"The Mists seem to be the ideal version of our world. The one we could build together if we set aside all our petty divisions and fears. There are other souls there living in peace. They understand where they are, and while some stay for decades—or even centuries, if they're not done with the ways of the mortal world—eventually, everyone passes into the third layer: the Worldsea.
"I didn't go to the Worldsea. The living can't travel there. To the best of my understanding, it might be the ideal. As in the ideal realm the gods have always intended for us. There, you lose your sense of self. But you become a part of the whole."
Dante went on to explain as much as he could remember about the particulars of the Dream, the Mists, and what the dead had told him about the Worldsea.
"This is so interesting I never want you to stop talking," Nak said. "But why are you telling me this?"
"First, the Andrac seem to be from the netherworld. A better understanding of the etherworld might help you understand the demons. And second, if I don't make it out of this, I don't want this knowledge to die with me."
Nak tsked. "Well, we're not going to allow that to happen, are we?"
"Glad you agree. Then I'm going to need a few things from Narashtovik. Primarily ethermancers. Eight to ten of them, including two Council members. We need horses, too. Twenty pounds of silver to grease the skids. And I need the sword of Barden."
"Ah. The bone sword. You're going to laugh about this: it's gone missing."
"It's missing? Why would I find that funny?"
"Because it's a priceless artifact. Such things have a way of going missing, don't they? I'm sure it's around here somewhere. In the meantime, this will only add to its legacy."
"I don't know how I've gotten by without your optimism. Find me my sword and get me my reinforcements."
There was a pause. "I would like to do that, but Olivander has just informed me that if I were to try, he will reassign me to the Citadel's smelliest dungeon cell. Perhaps I should let him explain."
Muffled scrabblings came through the loon. Nak's up-and-down tenor was replaced by Olivander's measured baritone. "Dante? Before our argument begins, it's important to me for you to know that you've been missed. Not only by myself, but by all of Narashtovik."
"I've missed it, too," Dante said. "But what is there to argue about?"
"I'm not sending an army of sorcerers to the Collen Basin to fight a war against Mallon."
"Two objections. First, I don't need an army. Only enough to help me kill the demons. The second objection is my fault, really, so don't take this as a criticism of yourselves. But apparently I've been gone for so long you've forgotten I'm the High Priest of Narashtovik whose word is the law."
"And in your absence, I am the steward. Whose foremost responsibility is to keep our people safe."
Dante paced to the windows. "Thank you for taking your duties so seriously. But I'm not absent anymore, am I? We're speaking right now."
"Perhaps," Olivander said slowly. "But how do I know you're you? For all I…"
Olivander's voice cut out. Dante sent his focus into the rat bone stuck in his ear. Inside it, the nether binding it to the other loon was down to its last drops.
"Olivander? Are you there?"
"I'm listening. Are you?"
"We don't have time to argue. Compromise. Put together the team and all the equipment I've asked for, but don't send them out of the city yet. We'll discuss this more tomorrow. Agreed?"
"Agreed," Olivander said. "I look forward to hearing your rationale for this senseless fight."
Dante switched off his loon. He'd been walking about during the entire conversation. Abruptly, he felt how sore his legs were. "Narashtovik is going to hunt for everything they can find relating to the demons. When I talk to them again tomorrow, I hope to have reinforcements on the way, too. Ethermancers. But they won't be enough to retake the basin by themselves. We'll take out the Andrac. It'll be up to the Colleners to take out the Mallish."
Cord scoffed. "Banish those doubts or burn your tongue."
"I don't doubt you or your people. I'm laying out what you'll have to do for yourselves."
"How is Narashtovik, anyway?" Blays said. "Still there and everything?"
"I didn't have much time to ask, but it seems to continue to exist. Although they've lost my sword."
"What, the bone one? What idiot loses that?"
"Someone who wants to learn what its edge feels like, that's who."
"I mean, that's almost as dumb as leaving on an extended trip without it."
Dante rolled his eyes. "I didn't have it with me when the letter came from the islands. When we went to Gallador, my agenda didn't include getting sucked into two different nation-wide conflicts."
"Then let this be a lesson to never leave it behind again." Blays clasped his hands together. "Now make no mistake, the loss of a sword like that is a tragedy to make grown men wish they'd never been born. But tomorrow, if there's time, do you suppose I could give them a message for Minn?"
"We'll make time. Even if it means waiting another day to hear about the Andrac."
"Are you serious? Because I was serious about your sword."
"Neither of us meant to be gone this long. I'm sure Minn's as worried about you as you are about her. Just don't take too long, okay? I've got a lot of yelling at Olivander to do."
Prior to the loon from Narashtovik, Dante had been about to descend to the common room to drown his sorrows regarding their lack of progress. Now, he descended to the common room to float his hopes on a sea of good beer.
In the morning, he intended to sleep late, both to minimize the repercussions of the previous day's celebration, and to decrease the time he'd have to spend awake waiting for information from Nak. But the daily morning drums woke him bright and early, and shortly after a long struggle to get back to sleep, a knock at the door dragged him from bed.
It was Boggs. "Spoke to my family. And the senate."
"Well?" Dante said. "Are they in?"
The man grimaced. "I need a drink. You want to talk, meet me downstairs."
Dante and the others joined him in the public room. Dutifully, Dante ordered and sipped a beer so dark and stout it could have served as breakfast by itself.
"Family met up yesterday," Boggs said. "I told them what you told me. Once they had the truth in their heads, they agreed to lean on the senate." He stuck his elbows on the table and stared into his drink. "It would take the death of Mariola to get my family to agree on anything."
Blays took a hearty drink. "That conversation sounds as fun as squeezing your balls through a wedding ring."
"Had to be done, didn't it?"
"What did the senate say?" Dante said.
Boggs sipped his beer. "We flipped Tonn Ralon. Weren't so much because of who we are or what that Mallish bastard did to Twill. Think he wants to go to war, but he didn't dare because he didn't think there was any public support."
"But he's the only one?"
"Might be able to flip Ella if we put our backs into it. But no point when that'd still leave us two votes short."
"Question." Dante kept his voice low. "When something happens to a senator, how is their replacement chosen?"
Boggs grinned crookedly and cracked his knuckles. "I heard you was a rough one. Thinking of liquidating the outfit?"
Blays smacked his forehead. "Nobody's liquidating anything. Unless it's wheat into foamy beverages. These guys are only trying to do what's best for their people."
Dante tapped his mug. "But what if that means the loss of the Collen Basin—and all the people in it?"
"Notice how that sentence ends with a question mark? That's because we don't know the answer to it."
Dante lowered his voice. "I'm not talking about mass murder. We only need two more votes. And you're the one who jumped right to assassination. These people are politicians. They're as weak to blackmail and bribery as normal people are to swords."
"Advocating for complex skul
lduggery over simple murder? That's the real sign you've been leading for too long."
"You were the one wailing like a widow about the thought of a little blood."
"The senators are Colleners," the Keeper said. "They can't be killed. Not even for the sake of other Colleners."
Dante gripped the handle of his mug, glancing across the room. It was largely empty and no one seemed to be paying them any mind. "Let's get back to the question. If a senator leaves their post for any reason, how are they replaced?"
Boggs rubbed his index finger across his upper lip. "Popular vote. All citizens of Dog's Paw."
"I was afraid of that. Then unless the populace wants to fight badly enough to elect two pro-war senators, there's no sense replacing anybody."
"Never know. If there's one thing you can count on about people, it's that you can't count on them. They could change their minds."
"In which case the senators, being politicians, will change their minds too." Dante drained what was left in his cup. "Keep working on the Small Senate. We'll see what we can do to make the people believe it's worth fighting back."
Back in the room, he practiced his etherwork. On the day after the Keeper's lecture about how ether wished to be drawn forth, Dante had summoned as much as he could into a small sphere, then lowered it through a piece of paper until the sphere was bisected. At that point, he'd traced it.
He'd repeated the process each day. Each day, the sphere had been the same circumference as his original tracing. That morning, however, the ball of light enveloped the circle of ink completely. Dante traced a new ring and let the ether fade. The new circle was only a fraction of an inch wider than the original, but Dante felt like he'd reached up and grabbed the moon.
The Keeper had wandered outside for some fresh air. As Dante went to the door to go find her, his loon tingled. "Nak?"
"Hello again," Nak said. "How's the day found you?"
"Contemplated murdering a few senators. Pretty typical. Have you found anything on the Andrac?"
"Nothing concrete. However, we do have some promising leads. I hope to have our initial research ready for you tomorrow."
"The sooner the better." Dante reached for his loon. "We'll talk more in a minute. Before anything else, Blays needs you to take down a message."
He handed the loon to Blays, who took it into the hall for five minutes, then returned.
"Thanks," Blays said. "Now let's try to win the day, shall we? Minn's much less likely to toss me out on my ear if we've been spending all this time saving the world or something."
After confirming Nak had nothing for him yet, Dante asked to speak to Olivander.
"So," Dante said. "Come to your senses yet?"
"Come to my senses." Depending on how you were feeling that day, Olivander's voice ran somewhere between deliberate and plodding. Normally, Dante appreciated Olivander's thoughtfulness, but on that day, he was outright slogging. "What kind of sense does it make to take martial action against Mallon?"
"Do you know what's going on in Mallon these days?"
"I haven't been keeping up with Mallish politics very well, as it seems the leader of Narashtovik has absconded, leaving me the responsibility of keeping it in order."
"Hilarious. Olivander, I think we're in the middle of a Fourth Scour. Colleners are being hanged and burned on suspicion they believe in Arawn. Even those who like Carvahal too much are being dragged in for heresy."
"Carvahal? But he imprisoned Arawn."
"Yes, but he's Arawn's brother, which must mean he has to be cast down too," Dante said. "That's how crazy it's gotten here. They're occupying the city of Collen. I expect the entire basin will be next. Before traveling here, we spent some time in Bressel. While we were there, I got the impression that all of this is a reaction to Samarand's failed war on Mallon. You were a part of that—and so was I. We whipped up a storm, and now it's crashing down on Collen."
"That makes my heart heavy. We were only trying to do what was right. To free the Mallish to worship as they wished." Olivander's tone shifted from regret to concern. "And it only made things worse, didn't it? If we meddle in Mallon again, how do you know it'll be any different this time?"
"I don't. But I don't think walking away solves anything. After all, that's what we did when we set the stage for the very first war between Mallon and Collen."
"I don't know my history like you do. What did Narashtovik have to do with that?"
"Collen used to be a fertile plain. When the Rashen raised the Woduns, it didn't just effect Weslee. It turned Collen into a desert." Dante explained how, as the Colleners had starved, they'd started raiding Mallish farms and villages. "Because of what our ancestors did, the two lands have been in conflict ever since."
Olivander's sigh was that of a warrior who doesn't know how many more times he'll be able to lift his sword before his strength gives out. "How much longer will we keep paying for the same crime?"
"Until we break the cycles it created. I'm not sure how to do that yet, but I know things can't get better here until Gladdic's gone. If he conquers the entire basin, I'm afraid of what he'll do next. I'm not asking for an army. Just a few good ethermancers."
"Do you know what I haven't missed? Your relentless ability to talk me into doing things I don't want to do. I'll send your people."
"Thank you, Olivander."
"I fear I'm making a mistake. Then again, the history between our lands seems to be nothing but mistakes. So what will be any different?"
Olivander suggested sending the party with a loon, which would allow him to keep up on their progress and relay it to Dante. With a small band on horseback, he thought they'd be able to reach Collen within a month.
"We'll try to keep our heads down until then," Dante said. Before severing the connection, he asked to speak to Nak again. "Nak, there's a story in the Cycle about Kennen and Vanya, the apprentices of Stathus the Wise. Kennen winds up summoning a being that sounds a lot like the Andrac. Can you look into that for me?"
"Funny, I never expected you to have any trouble locating a copy of the Cycle. Your skills in that department are what got us into this mess in the first place."
Nak found this uproarious. Dante laughed, too. But once he closed the loon, leaving him alone with his thoughts, he wondered how much easier his life would have been if he'd never seen that first copy of the book.
~
Two days later, the loon twinged. Dante touched his ear. "Yes?"
"I think," Nak said, "you owe me a promotion."
"You're already a Council member. The only step up from there is my job. Would you really want that right now?"
"Oh, it doesn't have to be a real promotion. Something like 'the Loremaster' would do. Or perhaps 'Grand Librarian.'"
"Tell me what you've found," Dante said. "Then we'll discuss your title."
"There is very little that we can find regarding the Andrac. What we have found largely treats the idea of the demons as a joke no more worth believing in than dragons. But there is one exception. The document is short, but it regards the Andrac directly and with startling clarity. It's called The Last Confession of Kon the White-Haired, Despot of Collen."
Dante shot to his feet. "Did you say Kon the White-Haired?"
"Ah! Do you know the name?"
"He was a powerful nethermancer and a towering figure in Collen's history."
"Well, he is also the author of this document. It's dated 482 years ago. According to the author's introduction—which is extremely brief—he penned it during the middle of a battle. Which I'm inclined to believe, given the stains. It's like these pages were illuminated by a monk with a nosebleed."
"I'm going to need to write this down." Dante got out his writing supplies and took a seat at the table. "Whenever you're ready."
"I must say, I'll be very excited to hear your response. Unless I'm mistaken, we've really got something—"
"The sooner you read it, the sooner I can respond."
"Apologies and
amends." Nak cleared his throat. "Every word that follows is that of the author, which I shall read in the original Mallish. Ahem.
"In my quest to save us, I have doomed us.
"I lack the time to relate my folly in full. If I return from the shadows, I will explain then. For now, I write the facts clear and hard, each one as it happened, and entrust them to the Keeper. So that if I fail, it will be known that it was not for lack of effort.
"I was tasked with the defense of my realm. To fulfill my vow, I drove the Mallish from Collen at the points of swords and wheels. They came back to break us, but I held the line. Their soldiers cracked the dust I'd sworn my life to defend, and I pushed them back whence they came. It was said I could not be fought any more than the wind can be fought; that I could not be defeated any more than death can be defeated. For seventeen years, this was true.
"Then came Franric. Town by town, he fought me through the desert. He was as ruthless as a scorpion. For the first time since taking my vow, I tasted defeat. As the last towns began to fall, I knew Collen itself would come next. I retired to my tower. There, I pursued my weapon. The one secret not even Franric could stand against.
"It is known that when a person dies, the soul goes to Arawn's field beneath the stars. But what is not known—what is known only by myself—is that when a body dies, it leaves a trace in the shadows. These traces can be touched. Manipulated. Put enough traces together, and you have a new body. But not one of flesh. One of darkness. Except the eyes and throat, which glow like a star.
The Cycle of Galand Box Set Page 74
