“I’m going there whether you want to help them or not,” said George, speaking plainly. “I just have a feeling I could be of more help to you. We could work separately, to act as a sort of backup plan.”
“The boy’s gotten scary smart,” remarked Chad, referring to Matthew. “And he can see the future. What makes you think anything we could do would help?”
George took a sip and put his glass down on a small table beside his chair. “Well, for starters, Lynaralla’s vision would indicate that Tyrion manages to surprise him somehow, at least in one version of the future, so he could conceivably do it again in whatever the actual future turns out to be. What did you say a minute ago? ‘He’s killed every kind of wizard.’ You are about as far from a wizard as anyone could imagine. Maybe you’ll come up with something he doesn’t expect. Tyrion must have some way of gaining information about what they’re doing, but I doubt he knows what we’re doing. If that’s the case, we might be the deciding factor.”
Despite himself, Chad was impressed by the young lord’s words. George had clearly spent some time and serious thought on the subject. That was a surprise. He’d never imagined George being serious about anything. With a sigh, the hunter answered, “Fine. You’ve convinced me. You talk like a man, so I’ll treat you as one, but don’t cry to me later if you come to regret this.”
The young Baron grinned.
“And don’t argue with me. I’m in charge. We’ll do things my way, which usually means it’ll be boring or uncomfortable, probably both. Pack up your things. We need to go.” The hunter studied George’s face, gauging the impact of his words.
The Baron’s face lit with surprise. “Already? They’re not planning to use this enchantment for another week still.”
“A hunter knows the land he hunts,” pronounced Chad sagely. “You show me the place and we’ll take our time sizing it up. The earlier the better. If Tyrion’s got some way of knowing where it will be, he may show up early, in which case the one who is already hidden and waiting will have the advantage. I want to pick our spot and be in it early tomorrow morning.”
“I haven’t even showed you the arrows yet,” complained George. “I did more than you asked. And we haven’t talked about how we’ll stay hidden.”
Chad snorted. “I assume you can keep him from finding us with his magic sniffer, but I’ll teach you how to hide. There’s more to it than not bein’ seen.”
George rose from his seat again with a look of long-suffering. “Just hang on a minute.” Then he left the room, but after several minutes he returned, his arms full. He carried with him a massive bow and an oilskin within which the arrows were wrapped. Pointing at the bow, he remarked, “I hope you can string that thing. I tried and nearly lost the skin from my fingers.”
The archer chuckled. “You don’t string it until you’re about to use it. It’ll lose its power if you string it early and leave it strung.” Then he studied the bow. As expected, it was thick and heavy, and despite Mattley’s previous statements, it was well finished, though it was entirely lacking in decorations or embellishments. Chad approved. It was as it should be, a thing of pure function. He looked forward to testing it late.
The arrows looked much as he had left them, though they were now covered in arcane scribblings that made little sense to him. He noticed that six of them were different; their fletchings had been dyed red. “What’s this?” he asked, holding one up.
George had been waiting for the question and he leaned forward with enthusiasm. “I told you it would take time and energy to make them explode, so when I was almost done, I spent my extra time with those. Those are like the others. They can’t be touched with magic, aside from my own, but there won’t be much left of whatever you hit with them.” He held up a hand to forestall the hunter’s impending interruption. “I added something else, in case we get separated, or something happens to me. There’s a second enchantment to hide them from magesight. They look like ordinary arrows to a wizard, unless he’s close enough to see the runes.”
“That won’t be much help,” noted Chad. “I’ve been told the dragon-bond makes me show up pretty clearly all on my own.”
George reached into his pocked and pulled out a gold ring. “That’s what this is for.”
“A ring of invisibility?” asked Chad.
“I wish,” said George. “I didn’t have time for that. Making something permanently invisible is more difficult than you realize. Making something that will make something else invisible is nearly impossible. Otherwise you wouldn’t need me, but this is the next best thing.”
“What does it do?”
George slipped the ring onto his finger. “Easier just to show you.”
For a moment Chad thought the young man had vanished, then his eyes caught something moving in front of him and they focused on what only seemed to be empty air. He could see George’s shape then, though his eyes fought to see him properly and the moment he let his gaze drift he lost sight of the young mage again. Helpfully, George waved at him and the motion enabled him to focus on the Baron once more.
“It’s like camouflage,” explained George. “I’m not actually invisible, but the enchantment causes the wearer to blend in with whatever is behind them. Obviously moving spoils the effect, but as long as you remain still you’ll be almost impossible to spot.”
Chad stared at him, amazed, until finally he spotted something he could see clearly. “Your eyes,” observed the hunter. “Now that I know what to look for, I can see them.” The effect was unsettling to say the least. Whenever his perception lost its grip on the strangely colored man in front of him, it appeared, as though there were a pair of disembodied eyes floating in front of him.
George shrugged, revealing himself once more. “I tried covering them too, but it does really strange things to your vision. This works for magesight too, though you can’t see that, you’ll have to trust me. At any kind of real distance you’re as good as invisible, you just have to be careful not too move too much.”
“Let me try it,” said the hunter, and after George handed him the ring he tried it for a moment before slipping it into his pocket. “You’re my new best friend, George,” he announced. “And I’m keeping this, by the way. Even after this is all over.”
The young mage waved a hand in dismissal. “I made it for you. It’s not like I need it after all. With a little more time I can make one for your dragon too.”
“We won’t need it,” said Chad, cutting him off. “She won’t be there.”
I heard that! came Prissy’s mental voice in his mind.
“Get out of my head!” growled the hunter loudly. George gave him a strange look, and he was forced to explain what he had meant. Meanwhile Prissy continued communicating, Then learn to separate what you project from your internal dialogue. It’s not my fault you think so loudly.
Ignoring her commentary, he returned to the previous conversation. “She’s too big to hide. The place you mentioned is a wide field. There won’t be enough cover.”
“I can make all of us invisible,” said George confidently.
“For a week?” asked Chad. “I’ve heard it takes more effort the more you try to cover.”
“A week?” said George, aghast. “I doubt I can cover just myself for even a fraction of that.”
“Then you’d better start on a ring for yourself,” said the hunter. “We’ll be waiting the entire week, just to watch the place. If someone else plans to set up an ambush there, we’ll know about it.”
George swallowed unhappily. He was already beginning to regret his decision.
Chapter 42
Tyrion spent days scouring the island, making sure there were no hidden saplings. He had come too far to be undone by something so simple. He found none, but he looked again just to be certain. Though he found nothing, he didn’t consider it time wasted since he needed to recover before facing another battle anyway. He also spent his time thinking.
Since he had prepared a telepor
tation circle near Arundel he could get back quickly, but that didn’t solve his biggest problem. He needed information. To ensure the complete eradication of the She’Har he had to find Lynaralla, preferably when she was alone or vulnerable. It wasn’t that he was afraid of losing a fight, or even dying, but his goal had to come first. Otherwise he would just be a failure, like his progenitor.
Even more confusing, he found no sign of Brigid when he awoke. He might have started to doubt his sanity, but his wounds had been dressed and roughly bandaged, presumably by his mysterious and half-wild daughter. How was she alive, and how did she keep disappearing?
In the end he could make no reasonable conclusions, so he kept to practical matters. Taking an inventory, he still had most of the arrows he had brought, once he had gathered up those that had fallen out of the quiver. The bow was still usable, though he was keenly aware of how miserable his marksmanship had been. Still it was something.
And… that was it. He had no friends or allies.
Gareth Gaelyn might be willing to help him, but his main goal was eliminating Moira. Tyrion wasn’t sure if it was worth pretending to gain the man’s assistance. Then again, perhaps he only needed to pretend long enough to gain access to new information. The archmage would surely know more about what had been happening in Lothion than he did.
Collecting his things, he created a circle to take him back to Arundel. He was on borrowed time, after all. The circle took him to a spot close to the town, which he planned to avoid. He would make his way to the World Road and use it to get back to the capital where he could find Gareth, but before he had taken more than a few steps a familiar figure appeared before him.
Cold fear shot through his spine, causing him to activate his shield tattoos before he could even register what he was sensing. The man—no, the She’Har—standing before him was intimately familiar, the figure of countless nightmares. It was Thillmarius.
A true Prathion, Thillmarius had ebony skin, golden eyes, and gold hair. In the present time he stood out much more than even the Illeniel She’Har. The She’Har held up a hand, indicating he had peaceful intentions. “Relax, I’m here to help you,” he said in flawless Erollith, further cementing his identity.
Tyrion found that hard to believe, especially since one of his last actions had been to betray and murder his former slave master. “You’re dead,” he said warily.
“That’s true,” said the She’Har. “But I’m not entirely who you think. Perhaps I should have chosen a different identity. I thought a familiar face would help. Is this better?”
As Tyrion watched, the stranger’s face and coloring shifted, becoming yet someone else he remembered. He tightened his shield as he was confronted with an even more frightening person from his predecessor’s past, Ceylendor, the Centyr lore-warden. He tightened his shield even more, acutely aware that he didn’t have the option of seeking the mind of stone to protect himself. “Who are you?” he asked tensely.
“At the moment I’m Ceylendor, but not precisely,” said the stranger. “You might think of me as God, though the answer is more complicated than that. I’m here to help you fix your story.”
Those words brought back the memory of the little girl immediately. “You were the girl too?”
“I’m everyone,” said the stranger. “Or rather, you’re all part of my dream, but lately I’ve been taking a more active role.”
“I’ve gone mad,” muttered Tyrion, but he didn’t really believe it. He spoke merely to fill time while he considered his options. His first instinct was to kill the stranger, to strike without warning, but something warned him the man was too dangerous for such a solution.
“You’re not crazy,” said Ceylendor. “I know what you want, and I can help you get it.”
Tyrion studied him carefully, noting how the stranger’s aythar had changed. It perfectly matched that of the face he wore, as though he had actually become the people he imitated. Was he really a Prathion? Only they could manage such a thing, and even then, only the most skilled of them could do so. He’d seen no sign that either George or Elaine possessed such skill. “The question is what do you want?” said Tyrion.
“Your success will give me what I want,” said the stranger. “Matthew and the others are plotting something that will ruin everything I’ve worked for, but they need Lynaralla to accomplish it. Helping you will stop that and make your dream come true at the same time.”
Tyrion’s eyes narrowed. “Why should I believe you?”
Ceylendor smiled, showing white teeth between green lips. “Knowledge is power, and I have a lot of power. Let me explain…”
Tyrion listened for the better part of an hour, and despite his cynicism he found himself shocked by what the stranger revealed. The man knew him better than he knew himself, and while his claims were outlandish, they were backed up by facts that were difficult to ignore. After he had finished summarizing, Tyrion still had one important question.
“Why do you need me?” he asked.
“I can’t do it myself,” said Ceylendor. “Even this small conversation is incredibly difficult for me. Until recently it was impossible, but as Mordecai gains strength, I grow weaker. As I weaken, my ability to act in a conscious way grows stronger. The best way to describe it is that I’m waking up. However, even if the process was more advanced, I still couldn’t go to the place where they are planning to undo my work. If I did, a confrontation would occur, between me and my successor. In order to win such a conflict, I would be forced to take the power I’ve given him, invalidating the very thing I’m trying to achieve. Does that make sense?”
“Not at all,” replied Tyrion.
“All you need to realize is that I can’t interfere directly, but for a short time I can provide others who will help you.”
“Like Brigid,” said Tyrion. “Was that really you?”
The Centyr shook his head. “Only as much as you could say that you’re me. I can bring back anyone you need, but only for as long as I keep my attention on them. The moment my mind wavers or I drift off to sleep again, they’ll vanish. The dream is particularly tenacious when it comes to maintaining itself.”
“The dream?”
“What you think of as reality. The simplest explanation is that it’s my subconscious self, but it cares nothing for my desires. In a sense, I’m at war with myself, and I’ve chosen you as my champion.”
Tyrion’s expression grew sour. “I am no one’s champion. You have manipulated me thus far; don’t expect me to thank you for it. I’ll accept your help now only because I seek to use you.”
Ceylendor smirked slightly, then looked away. “As expected. May I suggest those I think could help you most?”
“No,” said Tyrion flatly. “You’ll provide only those I ask for.”
“You speak boldly for someone addressing God,” said the stranger.
“You are no god,” countered Tyrion, “only a coward shielded by too much power for anyone to gainsay him. Rather than face your responsibility you seek to run from it, to hand it to someone else.”
There was no anger in the stranger’s voice when he replied, “You dare?”
“I know you because I have been you, in my own way,” declared Tyrion. “I despise your weakness, but I will use you anyway.”
Ceylendor’s face remained neutral. “Very well. Speak as you wish. It means nothing to me. Who would you have me summon?”
Tyrion smiled.
***
Sweat was dripping down George’s face as he sat in the long grass beside the hunter. He couldn’t remember ever being quite so thoroughly miserable, but it was clear that the archer wasn’t worried about his comfort.
“We’ve been here for days,” whined George. “No one has come. Don’t you think we’ve wasted our time?”
“He’s been here already,” said Chad. “I don’t think he spotted us, though.”
“Really?” asked George, stupefied. “How do you know?”
“We’re still breat
hing,” said the hunter. “You should go ahead and congratulate yourself. Your mother would be proud,” added Chad sarcastically.
George’s lips thinned at the harsh words. He’d gotten used to Chad’s remarks over the past few days, but the hunter always found new ways to get to him. “It wouldn’t hurt you to be a little nicer,” he said with some bitterness. “Like my mother.”
“If I was your mother, you’d never have made it to adulthood,” said Chad. “I think you’re a fucking moron.” He smiled sweetly then. “But I mean that in a ‘nice’ way.”
“How could that be—nevermind,” George responded. He was beginning to learn. Instead he returned to his original question. “What makes you think he’s been here?”
“Because the bastard isn’t stupid. You said his range is greater than yours. I expect he got as close as he could and moved away when he didn’t spot us. He’s expecting an ambush.”
“Then we might as well have stayed at my estate,” argued George. “At least we’d have been comfortable. From what you’ve said, we accomplished nothing.”
Chad gave him a look that spoke volumes. The chief topic of those volumes seemed to run somewhere along the lines that he’d never seen anyone dumber in his life. “Every time I start to respect you just a little bit, you say something like that.”
George didn’t rise to the bait. He merely glared sullenly back at his tormentor.
“For one, we know that no one else has come here,” explained Chad. “That relieves us of one major worry. For another, we know that our prey isn’t foolish. They’re aware this might be a trap. That makes a big difference in how we’ll react when the big day arrives.”
“How so?” asked George. “Aren’t you just going to shoot him when he shows up?”
“They,” corrected the archer. “He won’t come alone. He won’t be the first to appear, either. Hunting men isn’t like hunting deer, boy. They’re much more dangerous, especially this one. One wrong move and you wind up the hunted instead of the hunter. He’ll begin with a smaller attack, hoping to spring whatever surprise Matthew has in store for him. He might even plan a second attack before revealing himself. Whoever has the last trick up their sleeve will be the winner. That’s why we’ll wait.”
Transcendence and Rebellion Page 35
