They were merely travelling in the same direction. But then the rabbit Wikuni took out his most treasured pocketwatch and began to wind it, hanging his hooked cane on his forearm as he went about his task.
"You're looking well, Miranda," he said in his lilting, slightly squeaky voice. "Could you kindly ask the fellow with the crossbow to stand down?"
"Only when you order your man with the flintlock to do the same," she replied in a calm, almost friendly voice. "Really, Jervis, why bring a man with a musket on the grounds? They're much too noisy."
"Not when a priest casts a spell of silence," Jervis replied.
"Clever."
"Thank you," he replied modestly. "Was there anything specific you wanted to talk about?"
"Yes," she repli
ed. "How many men have you lost?"
"Nine," he said with a grunt. "You?"
"Fifteen," she replied calmly. "We have to put a stop to this. Good men are hard to find."
"Indeed. So, you wish to call a truce?"
"We were never really opposing one another, Jervis," she said calmly. "We just work in different ways to the same goal."
"True. But if we weren't opposing, you could have been more open in your activities. And you didn't have to buy one of my men."
"Jervis, that's like asking a canary not to sing," she told him with that cheeky smile. "How else do you expect me to find out what you know?"
Jervis chuckled. "It's just not polite," he told her.
"I'm not one much for pleasantries, Jervis," she told him.
"True, true. So, you wish to combine our actions?"
"Just along this task, old friend. I do have other operations going. No need to bog you down in those."
"Yes, yes. I do too, to be honest. So, what plan do you have in mind to put Ahiriya in her place?"
"I have a very simple one," she replied with a cheeky smile and a wink. "It's time for us to play a game of Beri Bally Bell."
Jervis laughed. Beri Bally Bell was a children's game where one person was blindfolded, and everyone else wore a small bell. The blindfolded person had to catch someone else, using the sounds of the bells to guide them. But many times, the number of bells and the sounds they made made it difficult for the blindfolded person to single any one out. A coordinated group of bell wearers could utterly confuse the blindfolded person.
"And what will lure Ahiriya into taking the blindfold?" Jervis asked with a smile, a smile that showed his bucked front teeth.
"Nothing short of a little misdirection," Miranda replied with a smile. "Our bells will be information. We pretend that we find something very damaging to the Tower, make sure she hears about it, then set out agents to give her a bit of confusion. The activity should draw out her people, and then we can deal with them."
"Simple, yet very thorough. Now I understand why you're such a worthy opponent, my dear."
"Thank you. It's always nice to be respected by one's peers."
"I think we can work together, my dear. When do you want to start?"
"Tomorrow seems a very uneventful day," she replied with a smile.
"It does indeed. I have a very empty calendar. I think I can pencil in some time."
"I'd appreciate it."
"When are you going to take up my offer and come work for me, Miranda?" Jervis asked. "You're wasting your talents protecting Keritanima. You need to be working for the Crown."
"I'm just not interested, Jervis," she said politely. "I'm happy where I am. Let's leave it at that."
"Well, the offer is always open," he told her.
"I appreciate that."
"I go that way. Have a good day, my dear."
"You too, Jervis," she said mildly, and they parted ways.
A few moments. That was all they were together. To the casual observer, it seemed nothing but a chance meeting, a moment of polite conversation, then a parting of convenience. But the casual observer would never comprehend the titanic magnitude of the simple arrangement that had been formed between the pair of spymasters. A formidable arrangement indeed.
Tarrin had no idea what they wanted him to do that day. He thought that he'd probably be in limbo while they talked things out, but that turned out to be a daydream. They were waiting for him when he returned, and it took a few minutes of fast talking to explain why he wasn't in his room, why he wasn't in his Initiate uniform, and why they'd never seen him leave. But it was fortunate that it was Koran Dar that had been the one to come fetch him, and the man's mild nature and respect for Tarrin's privacy kept him from pressing too hard. That the Council members always came for him themselves was a fair indication to Tarrin of how important they thought he was.
After convincing the Amazon man that he needed food and a bath before starting, Tarrin got everything attended to as quickly as he could. He didn't want to leave the Council waiting too long. He arrived at their chamber not long after leaving Koran Dar, and found the room populated with the Council, the Keeper, and six men and women wearing white robes. Surprisingly, Brel was among them, and the old man's sour face and hard eyes hinted that it wasn't entirely by choice. The other five were pattern Sorcerers, they looked young or in their early middle age, yet their eyes made them appear older--
Tarrin blinked, and looked at Brel. He was old. In fact, he was the only Sorcerer he'd ever seen that looked old. Every other Sorcerer he'd ever seen looked much like Dolanna, or Jula, or Sevren. They appeared mature, but never old. The seven members of the Council, the most powerful and supposedly wisest of the katzh-dashi, all looked like they were Elke's age.
What made Brel different? Why was Brel the only Sorcerer Tarrin had seen that actually looked old? It was a puzzle. Could something stop the Sorcerers from aging? Maybe they'd discovered weaves that retarded aging, or perhaps only made them appear much younger than they actually were. Perhaps it was a weave that Brel couldn't accomplish, because of lack of contact or access to a certain Sphere.
Tarrin stopped, staring at Brel so hard that the man began to look uncomfortable. Why did Brel look old? What made him different from the other katzh-dashi? He was Master of Initiates, a very important position, so it couldn't be because he lacked access to certain Spheres, or even lacked training or experience. They wouldn't put someone like that in that position, because he may be called upon to deal with an Initiate who had a weave get away from him. No, Brel's experience or ability wasn't what made him different. It had to be something else.
Maybe the puzzle wasn't why Brel was old, but why everyone else was not. He found himself staring at a room full of young faces, or mature faces, and he had no doubt that not a single one of them was really as old as he or she looked. Why had he never noticed this before? Tarrin was usually a very observant young man, because he was raised in the forest and had a hunter's eye.
A fleeting memory of a conversation the day before seemed to answer that puzzle. A talk with the Goddess. Isn't it a rule that no mortal can access more than one order of magic? he had asked, and she had told him yes. But she had also told him that the katzh-dashi were granted certain limited priest powers in order for them to be capable of functioning as the priestly order of the Goddess, since she was forbidden to have priests when she sponsored the Sorcerers.
Isn't it curious that katzh-dashi are allowed to defy the rules? she had asked him. Kind of makes you wonder why.
It was a riddle for him to think about, but in all the confusion the day before, he'd honestly forgotten about it. But he thought he had the answer now.
The stricture stated that no mortal could access more than one order of magic. If the katzh-dashi didn't age and die like mortals, that made them something other than mortals.
And that allowed them to circumvent the stricture in a limited manner, reflecting their limited access to priest magic.
To give her children access to their limited priest magic, the Goddess altered the way they aged, or simply stopped it altogether, to raise them out of the category of mortal. It also had the added boon of keeping her small numbers of Sorcerer children alive.
Brel looked relieved when Tarrin stopped staring at him, and he turned his gaze on the others. Just how old were they? They weren't as young as they looked. They couldn't be. Their scents matched their appearance, so that was no indicator. Perhaps they were that old, but only physically. Scents couldn't lie.
"And what is the matter now, Tarrin?" the Keeper asked in a huffy voice.
"I was just wondering how old all of you really are," Tarrin said calmly, looking around the room. "I've never seen so many of you in one place before, and Master Brel there looks keenly out of place."
That caused a bit of light chuckling and some knowing looks passed between them. "It's not polite to ask a lady's age, Tarrin," the Keeper smiled.
&nb
sp; "I'm not polite," Tarrin said bluntly.
That wiped the smile off of her face. "Why we look how we do is something that you'll learn at the last stage of your Inititate," she told him in a dismissing tone. "It's much too hard to explain, and we don't have time to waste on it."
"Make time," Tarrin said. "Because I don't think I'll get to the last stage of the Initiate."
That made the Council stare at him, then glance at each other nervously. "And what nonsense is this?" the Keeper asked.
"I don't have to stay," he told her bluntly. "The latter stages of the Initiate are for those who go on to become katzh-dashi. I have no intention of becoming katzh-dashi. After I'm taught how to control my power without hurting anyone, I'll be leaving. So I'll never reach that stage of the training."
It was technically true, anyway.
"Well, if you must know, when a katzh-dashi serves for a period of ten years, they take the Vows of the Goddess. When we do that, we simply stop aging," she said calmly. "It's one of the gifts given to us by the Goddess. Master Brel there came to us as a middle aged man when he began his Initiate. How he appears now is how he appeared when he took his Vows."
And that answered that. The Goddess stopped their aging, and when they were no longer technically mortal, she could bestow her blessings upon them. Making a katzh-dashi stop aging wasn't a gift, it was more like a change so they could receive their true gifts. It was just a change with beneficial side-effects. It explained why most of them looked mature, in their thirties or early fourties. Some took years to pass the Initiate, and that would make them middle-aged after their ten years of service.
"Now, enough silliness," the Keeper said. "Come sit on the table, Tarrin. We're going to try a few experiments to see what limit your power has. I promise you that you won't have to touch the Weave without being restricted in some way. And if you feel anything unusual while trying, you're free to stop and let us know. We don't want this to be painful for you."
"Alright," he said suspiciously.
The Tower of Sorcery Page 86
