Karen glared at him. “How can you be so rude?”
“Because I already know the choices you’ll make,” Matt answered, letting his gaze roam the room. “I choose my words according to which ones will produce the actions necessary for success.” When Karen started to argue he held up his hand to silence her. “Let me finish. Starting tomorrow, we are no longer outlaws. The Queen’s next proclamation will exonerate us. We’ll be returning to Castle Cameron. I need to see your father.”
Irene looked back and forth between the two of them. “You mean Gary?”
Matt nodded.
Chad growled, “What are these necessary actions?”
“The ones that don’t end in our deaths,” said Matthew, before adding, “hopefully.”
Elaine had been silent until then. “You don’t sound very certain. You expect us to follow some hidden plan of yours, but you’re not even sure of the outcome? I thought you could see the future.”
Matthew sighed. “I see possibilities. Most of them I know to be failures, but a few lead to a singular event, one that I can’t see beyond. The threads of reality converge there, creating a knot of uncertain fate. All I can do is steer us toward it.”
Chad glanced at Cyhan, wondering if the big knight would put forth an opinion, but he seemed to have no interest in the conversation. Irritated, he started to speak, but Matthew interrupted him. “The argument you have in mind won’t do anything for your mood. Get your gear together. Karen can take you to Iverly as soon as you’re ready.” The young mage addressed the rest of the room, “The rest of us will proceed to Castle Cameron this evening.”
“What about Roland’s family?” asked Irene. “We can’t abandon them, or the other people here.”
“There won’t be any further attacks here,” Matthew stated confidently. “We can bring Roland back to oversee his estate after we settle in at Cameron.”
Irene nodded. “He’s probably been mad with worry since he left.”
Matthew was already walking away, heading back in the direction of the stairs that would take him to his room.
“Where are you going?” asked Karen. “Shouldn’t we talk about this more? You haven’t explained anything.”
Matt stopped and looked back, his expression faintly apologetic. “I’m not that good with words. My explanation would only confuse things more. I have something important to prepare for.” Then he left.
“What an arrogant prick!” spat Chad.
Karen frowned. “He has his reasons. We’ll just have to trust he knows what he’s doing.”
Gram walked in a moment later, just as Chad was leaving to collect his gear. “What did I miss?” he asked the archer as they passed by one another.
“Your friend is a jackass,” said Chad without stopping.
Gram paused, then looked at the others. “I already knew that. What did he do this time?”
***
Karen and Chad stood beside the road that led from Relliton to Iverly. Iverly was less than two miles to the west. “Are you familiar with the city?” she asked the older man.
The ranger shook his head. “No, but I’m sure it’s much like other towns. There’ll be pubs and such. That’s all I need.”
“You aren’t here to drink,” she replied disapprovingly.
“I am always here to drink,” shot back Chad, “but that’s not the point. Taverns are where I’ll find out what I need to know. Besides, can’t your boyfriend tell the future?”
Karen was still angry with Matthew herself, and having been forced to defend him had made her even more irritable. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“If the best way to find Lady Rose was to ask the city guard, or visit the local lord, he’d have sent someone else. He sent me. That means the answer will be found while sitting on a barstool. Ye ken me?” When she didn’t reply immediately, he went on. “I am destined to get drunk. Who am I to defy fate?”
Karen shook her head, sending her dark curls flying in every direction. “The world is doomed if it’s relying on you to save it.” Then she gave him a serious stare. “I’ll check this spot every morning, so meet me here when you find her.”
“Sunset,” said Chad firmly. “I only do mornings when I’m hunting in the wild.”
She sighed. “Morning, if you expect me to take you home. Hopefully, I’ll see you here in a few days.” Then she vanished.
Setting his feet to the road, Chad began walking in the direction of Iverly. As he went, he opened his pack and drew out a wide-brimmed hat that he set firmly on his head, pulling it down and slightly at an angle to obscure his features from casual onlookers. He hadn’t been to Iverly, but he was fairly sure that some of those who knew him lived there now. It wouldn’t do to be recognized by the wrong sorts, he thought to himself. Best to be cautious.
While he walked, he kept his eyes on the roadside, scanning the trees and brush for a good place to hide his treasure. When he found a spot he liked, he took a moment to memorize the landmarks before tossing a rope into a tree hidden from direct view of the road and using it to hoist a long oilcloth wrapped package into its limbs. It’ll be safe here, he thought, staring up at his longbow. He hated to be parted from it, but such a weapon always drew eyes and unwanted attention.
Back on the road he felt confident he wouldn’t be easily remembered now. The only visible weapon he carried was a long knife, which wasn’t that unusual. His clothing was worn but durable, neither too shabby nor too notable. He could pass for a crafter or dockworker, perhaps even a farmer if the observer wasn’t too perceptive.
Less than an hour later he passed through the city gate, not that it deserved such an appellation; to the ranger’s appraising eye it didn’t look as though the structure was functional. They probably hadn’t tried to close it in years. The two guards who stood at their posts looked bored and disinterested. That suited Chad just fine.
He didn’t bother asking directions to the nearest tavern. Some things were the same almost anywhere you went. There’d be a place within shouting distance of the gates, a few others near the docks, and very likely some more expensive establishments in the heart of the city. Chad let his feet guide him, and minutes later he had found what he sought.
It was called ‘Gate Inn,’ but it was more of a pub than a place to seek accommodations. If it did actually have rooms for rent, he doubted he would have wanted to stay in them. The customers were mainly farmers and tradesmen, and the floors were heavily coated with dirt from the road. Even so, he withheld judgment until he had tasted his first pint of ale.
Rat piss. His lip curled in disgust. The ale was poor and had been watered, enhancing its lack of flavor. Ordinarily he would have left immediately, but he was there for more than just a drink so, with a sigh, he leaned back in his chair and pretended to be nursing his mug slowly.
He watched the crowd, not with any hope of finding Rose there, but simply to get a feel for the area. His eyes sorted through the customers as they came and went, passing over farmers and tradesmen quickly and spending more time on those whose professions were more questionable. He took note of several cutpurses and petty thieves, recognizing them from experience and intuition more than any particular defining mark.
Unfortunately, they noticed him as well, for newcomers were their bread and butter. After only half an hour a large friendly man came over to his table. “Mind if I sit here?” asked the stranger. “I’ll buy a few rounds if you have news.”
Chad glanced up, making a conscious effort to keep the menace from his features. Despite the stranger’s friendly demeanor, the ranger knew his purpose. It was an old tactic. The stranger would buy him a few drinks, get him drunk if possible, then his friends would rob him when he left.
His usual response would be a subtle warning, but that would get him noticed. Accepting the offer and then facing several assailants later in an alley would also do him no good. Win or lose, they’d remember him. As if I’d lose to this trash, he thought disdainfully. “No thanks,” he answered,
standing. “My friends are waiting on me.”
“Why the hurry?” asked the big man, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Let me buy you a drink.”
Chad resisted his first, second, and third impulses, each of which was worse than the last. The first two would end with the stranger unconscious or badly injured, the third would have him howling with rage when he found his purse missing later. Instead, Chad gave the man a friendly pat on the shoulder and then slipped around him. “Maybe tomorrow. I can’t stay any longer today.”
The stranger frowned but let him go, likely in part because he thought he’d have a better chance the next day. Chad grinned to himself as he left. “Who says I can’t be diplomatic?” Then he set off in a direction that his nose indicated would probably lead him to the docks. The dives there would be rowdier, but the ale was almost certain to be better. Dockworkers didn’t put up with watered ale.
Chapter 18
Tyrion stared into the darkness until his eyes began to water from not blinking. He knew where he was; his magesight had already confirmed the dimensions of the room, which was very familiar to him. It was the same room that Mordecai had previously been imprisoned in.
It had been several days since he had awakened there. He thought. It was hard to be sure, since time lost all meaning without the normal cycle of light and dark, events and conversation. In the black silence time meant nothing at all, other than a slow decline into madness. My how the tables have turned. The irony of his current situation wasn’t lost on him.
Moira Illeniel had turned the tables and now the world was against him. Nothing new there. He had won the battle, defeated his enemies, and yet had lost everything anyway. At least Mordecai had had Rose to visit him. Tyrion rather doubted the Queen would be making an appearance. Based on Moira’s last words, he suspected her heart had been turned against him.
A dim square of light appeared as one wall vanished, nearly blinding Tyrion’s darkness-accustomed eyes. He sat up and squinted against the glare as he studied his visitor, Gareth Gaelyn.
“Are you enjoying your stay?” asked the red-bearded archmage, his face betraying little humor.
Tyrion ignored him.
Gareth walked into the room and stood still for a moment, then continued, “Your food is better than his was.”
Tyrion grunted. “That’s true, unless you count the food Lady Rose brought him.”
“Should I arrange a bath for you as well?” said Gareth dryly, raising one brow.
“If you think you can keep me in here long enough for it to be necessary,” Tyrion challenged. “You’re alone. You can’t keep watch over this cell indefinitely.”
“A good point,” agreed Gareth, “but in your case an invalid one. You might manage the manacles, but this cell can hold a mage indefinitely.” He stared intently at Tyrion, his gaze conveying an unnamed accusation.
He knows, thought Tyrion, feeling uneasy. “When did you figure it out?”
“I started having doubts when the first Tyrion was here, but I had nothing to base my suspicion on,” said Gareth. “When you appeared I at first thought I was wrong, since there were no scars or other signs of the grievous injuries that Mordecai inflicted. It wasn’t until later that I realized it wasn’t because you had healed them, but rather because your entire body was newly made.”
“You’re very observant.”
“I’m a Gaelyn,” stated Gareth. “Matters of the flesh do not escape my notice. This body isn’t decaying the way your previous one did. Was it was created by Lyralliantha?”
Tyrion gave a faint nod. “Does it matter?”
Gareth smirked. “You could live a long life.”
“Not likely,” said Tyrion. “You’ll either kill me or leave me to rot. You don’t have any other options.”
“Unless you escape.”
Tyrion let out a short bitter laugh. “Only an archmage could escape this cell, and you already know my secret.”
“The key there,” began Gareth, “is that only I know you aren’t the original, that you aren’t an archmage.”
A strange feeling crept over Tyrion as he realized Gareth had some hidden agenda. “Your point?”
“Why don’t we talk about what’s happened since you were put down here?” suggested the archmage. “I might be interested in your opinion on current matters. Would you like some wine?”
Tyrion stared at him with open suspicion. “What game is this?” When Gareth failed to answer he finally gave in. “Fine. I could kill for a cup of wine about now.”
The red-bearded mage barked, emitting a dark chuckle. “Is that a euphemism?”
Tyrion held up his wrists. “Take these manacles off of me and you’ll find out.”
Gareth stepped out and returned a moment later with two wooden cups and a bottle of Dalensan Red. Filling the cups, he handed one to Tyrion, who sniffed it before taking a small sip. His nose wrinkled a bit. “You think I would poison you?” asked Gareth.
“It’s sweeter than I prefer,” said Tyrion sourly. “Next time bring one of those whites they make in Turlington.”
“There won’t be a next time,” said Gareth flatly, his eyes cold and dead.
“So, you do have the balls to do what’s necessary,” complimented Tyrion. “I always liked that about you.”
“Don’t be so eager to die just yet,” responded the other mage. “We haven’t talked yet.”
Finishing his cup with a long gulp, Tyrion held it out for a refill, but said nothing. Gareth obliged and then began to speak. “As you might imagine, Moira has taken control of Lothion.”
“Are you sure?” asked Tyrion. He was fairly sure he had killed her surrogate before she could do much to the Queen.
“On the surface, things are much the same as they have been,” continued Gareth, “with the exception of you being here and the Queen having issued a full pardon for Mordecai and his family.”
“She wanted to do that before,” remarked Tyrion. “Though I warned her it was too risky.”
“She’s gone ahead and done it,” said Gareth, “and the nobles have been remarkably complacent. Most notably the Duke of Cantley hasn’t raised any objections.”
“If he’s planning to organize a revolt, he might play the obedient lamb for a while, at least in public,” observed Tyrion.
Gareth shook his head. “I’ve observed him when he thought he was alone. In fact, a few minor nobles approached him with their concerns and he told them in no uncertain tones that he supported the Queen, no matter what she decided.”
“You think she’s manipulated his mind,” stated Tyrion.
“I can’t prove it, but it’s the only thing that makes sense. Everyone who previously might have caused trouble has mysteriously decided that the Queen’s word is law.”
“Has she done anything else, aside from the pardons?” asked Tyrion.
“No,” answered Gareth. “Although she has made very clear that she hates you.”
That stung more than it should have, but Tyrion hid his dismay. “If she believes I betrayed her that’s understandable. I know better than most how betrayal feels.”
“Perhaps,” said Gareth. “But I think it’s more than that.”
Tyrion held his cup out for another refill. “What do you expect a condemned man to do about any of this?”
“I’m hoping you’ll escape and eliminate the last Centyr mage,” said Gareth coldly.
Even Tyrion was surprised by that and his eyes grew wide. “She’s your step-daughter.”
“The Centyr are a plague on mankind,” countered Gareth. “The only thing that kept them in check in my time was the fact that they policed themselves, and even that wasn’t perfect. This incident, as well as what happened in Dunbar, makes it very clear to me that she has passed beyond redemption. If she isn’t stopped, eventually she’ll rule the minds of every man, woman, and child.”
Tyrion mulled it over in his mind for a long minute. He had developed a strong grudge of his own against Mordecai’s d
aughter, and killing her wouldn’t bother him in the slightest, but he hadn’t expected such hatred from Lord Gaelyn. Unlike most, while hatred often motivated him, Tyrion never let it cloud his judgment. “I don’t think the girl is that ruthless,” he said in a neutral tone. “Are you sure this isn’t about her father?”
Gareth laughed. “I actually like her father, except when it comes to this matter. I counseled him to put her to death after what happened in Dunbar. That was the source of the trouble between us. Hell, I wouldn’t even object if he set himself up as king. It matters little to me.”
“But not her?” prodded Tyrion.
“If a Centyr goes bad and is left unchecked, it will result in unparalleled tyranny. Imagine a world in which one person controls everything, including the thoughts of her subjects. Free will would become nothing more than an illusion.”
Tyrion sighed. “You sound almost noble. Aren’t you worried what I might do if you release me?”
Gareth finally finished his first cup of wine. “Frankly, I don’t care what else you do. Any evil you commit will be limited to your lifespan. Humanity will recover from your petty acts of violence and revenge. If that girl isn’t stopped, she could become effectively immortal, and her evil would never end.”
“The She’Har never had this problem. Do you know why?” prompted Tyrion.
“You mean with the Centyr She’Har?”
Tyrion nodded. “The Illeniel Grove kept them in check.”
“Mordecai may have the name, but he doesn’t have their gift,” observed Gareth. “I fail to see your point.”
“His children have it,” corrected Tyrion. “I’ve heard quite a bit about his son Matthew, and I’ve seen hints of it while training with Conall.”
“Are you trying to talk me out of helping you?” remarked Gareth dryly.
“Not at all,” replied Tyrion, standing up and holding out his manacled wrists. “Just sharing my observations. I have plenty of reasons to kill her already.”
With a touch and a brief effort of will, the other man released him from his bonds. “Leave quietly.”
Transcendence and Rebellion Page 14
