by David Dickie
Grim snorted. “I don’t think he’s too interested in becoming a puppet for Kethem’s interests.”
Rotan grinned. “No one ever is. But there’s money, and there’s diplomacy, and there’s coercion, and we’re pretty good at using whatever tools we need to bend people to our needs.”
Grim shook his head. “Maybe. Brandin seemed a little… well, fanatical is the word that comes to mind, but not in the frothing-at-the-mouth kind of way. He seems to have a mission. Not everyone is for sale.”
“Then we’ll just have to pay full price, won’t we?” Rotan glanced around. “I have a mission as well, and that’s to find the meal hall. You hungry?”
Grim was, but he also felt uneasy. He was in strange terrain with no bolt holes, no real feel for the power structure, no place to hide and no one to turn too. “I think I’m going to check out the grounds first. I’ll catch up with you.”
Rotan nodded. “Until then.” Rotan headed off in the general direction Roel had indicated for the simpler accommodations. There were a number of low, long rectangular buildings there. Grim assumed they were the dormitories Roel had alluded to.
Brandin’s residence, which they had just exited, was north of the temple. Further north were the docks they had arrived at. When Roel led them away from the docks, there was a road near the docks that ran along the waterfront, and Grim had seen walls in the distance. That would be the off-limits garden of solitude. There were also gravel roads that went east and west from the temple; the east one went to the dormitories Rotan was heading for. The road to the west lead to another small complex of buildings, but these not uniform like the dormitories. One of the buildings was in the same black marble as the temple. Grim headed in that direction.
It was only a quarter mile or so to the complex, with a few people walking sedately between the areas. Grim stopped one fresh-faced young acolyte passing him, a boy who couldn’t have been more than fifteen. He had curly copper-colored hair, slightly muddy blue eyes and wore the powder-blue robes of the enclave, but with a red trim around the edges that Grim hadn’t seen before.
“Excuse me,” said Grim, “Is that the library?”
The teenager nodded. “It is. If you are looking for the entrance, it is directly in front of the building. If you are looking for something or someone else, I’d be happy to guide you.”
Grim smiled. “Thanks, just getting the lay of the land, and I’m sure you have important enclave things to do.”
The teenager said solemnly, “There is nothing more important than service.” Grim laughed this time, and the rosy glow of embarrassment appeared on the boy’s cheeks.
Grim said, “Is that the mantra around here?”
The teenager shook his head ruefully. “Not really. It is the lesson that the legatee is taught more than any other. I practice it regularly, but I am not very convincing yet.”
Grim snorted. “Tell me about it.”
The teenager looked like he was about to cry. “I’m trying hard,” he said.
Grim looked him up and down. “I’m sure you are. That’s what the red borders mean, that you’re the legatee? And what, exactly, is the legatee? Youngest member of the organization, perhaps?”
The youth blinked at him, gathered himself, then nodded in understanding. “I am sorry; I do not spend much time with outsiders and I forget sometimes they do not know our ways. I am the chosen successor to Master Brandin.”
It was Grim’s turn to blink. The boy seemed friendly enough, but a bit dull and rough around the edges. He could have been a farmer’s son. Someone more different than Brandin was hard to imagine.
Grim said, “Seems they start early on that. Out of curiosity, how are you selected for this honor? Are you the same religion as Brandin?”
“Master Brandin,” said the youth, slightly disapprovingly. “No. Master Brandin does not worship any god, nor do I.”
Grim’s eyebrows raised. “I would not have guessed that. I thought this was a gathering place for different religious orders?”
“That, and researchers come here to use the library. With few exceptions the acolytes are worshipers of one god or another. But the master is never a worshiper of a god. The master is fully devoted to the enclave, its continued existence, and nothing else. I was chosen because I wanted to dedicate my life to the enclave. My parents died in a skirmish between two of the City-States. The enclave took me in, gave me a home, gave me a purpose when it seemed that the world had no need of me.”
Grim looked at the boy. His eyes were glowing with an inner conviction that was as devoted as any worshiper of any god Grim had ever seen. Grim nodded slowly. “Very altruistic of the enclave and Master Brandin. Well, I will let you continue to practice spreading the word that service is all. Thank you for your directions.”
The boy bowed. “Pleased to be of service.” Then he continued on his way. Grim continued on his, thinking. Roel had said that the enclave had been blessed with a line of charismatic leaders from back before the second ohulhug-human war. Perhaps this is the way they accomplished that—finding some young, impressionable boy and molding him into the head of the enclave over time. If so, Grim thought they had their work cut out for them. The boy seemed nice enough, but… “vacant” was the word that came to mind.
As Grim approached the cluster of buildings, he could see a number of people around them, many in the blue robes of the enclave’s acolytes. Most of the buildings were clearly residential, apartments for the acolytes. One seemed to be a communal kitchen, based on the smell of baking bread that wafted along with the smoke from the chimneys. The black marble library towered over the other buildings. Based on the windows, Grim thought it had three stories, and a high peaked roof added to its height.
He wandered by a few people, some of whom nodded politely, some of whom seemed wrapped up in an errand or thought. He nodded back when it seemed appropriate. The library had a broad black marble staircase that lead up to a covered patio and double doors that were made from glass. Even in Kethem, where artisan enchanters made glass to order, glass that size and clarity would be expensive. Curious, he started up the steps. He wasn’t going to spend a thousand rimmi, but he wondered what the inside looked like.
He was halfway up the steps when the doors opened, and Daesal and Stegar stepped out of the building.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Grim had a flash of panic. He wanted to turn and run, to hide his face, to turn invisible. But there wasn’t an opportunity. Daesal was deep in thought. Stegar was just behind her and to the right, looking around guardedly. He saw Grim first, and Grim saw his eyes widen, a flash of pleasure at seeing him, and then… suspicion. A second later, Daesal noticed him standing there, frozen in place, and a wide smile appeared on her face.
“Grim!” she called.
Grim bowed mechanically. His brain seemed as frozen as his feet, and he had no idea what to do. “Well met, my Lady,” popped out his mouth.
She laughed and came running down the steps to hug him. “So formal! Grim, it’s so good to see you!” He could see that she meant it, Daesal being Daesal, not a hint of reproach, not the merest hesitation or question in her eyes or voice. Stegar was a different story.
“What are you doing here?” Stegar asked, trying for a neutral voice, but it came out harsh and suspicious.
Grim nodded to Stegar. “Well met, Stegar. I’m here due to…” and he stopped and thought about it. “It’s a long story, but it had nothing to do with you.” Except now he was pretty sure it did. Alan had said that the Enclave of Karak was his ultimate destination. The main draw seemed to be the library, but Alan hadn’t even asked about it. Alan had been poking at Grim’s past, had known things about the expedition to Tawhiem that he shouldn’t have. Grim had seen things on that trip, secret things, and he’d come to the conclusion that Alan was trying, in some roundabout way, to get him to talk about those things.
But the fact that Daesal and Stegar were here could not be a coincidence. They had to be part o
f whatever Alan’s real objective was.
Grim saw Stegar’s suspicion hardening, reading something from Grim’s expression, tone of voice, or body language. Grim said, “I had no idea you were here.” Which was the honest truth, and Stegar relaxed a little.
“Come!” said Daesal. “We are paying the full tithe for research, and there are benefits that are part of that. There is a small kitchen that serves food and wine in one of the auxiliary buildings. Let us sit and catch up!”
Grim tried to think of a polite excuse, some way to say no, but then survival instincts kicked in. They had met like this for a reason, and he had to know why. He just nodded, not trusting himself to speak, feeling like his voice might break if he did.
“This way,” said Daesal, hooking his arm and turning him toward one of the side buildings. Stegar moved one step back and to the right of the two of them with an expression that made his disapproval clear. “We tried to get in touch with you before we left Bythe, but we didn’t have long, and you are a hard man to find.”
Grim nodded. “I was keeping a low profile. I heard enough to know you, Stegar and the rest were alive and well.” He glanced back at Stegar, because that wasn’t the complete truth. He’d heard Stegar had extensive injuries and had spent a lot of time in a Kydaos temple with healers, but he looked fit enough now. “Otherwise it seemed prudent to keep away. Kethem Naval Intelligence would, I think, have called you tainted by the company you kept.”
“We would have set them straight,” said Daesal. “You should have come. Padan has your pay for the trip waiting for you.”
“I will be sure to claim it next time I am in town, my Lady,” said Grim.
Daesal glanced at him curiously. “So formal. You used to call me Daesal. Why has that changed?” Daesal, for all her openness and willingness to trust people, was neither naïve nor stupid. He stopped, turned to her, and looked into her eyes. He saw concern, pleasure, curiosity, that sharp intellect that characterized her. Not a hint, not the slightest indication of distaste or anger over his betrayal.
“Can’t you tell?” Grim asked, knowing she could tell things about him by scent, some quirky ability to pull information out of taste and smell. He also knew she could see in near pitch-black conditions. More than anything else, he knew that without her, he’d be dead right now.
She pulled back a bit. “Yesssss…” she said in a drawn-out way, some small element of surprise or shock flitting across her face. “Yes, I can. Grim, come break bread with us. We are your friends. You have done nothing to jeopardize that. Whatever this… hesitation is, I swear there is no need for it.”
Grim closed his eyes for a moment. He could feel Stegar almost bristling, interpreting what Daesal was saying, assuming it meant he had some hidden agenda, some reason he was not being forthright with them. Finally, he opened his eyes and nodded. He couldn’t hide from this any longer.
Daesal, arm still linked through his, led him toward one of the other buildings, up a staircase, and into a room of tables set with plates and silverware. An acolyte met them at the entrance. Daesal requested a table for three. The acolyte led them to a small circular table where they all sat.
Daesal, eyes on Grim, said, “Wine and a cheese plate to start with, please. The house red.” She gave Grim a small smile. “It’s quite good, actually. Local.”
Stegar was still looking at Grim like he expected Grim to snatch up a butter knife and dive at Daesal. Daesal looked at Stegar sternly. “Stegar, please. Grim is a friend. You know I would tell you if it were not so.”
Stegar looked at her. “No reservations?”
She nodded. “No reservations.”
Stegar relaxed a bit, and finally gave a short nod to Grim. “Sorry, Grim. We are looking at things that I think some would not want found, even if they’ve been hidden for five centuries. Seeing you here… I was just surprised.”
Grim thought for a few moments. Daesal would already be picking up his suspicions that he knew something he didn’t want to talk about. And, being who she was, probably would not say anything to Stegar, trust Grim to tell them if he felt it was the right thing to do. Grim said, “There are some who are worried about what you are doing. I’m part of that, but I didn’t know it until I saw you.” He laughed suddenly, with some humor but a tinge of bitterness. “It’s funny, I’m always so careful, always doubling back, always looking for the double cross. It never occurred to me that it wasn’t me they were interested in.”
Daesal and Stegar exchanged glances. It was Stegar who finally said, “Assuming there is no immediate danger, you can tell us at your own pace.”
The waitress with the wine arrived, along with a wooden plank covered in half a dozen kinds of cheese, with crackers and some slices of fruit on the side. They waited until she left. Grim said, “I don’t know that much. Just a job when I needed one, maybe a little too good to be true, and without much in the way of detail. Give me a little time, and I’ll find out more.”
Stegar looked to Daesal, and she nodded. “Sure,” said Stegar, but he didn’t look happy. “What happened with you, anyway?”
Grim shrugged. “Back in Bythe? Kethem Naval Intelligence and members of the shadow guild do not mix. Conflict of interest.”
Stegar nodded, which Grim hadn’t been expecting. “Sure. Same for Hold Wardens. But why didn’t you check in after it was over, collect your pay?”
Grim stared at him. “Because I ran out on you. On everyone.”
Grim saw Daesal’s nostrils flare. She was sniffing out his secrets. She nodded seriously. “I thought that was it. Grim, there is no shame in avoiding what almost certainly would have led to your incarceration, perhaps your death, particularly when there was little you could do at that point anyway.”
Grim looked down. “Daesal, you and Stegar saved my life five times over in Tawhiem. I should have been repaying that debt.”
She looked at him and said quietly, “And? There is more, is there not?”
Grim sighed and looked her square in the eye. “You treated me like… like someone with worth, someone who was more than a pickpocket and small-time thief. Someone who mattered. And I did everything I could to make sure I didn’t live up to that expectation.”
Stegar was staring at Grim like he’d gone out of his mind. “You can’t believe that.”
Daesal nodded. “He does.”
Stegar laughed. “For the first part, no one saved your life. We saved each other. Who pulled me out of the water when I was unconscious in the ruins of the great troll outpost? Who stood by our side when we were fighting wolves and shadow beasts? You have no debt to us, Grim, only a bond. As to the second part… Grim, when we left on that trip, I was a drunk with nothing but some beat up armor, a sword, and a bit of skill to my name. I did something so horrendous my title and my belongings were stripped from me. I was alive in name only, looking for just enough coin to buy my next bottle, barely caring if I survived the next day. You think you were lower than that?”
Grim looked at him. “But you came from something. I came from nothing.”
Stegar leaned back. “My father was a farmer, tilling land for a Hold, land owned by a Hold, shaving metal off copper coins to make ends meet. You know what that means. Indentured servitude to a Hold in all but name only. Believe me when I say that there’s no rung on the ladder I would put lower than that.”
Grim frowned. “You escaped that. I—”
Stegar cut him off. “Escaped through luck as much as anything else. Yes, I trained hard, worked hard. But there was an old man… well, it’s a long story. But farm hands do not become master swordsmen by swinging sticks around.”
“Grim,” said Daesal, “you know gambling, and you know when a game is rigged against you. As a member of a Hold I will tell you without reservation that it is rigged against commoners. I, for one, find the loyalty and courage you showed on that trip to be more of a sign of character than money, position, or power. Those are acquired. Character is something innate, something that c
annot be given or taken. It is who you are, and that is a good man.”
Grim winced. “What is it with this trip? Why is everyone trying to tell me I’m something I’m not? I’m not a hero, Daesal, I’m not courageous, I’m not trying to make the world a better place. I’m just trying to get by, just trying to do some of that acquiring you were talking about, in any way I can. I get the chance at a pile of gold, an offer to become a Holder, I take it. That’s all there is to me.”
Daesal took his hands in hers. “Look at me.” Grim averted his eyes. “Look at me,” she said again, a little firmer. He did. She gazed at him steadily. “If you truly believe I am a better person than you, that Stegar is, because we have, or had, Holder’s rings on our fingers, then I shall give you a gift.” She let go of one of his hands, reached into a pocket in her dress and pulled out a small silver ring. He went to pull his other hand away, but she tightened her grip, then slipped the ring onto his finger. Her hands were small, but his were as well, and it fit. She let go. “Do you feel any different now?”
