Hunched over his work, Nak glanced up. "Why on earth do you think that?"
"That's what he told me."
"You're from Mallon. Don't you know anything about the priesthood?"
"I grew up in the middle of nowhere, knew nothing about the ether, and ran away almost half my lifetime ago."
"Ah, that's right, you went straight from nobody to nethermancer. Well, fortunately for us, while the Mallish priesthood does have a central governing body, its twelve orders are largely independent from one another. If I'm not mistaken, young Sorrowen was an acolyte of Taim?"
"That's right," Dante said. "Who do you think will be most likely to take him in?"
"Oh, anyone, really. Taim always gets the best and the brightest. The other orders will leap at the chance to take on a young ethermancer."
"Then we'll go for Gashen. If Mallon's planning for war, his priests will be jockeying for influence in the conflict."
"Excellent thinking. I'll tutor him in Gashen's ways before you depart."
"What is your timeline?" Olivander said.
"We leave in a month," Dante said. "That will avoid the worst weather in the pass and have us in Alebolgia by the start of spring."
"And your objectives in Alebolgia?"
"Finalize the Collen Basin's alliance with House Osedo, allowing them to shut the Mallish out of the port in Cavana. That'll require us to discover House Itiego's secret Tallas Route. Before or after that, we find Gladdic and we deal with him. Then we come home. I think we can be back by fall."
Olivander nodded. "And then perhaps your adventuring will be finished."
With the meeting concluded, Nak toddled off to locate Sorrowen and start on his lessons. Olivander went to draw up a timeline and logistics for the journey. Citadel business consumed the remainder of Dante's day. Tedious stuff, most of it, yet there was something pleasant about being able to make a score of decisions in a single day knowing that dozens of capable people would immediately set to work executing those decisions. It felt like all the world was a Nulladoon field and he was the player. The only one who could see the lay of the land and maneuver his pieces against the Citadel's opponents.
This was the height of power in action, the kind wielded by Moddegan in Gask and Charles in Mallon. And yet there was something hollow to it. It felt cloistered. Like a monk in his cell reading of great heroes, awful struggles, and glorious triumphs. Dante wanted to feel the wind in his hair. The cold on his face. To see places he'd never seen before and delve into their secrets.
That felt like true power. As he passed down judgments; consulted with Council members, monks, and nobles; and wrote down accounts of what he'd seen, done, and learned on his travels, a part of him was already impatient to get back in the saddle, ride for hundreds of miles, and sail into unknown waters in search of House Itiego's mysterious spice island.
As was so often true, wishes could be real sons of bitches. The day after his talks with Sorrowen, Nak, and Olivander, with one day remaining for Raxa to make her decision about whether to join them, Dante's loon pulsed. Frowning, he opened the line.
"Mr. Dante?" The voice was rough, barnacled with a maritime accent. "This is Jona, sir. Of the Sword of the South."
"I know who you are," Dante said. "Any news from Captain Naran?"
"Yes and no." Jona halted for three seconds. "You see, sir, three days ago, the captain made port in Tanar Atain. Now he's gone missing. Like he disappeared from the face of the earth."
15
"Missing?" Dante's mouth went as dry as the salted cod favored by the Sword of the South's quartermaster. "You're still in Collen, aren't you? And he's in Tanar Atain? So what exactly defines 'missing'?"
Jona grunted. "What I mean is we were supposed to speak yesterday afternoon. But we didn't. Nor yesterday evening, nor this morning. Now his loon's not working at all."
"But you're sure it was working prior to that, when he wasn't responding?"
"As sure as winter swells. There's a feel to the loons, ain't there? When I try to reach him now, his loon, it's like it's…not there. Like I'm talking into an empty room."
Dante ran across his chambers to gather his writing instruments and take notes. "Do you have any idea where he might have gone? Was he scheduled to meet anyone? Had he found any leads on Gladdic?"
"I'll tell you everything I know, sir, but I'll warn you, it ain't much. As I said, three days ago, the Sword reached Tanar Atain. The captain berthed in Aris Osis, the only port open to outsiders. The first day, no one's allowed off the ship. Inspections and tariffs and such. The second day, they're permitted to unload their goods. Captain Naran makes arrangements to tour a few warehouses, see what kinds of cargo he'd like to take on. The first visits were supposed to happen the next day."
"When he went silent."
"Dead on, sir."
"Do you know anything about who he was meeting with?"
Jona chuckled dryly. "This is Captain Naran, sir. Formerly Mr. Naran, quartermaster from hell. I expect he keeps logs of what time of day he takes his shits and how many times he has to wipe his—"
"That's wonderful," Dante said. "The names, please?"
"The first on his list was Oto LoMota." Jona spelled out the name. "Next was Undan Walan. And last was Iko DaNasan."
"Did Naran tell you anything about them?"
"He was angling to do business with people he thought might get him closer to finding Gladdic. According to him, LoMota's a bit of a black sheep who comes from a family of priests and so forth." Paper rustled over the loon. "Galan, she does business all across the interior, which the captain seemed to think is noteworthy. And as for DaNasan, it's rumored he has ties with an outfit called the Monsoon. Don't know who or else they are."
Dante paused while jotting all of this down. "Anything else?"
"Nothing that leaps between my ears. They'd only just arrived in port, sir. What do you think this could mean?"
"Naran might have left his loon on without knowing it, draining its nether until the connection collapsed. Or it could have been stolen by a cutpurse—it would resemble exotic jewelry."
"Is that where you'd stick your bets?"
"I would bet that someone's taken him prisoner. Either the authorities saw something suspicious on the ship, or Gladdic has people in the city. Either he was smart enough to be looking for Naran, or he's paranoid enough to interrogate anyone coming from Mallon." Dante spilled sand over his ink, blotting it dry. "Hopefully the captain will be questioned and released shortly. We'll leave as soon as we can. If you hear from him, or remember anything else, let me know."
Jona vowed to do so. Dante shut down the loon. He was about to run and find Blays, then remembered the advantages of his position and sent a page to summon Blays to him, along with Olivander and Nak.
They assembled in the room they'd met in the day before. Dante didn't bother to sit. "I just heard from our contact in Collen. Captain Naran made landfall in Tanar Atain three days ago. Sometime between yesterday and this morning, we lost contact with him. It could be that something went wrong with his loon, but I'm operating under the assumption he's been captured—or worse. I intend to leave within three days."
Olivander thrust out his jaw. "To where?"
"To Javar's Bakery in Gallador. I can't stop thinking about his apple crisps. To Tanar Atain, obviously."
"There's a real chance that the captain's already dead. Or will be long before you get there."
Blays scoffed. "Do you think that makes Dante less eager to ride in and stomp it up? There's vengeance to be had, man!"
Olivander gave Blays a dark look. "'Stomping it up' sounds directly at odds with the idea of reducing our involvement in foreign lands."
"First, Naran might be jailed indefinitely," Dante said. "And thus in need of rescue. Second, even if he has been killed, we owe it to his crew to make sure they remain free."
"You owe it to your people in Narashtovik to stay out of harm's way. To keep them out of harm's way. What purpose
does this venture serve? What's the value in saving the life of one sea captain—perhaps even his entire crew—versus the cost of your own life if you fail?"
Nak gave Dante a supplicating bob of his head that was only partially mocking. "It's a fair point, O Esteemed and Nigh-Invincible Bearer of Arawn's Wisdom and Might. Surely this friend of yours knew the dangers he was sailing into."
"Better than we do," Blays said. "But we have to go back to Collen and the Strip either way. While we're there, we might as well visit a strange new land, and then destroy it."
"Oh dear. You've fallen prey to Dante's adventurism, too?"
"When you're safe in this keep, isolated by a thousand miles of winter, it's easy to brush aside what happened in Collen. After all, it's none of our business, is it? People are fighting wars and killing people all the time, and we don't think twice about getting involved." Blays smiled, or grimaced, or something in between. "But I haven't seen those battles. I have seen the bodies in the caverns of Collen. I can't live with myself if I let Gladdic live. I will send him to the gods, and let them repent what they created."
"Ah," Nak said. "Well. Yes. There is the moral component. In that case, when would you like your horses ready?"
~
Rather than using the ruined fort all the way out in the forest, they met Raxa under the shadow of the spire of the Cathedral of Ivars. By daylight, and in the middle of the city, she looked like just another young woman out on an errand—off to one of the winter markets, or to place an order at the chandlery.
"Before you give your decision," Dante said, "our circumstances have changed. If you come with us, you won't have a month to prepare. You'll have three days."
She glanced at Blays, then back at Dante. "What's up?"
"It doesn't matter. It won't affect your involvement."
"If you want me to partner with you, I need to know if you're about to get yourself killed."
"I don't know enough to answer that question," Dante said. "But the person you'll be looking for might be responsible for our new haste. If Blays and I find him where we're going, that'll shorten the time you have to spend in Bressel."
"Least you're honest." It was snowing again and Raxa flipped a line of white from the folds of her cloak. "I'll go. But I'm amending our deal. You can have one item back now. The sword or the book, your choice. You get the other when you bring me back to Narashtovik."
"The terms of the deal were set. There's nothing to negotiate."
"Okay." She turned and walked off through the snow.
Blays gave Dante a squinty look, then shook his head and trotted after Raxa. "Quit being so dramatic. He's as stubborn as you are. If you walk away, he's only going to make your life miserable."
She stopped, back turned, then swore. "You need me more than I need you. What would you do if I walked away with the sword and the book and you never saw me again?"
Dante gritted his teeth. "I need the book to help teach you."
"Guess that makes your decision easy."
"And I need the sword to kill the son of a bitch we're going to hunt down."
She jerked a thumb at Blays. "He's the one who told me a sword is nothing compared to the almighty god-blasting power of the nether. You're asking me to put my life on the line for you and to trust you're not going to kill me as soon as you've got what you want. This is my insurance policy."
"What if you die in the line of duty?"
"Then you only have to hunt for one hidden treasure, not two."
Seriously contemplating an abundance of violence, he turned to Blays. "Help. Before I accidentally redwash the front of the cathedral."
"But the monks could stand to do a little honest labor," Blays said. "Look, if you were her, would you do any different?"
"I would trust the word and goodwill of my illustrious benefactor."
Blays cupped his right ear, tilting it to the sky. "Do you hear that? That's the sound of Cally laughing his ass off. I suggest we retreat to shelter until it crashes down."
Dante chuckled. At the mention of the old man, something shifted inside him. He had been young once, eager to learn. What would have happened to him if Cally hadn't taken him on and guided him down the path? Almost certainly, he would have died at sixteen, slain by the soldiers at Blays' hanging in Whetton. Even if he'd somehow made it through that, Samarand's agents would have gotten him soon after.
Instead, he'd been granted the chance to study under the guidance of one of the most intelligent and unusual sorcerers he'd ever known. And in the process, he'd advanced beyond any of his most secret hopes.
Maybe it was nostalgia. Or maybe it was the appeal of an unexplored form of arrogance: the role of teaching someone lesser, and shaping them into your vision of what they could and should be. Whatever the case, serving as mentor seemed to feel less like a burden and more like a privilege.
Nor did it hurt that sealing the deal would mean restoring peace to his city.
He favored Raxa with a critical eye. Regaining the sword had immediate appeal, but he wasn't even sure they allowed people to openly carry arms in Tanar Atain. From what Jona had said, they sounded unusually wary of outsiders. Besides, if he chose the sword and something happened to Raxa in Bressel, the loss of the true Cycle would be devastating. It was more than an object of power. It represented the legacy of Arawn in the north. A tradition that dated back over a thousand years. He wouldn't be the one that broke that honored chain.
"The Cycle," he said. "Three days from now, be at the Citadel gates at dawn."
She nodded. "That mean the war between us is over?"
"And if you want peace to remain in our absence, tell your people there can't be any more killings. No assaulting citizens, either. Now, if you want to rob the nobles, maybe they should hire better guards. But you might find it more interesting, and profitable, to look into certain Gaskan trade routes and warehouses. My friend Nak probably has a lot of information on the subject. I'll have to warn him not to accidentally drop a list outside the gates. Especially not at, say, ten o'clock tonight."
Raxa smiled. It was the first time she'd looked genuinely happy since they'd met. "See you in three days."
~
As the sun struggled to clear the heights of the Woduns, Dante waited outside the gates with Blays, Sorrowen, and four of Olivander's best rangers, who were mostly there to scout the route ahead, but would also help Dante keep an eye on Raxa.
That role was starting to look like it might be superfluous, considering there was still no sign of Raxa at all. Cold dread squirmed in his stomach like a ball of worms. If she didn't show—if this was yet another ruse—he would delay the trip until he hunted her down. And given that the delay meant additional risk for Naran's life, this time, Dante's mercy would be at an end.
As the first wan yellow ray poked out of the east, a lone silhouette walked lightly toward the gates.
"Hope you brought me a horse," Raxa said. "Otherwise, one of you is walking."
In fact, they'd brought two doughty raggies apiece, but were otherwise traveling light, intending to restock their provisions as they traveled through the Norren Territories and Tantonnen. Grooms helped Raxa into the saddle and redistributed her bulging pack into her two horses' saddlebags.
"I'll do my best in your absence," Olivander said. "Remember to know when to sheathe your sword."
As they rode out, Dante felt a twinge of guilt for leaving his city again so soon. Yet it helped to know that it remained in good hands. That, perhaps, was the most important thing a leader could do: assemble good people, and forge them into a group who could share the weight with you—and carry it onward after you were gone.
They headed south, clearing the gates and passing through the busy neighborhoods that had sprung up on the city's outskirts. As they left Narashtovik, Sorrowen glanced behind them, staring anxiously at the Citadel and the Cathedral of Ivars. Raxa didn't look back, but she did let her gaze linger on the forest ahead and to their right, a distant look upon her
face.
Travelers had trampled a path through the snow. That day, they made excellent time. Yet by the point when the sun fell into the clouds hanging over the western hills, the road had already gotten worse.
"Mighty inconsiderate of Naran to disappear in the dead of winter," Blays said. "Next time he wants to get kidnapped or arrested, he better make sure it's spring."
Dante checked in with Jona, but the pirate still hadn't heard anything from Naran. As far as he could tell, the loon was dead.
They walked for half an hour past sunset, the rangers testing the way ahead, then got off the road to pitch their tents in the woods. While the soldiers gathered firewood, Dante called over Sorrowen and Raxa. He'd been thinking about this moment for the last few days, but finding himself in it, he had no idea where to start.
"If you're lucky," he said, "you'll have fifty days to learn. If I'm lucky, and the roads are fair, you'll have thirty. Either way, we'll barely have time to scratch the surface. So let's make each day count."
Feeling mildly foolish, he nodded at Sorrowen. "I know the monks have drilled you on the Cycle until you must have wanted to turn it into book soup." Dante turned to Raxa. "But you haven't had formal training. Were there any parts of the Cycle you didn't understand?"
"Yeah," Raxa said. "Such as the first half."
"You've had the book for almost two months!"
"I could have had it for two years. Wouldn't change the fact I can't read Mallish."
Somehow, that had eluded him. It pitched his plan right out the window. "We'll have to remedy that. Besides, learning Mallish will help you do your job in Bressel." He rubbed his temples. "For now, it doesn't matter. The book already unlocked your talent. We can come back to its pages later."
He shifted his weight on the downed tree he was sitting on. "As long as you're willing to run away before you run yourself dry, a skilled sorcerer doesn't have much to fear from the average soldier. There's no armor that can save them from the nether. That means that one of the most valuable skills you can possess is the ability to defend yourself from other sorcerers. Both of you know the basics of deflecting an incoming nether strike, but let's see if we can't refine your technique."
The Cycle of Galand Box Set Page 112
