“Well enough, against men. We think Aiul was, for a bit, actually a vessel for Elgar. He was unstoppable, and then he vanished. We had only just found him again when you lot turned up, and you saw how that went. Now, they are loose again, and like you, headed for Torium.”
“So two still unaccounted for?”
Maranath hesitated, not relishing telling this part, but withholding the knowledge would be idiocy. “They are quite well accounted for, actually, or at least they used to be. Half of the head was left in Torium, and the other cast into the sea off the coast of Brust. One eye was here in Nihlos, heavily guarded, and the other left in the care of the dragon Cruentus.”
Ahmed’s eyes grew wide. “An actual dragon?”
Maranath grinned at the shock on the younger man’s face. “We consult with him from time to time.”
Ahmed shook his head in wonder. “Why would they leave the pieces in Torium and with a dragon?”
“Presumably, someone thought that might give an ambitious Meite pause, but it would appear at least two of our order thought of it as more of a challenge.”
Ahmed said nothing to this, merely shrugged his shoulders, waiting for the rest. Mei! He's already halfway there, I'd wager. This boy barely shaves and he has my number like it's written on my forehead! Maranath cleared his throat and charged ahead. “I have my doubts as to whether the piece with the dragon remains in his possession, and I suspect one of my compatriots of being part and parcel to having delivered it to Torium a century ago.”
Ahmed grunted. “Your people are long lived.” He raised an eyebrow at Maranath. “Your woman, yes? That's who you suspect?”
“Are you certain you're not doing some kind of sorcery?”
Ahmed's face grew contemplative for a moment, as if he were considering whether he might somehow be doing so without realizing it, then shook his head. “So why not try to wrest the piece I carry from me, or from your berserker, Aiul?”
“Why not turn aside yourself? You still intend to go to Torium, even knowing what you carry, yes?”
Ahmed nodded, his eyes hard with conviction. “My visions would not have changed had I known more.” He looked pointedly at the piece of the eye, then began tying the broken thong. “When they first came, I did not have this thing at all. We still end there, for good or ill.”
Maranath chuckled. My turn to play mind reader. “You'd have me take it out of your hands? Better the old sorcerer be blamed for fucking up fate, eh? I think not. You're the seer. I may be stupid and impulsive, but I know better than to ignore that.”
Ahmed was again unmoved. “I am not looking for a fight with you. I am just trying to understand. You are men of action, are you not? Why not act?” He tested the strength of the newly knotted thong, then looped it over his neck and tucked the pendent back into his shirt. “You must have reasons. Share them.”
Maranath eyed the dark, inscrutable face of his would-be ally, considering. If we are to be allies, then we have to trust and be honest. If it turns out misplaced, so be it. We tried. “You're correct. I'd not hesitate to use force if I thought I knew the way. But the truth is, I don't.”
A wry grin spread on Ahmed’s lips. “So, not so worked out as you thought, then?”
“There will always be questions, but we have not even glimpses on the future to guide us.”
“You do now, do you not?” Ahmed smiled, and Maranath knew well what he meant by it. So we have crossed that bridge together. Good.
“Aye, we do. And here is what we know: the Eye plays prominently, because it was always a part of this, but we have no idea if it's part is for good or ill, only that it must be part of things.” Maranath felt a most un-Meitish sense of despair churning in his gut. We know so little, and the hour is late. “And we know it is at least as dangerous to act in haste as it is to not act at all. As your master learned, one can think he is changing fate even as he plays his part.”
Ahmed looked into the fire. “Aye. Had we never come, we would not be at this precipice.”
“What we do have are some theories on is how one deals with such a prophecy. Amrath did quite a bit of speculation on that, and his thinking seems to hold true, that it must be allowed to unfold until a critical point.”
Ahmed offered a dubious look. “So you counsel doing nothing?”
Maranath held up a hand and shook his head vehemently. “I said no such thing! I merely counsel against hasty action.”
Ahmed raised an eyebrow. “That would seem to run against the grain of your order.”
Maranath chuckled, feeling the despair release a bit. Remember this. It's part of the lesson. “So it does, which is why I left the rest of them behind for our talk. I'm no one to preach patience as a virtue, but I have considerably more of it than my fellows.”
“So what next?”
“We need knowledge to avoid mistakes, and we must be in the right place at the right time. When our moment comes, we will know, and it will be our only chance. One does not prevent prophesy, so much as turn it aside in the breach, like using a shield to deflect an arrow. If you leave too much time, things have a way of getting back on course. The archer chooses another target, as it were, before loosing. Too late, and well, that’s fairly obvious. So we watch, and we wait, and we go where fate pulls us. When we see our moment, we strike. Agreed?”
Ahmed cast a wary gaze at Maranath. “Aye. I know the destination, you know the way. But how can you be so certain we will know the right moment?”
“The thinking is that crucial moments of prophecy are always apparent, because they are intended to be. You’ll know it if you are looking. It’s the response that is the sticking point.” Maranath shrugged. “It's just how gods behave. They have rules, it seems, or at least aesthetics from which they won't deviate. There are libraries full of speculation on the gods, and I won't bore you with the details, but that's the gist of it.”
Ahmed frowned. “I am a religious man. I care about the gods.”
Maranath gave a slight chuckle. “It's possible to know too much, as the founders of my order learned. I'll give you all the time you'd like in our libraries after this is over, but I don't see the point of studying the topic for you right now.” He reached forward and clapped a hand against Ahmed’s shoulder. “There's a decent chance we'll be getting the information from direct experience in the near future, so why spend time with dusty old books until we've managed to save the world, eh?”
Ahmed laughed aloud. “I said it before, and I'll say it again. I can't help but like you, but it makes me feel a little guilty.” His expression grew somber, and he paused a moment, as if trying to find words for his next thought. When he spoke, it was as if admitting a dark secret. “You are not good people.”
Maranath stifled a cackle, allowing only a small, wry smile to show on his face. Though surely my eyes tell the tale. “For both our sakes, don't bring that up with the other Meites. It will start an argument on the meaning of good and evil, and whether it should even apply to us, yadda yadda, until eventually the insults fly, followed by fists or crockery.” Ahmed laughed heartily as Maranath continued, “I actually know people who are no longer with us as a direct result of such heated discussions.”
The humor fled from Ahmed's face, replaced with a wry, knowing look. “They went steel over a point of philosophy? Or... whatever your sect calls it. I have seen such before. Usually, drink is involved.”
Maranath jabbed a bony finger at Ahmed with great vigor, grinning. “That's exactly it. My friend was very drunk and fell off the roof of a building while gesticulating wildly.” Maranath waved his hands about and feigned losing his balance. “Whoops. Very passionate. I should watch my own fingers, eh?”
“But your people can fly!”
“Some have yet to master it,” Maranath said. “Certainly, one's ability varies depending on mental state. My friend was, as I mentioned, very drunk.”
Ahmed shook his head slowly, his expression suggesting he wasn't certain whether Maranath were p
ulling his leg. “I will be careful to avoid such talk, then. Any other things I should know about your people?”
Maranath allowed himself a few more moments of good humor at his tale, then grew serious again. “Yes, and no jokes this time. In the battle, we found ourselves considerably weakened in the presence of both you and Aiul. Now, here is the important part: when we allied, it was like a boot lifted off our necks.” He leaned forward, gesturing to Ahmed to look at him eye to eye, and focus. “That thing channels your faith somehow, and it has a strong influence on our abilities. You can help us or hurt us with it, so have a care.”
“Is it supposed to work like that?”
“No one knows the full extent of what it does, but we know it links minds. Remember that bit, though. When we confront Aiul, we will need your support to balance his damping, if we are to be fully effective.”
Ahmed looked away, toward Nihlos. He said nothing for a while. Considering if he should pack up and go home rather than waste his life on the lot of us, no doubt, and Mei, it's a good question to ask.
Maranath gave the younger man all the time he needed, and at last the Southlander turned back to face him, confident, resigned. “Aye, I will. I may have my doubts about your people, but I have none about the servants of Elgar. They are fit for nothing but the sword.”
“We've come to the same conclusions of late.” Maranath cleared his throat, feeling awkward to already be placing conditions on their new alliance, but knowing he had to at least try. “If we can, we would save Aiul. We have no idea of his state of mind, or what influence is being exerted over him, but if anyone can reach him, it will be me or Ariano. We're all the family he has left.”
Ahmed raised an eyebrow. “You said his mother was with you on the council?”
“She was. We returned to find she had been slain in our absence, by one of our own.”
Ahmed's eyes grew wide at this. “Ilaweh is great! You killed him for it, yes?”
“No.” Ahmed began to speak, but Maranath held up a hand. “That would cost us another council member, to say nothing of the fact that it was in response to a sincere attempt on her part to kill him from ambush.”
“So not murder, but a battle.”
“Exactly. I bloodied his nose, still. He ought to have controlled himself better. But I won't kill him over it.” Maranath once again felt suddenly haggard and powerless. “She was like a daughter to me, and tomorrow I have to put her in the ground. I know it may not seem like the right time to delay, but it's something I have to do. We'll depart to visit the dragon the following morning, and I'll find answers for both of us.”
Ahmed nodded, seemingly unconcerned. “It is as you say. We ride the crest of fate's wave like a ship, until we sight land. Surely, that this happened now has meaning.”
Maranath felt his momentary depression pass as if it were a spirit banished by Ahmed's words, replaced by deep sorrow, a more honest emotion, and one he saw no reason to push aside. One paralyzes you with self-doubt. The other gives you reason to go on. “Perhaps so. She was... injured long ago. She had no prospect of dying well, not as you or I would define it.” For a moment, as the grief welled inside of him, Maranath could not speak. When he continued, he couldn’t keep his voice from cracking. “Her soul bled for decades, and we watched her suffer. She found her way to a good death despite everything.” He dabbed at his eyes with his robe, letting the grief slowly drain away, and continued in a stronger voice, “That's really why I spared Prandil. She knew what she was doing. She had worked out a no-lose scenario for herself. Prandil was just the weapon.”
Ahmed was silent for a moment, his expression contemplative. “It sounds as if your god would be pleased with that outcome,” he said after a moment.
“He would. I thank you for that, Prelate. You are a young man, but you have a good sense of the mystical. Sometimes an old man needs a fresh perspective. But have you any on our fate, I wonder?”
Ahmed shrugged and shook his head. “I pray each day and night, but the visions come when they come. I have seen nothing new. I will send word if I know more.”
Maranath rose and offered his arm again. “Then I should be off. There is much to do tomorrow.”
Ahmed sat by the fire, tending it, waiting for Sandilianus to return. The veteran arrived before long, bearing a tray laden with bread, cheese, and sausages. Ahmed felt his mouth watering at the sight. “Where did you get this?”
Sandilianus set the tray down and took a seat near the fire. “The Nihlosians left their supplies with us when they returned to the city.” He looked about briefly and shrugged. “So he’s gone already? He said he would eat.”
Ahmed considered sharing what the sorcerer had told him about carrying a piece of the Eye, but decided against it. Sandilianus was uncomfortable with the mystical, and likely would have preferred to know less about the Eye than he had learned already. There was no need to burden him with the knowledge, when he could not do anything useful with it.
Ahmed helped himself to the food and began making a sandwich. “I think they get easily distracted,” he said, then bit into the bread with relish.
Sandilianus piled meat and bread for himself, and bit into a sausage. “More for us.” His smile faded suddenly. “Why did you let him call you ‘boy’?”
“Eh?”
Sandilianus grinned again. “When you met him, he called you ‘boy’. Why did you not call him out? Too embarrassed because you got his name wrong?”
Ahmed shook his head and swallowed a mouthful. “No. It just doesn’t bother me.”
Sandilianus gave him a sour look. “But you take me to task for it? You took a fine beating from Brutus over it, too. Why is he different?”
Ahmed snickered and spoke around a mouthful of his sandwich, “Do you know how old he is?”
Sandilianus thought a moment, then shrugged. “Old.”
Ahmed gave him a knowing look. “He’s two hundred if he’s a day. Maybe three.”
“Bah.”
“No, truly. Their people live long. Caelwen is almost eighty!”
Sandilianus snorted in derision. “Lies.”
“Truth!” Ahmed insisted, gesturing with his sandwich. “He told me so. He doesn’t know it is strange to us. He thinks himself young for his position.”
Sandilianus raised an eyebrow and swallowed the rest of his sausage. “Ilaweh is great! You swear it is true?”
Ahmed placed a hand over his heart. “By Ilaweh’s name.”
Sandilianus, looking impressed, picked up another sausage. “I reckon he can call me ‘boy’, too, then.”
“Are you a coward, or just lazy? Why do you sit idle?”
Ahmed looked up at Yazid. His mentor stood towering over him, nose flared, eyes narrowed, right hand curled into a fist. Yazid had not towered over him like this since Ahmed had been a boy, but today, he was large again. Or I am small.
Ahmed felt sullen. I almost relish a beating. “I have done everything I know to do!”
“Your work here is unfinished.” Yazid pointed to the window. Ahmed put away his picture book and looked out to see the home next door, a huge, stone ziggurat. He shrugged and almost turned back, when he saw an evil, green light spill forth from the building like blood. Everywhere it touched, flame sprung, and once it passed, the scorched ground held only ash.
Ahmed looked back at Yazid in terror, expecting his mentor to do something, but Yazid remained impassive. “It is for you to do, not me.”
Ahmed pounded his fists against his legs and screamed in frustration, “I do not know what I am to do! Tell me!”
Yazid pointed again, to another window. This is a very large house. Ahmed followed his gesture and looked out the window. Approaching, he saw a tall, thin man, pale of skin and yellow of hair, like a dog. The man bore a gift wrapped in decorated paper and silk bows, but his face was indistinct, covered in shifting shadows. Ahmed could not recognize him.
“Why is it so? If I cannot see his face, how can I know him?”
/> “It is hard to tell the face of one dog from another. Perhaps you should think of him as a man instead.”
Ahmed felt his ears burning, and anger surged in him as he turned to confront Yazid. “They are dogs!” he cried in his small, shrill, child's voice. “Weak, callow, pale, and cowardly. It is their nature! It is not my fault I know this!”
Yazid's fist swung with blinding speed and struck the side of Ahmed's head like a hammer. Ahmed clenched his jaw not to cry out in pain, and fell to the floor in a heap, woozy and half blind.
“Close your eyes if you will, but do not also whine aloud that you cannot see.” Yazid reached a mighty hand down to Ahmed, even as Ahmed realized the figure standing over him was Yazid no longer. Now he was someone entirely different. Ahmed felt a deep, jolting shock in his guts as he recognized the face staring back at him. It was his own, though older, harder, more determined than ever not to fail.
I know you, now. I had forgotten your face. I swear, this time I will remember.
Ahmed reached up, took Ilaweh's hand, and saw that he, too had changed. He was a man again, armed with a real sword, and none of the childish conviction that had given him so much confidence in his youth. Would that I knew everything again.
Ilaweh said nothing as he hauled Ahmed to his feet, but his eyes burned with purpose. Ahmed held the fiery gaze as long as he could, then bowed his head and sank to a knee. He felt hot tears on his face as he whispered, “Show me the way,” and his mind filled with flame.
Ahmed woke with a start. Doubting the dream never occurred to him. It had been true. He knew that as he knew any other vision was true. The only question was how to take it.
I promised to do his will. But this is madness!
He rose to his feet slowly, reaching for his sword and helmet out of habit. The rest of his armor could wait until later. Until we know if I am still leading this circus or not. Probably not.
It was easy enough to locate Sandilianus, considerably harder to muster the courage to wake him, all the more so because of the orders Ahmed intended to give.
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