Once sure that they were neither unseen nor followed, they walked the rest of the way, stopping only once they reached some bushes by the forest edge. The bushes were just north of a small road that headed east towards the Bay of Ulatha, many leagues distant.
Felix sat his pack down, and then sat next to Olivia on the grass, where they could see the east walls of the temple compound in the distance. “Mind telling me now why the Heroin of Tannis is skulking around her own temple grounds and now slinking around outside her hometown?” Felix asked.
“Yes.” Olivia nodded. “You have the right to know the answer to that question. You should know that someone is trying to kill me.”
Chapter 10
Machinations
Diamedes noticed how the pair would trade off tailing him, first the man, then the woman, and then back to the man again. He smiled inwardly at their complete lack of professionalism. Oh, he was sure he had been tailed before in his life, but the good ones he was positive he never saw, even though he suspected someone. These two, however, were beyond the pale.
No matter—he had arrived at the Laughing Lion Tavern and entered through the front door. It was dark inside, but festive, and he looked around for his companion with whom he was to meet. There, sitting in the rear facing the door, was the man, with his back to the far wall, smoking a pipe, with a mug of ale in front of him.
Diamedes navigated his way to the back of the room, pausing to order a pint of pale ale from a server who just looked at him with a blank face, before he sat and looked the man in the eyes.
“You’re late,” the man said.
“You’re early,” Diamedes corrected the man. “Did you obtain the item I asked for?”
The other man put his pipe down on the ashtray and leaned forward. “I have it if you have the money. It wasn’t easy to come by now.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t. The Kesh don’t part so easily with their trinkets,” Diamedes said.
“You can’t negotiate, old man. Degrading the goods won’t fetch you a better price,” the other man said, a hint of sternness in his voice.
“Perhaps trinket was a bit too trite of a word, no?” Diamedes asked. “Especially for what you obtained. Did you leave it with the broker?”
“Show me some glint first, old-timer.”
Diamedes reached into his pocket just in time. The server brought his ale and held out her hand. “Well, a tab would have worked better. Two coppers, is it still, for the house ale?”
“Aye, it is, me lordship. Can you afford it?” the server asked mockingly, eyeing Diamedes from head to toe.
“Quite fine, thank you,” he said, fishing a couple of dull coppers from his pouch and dropping them in her hand.
The server took them and headed back to the bar with a sigh and a swish of her apron. “Now, where were we?” the other man said, leaning forward.
Diamedes fished around in his pouch again till he found the gold token he was searching for. “Here you go, my man, but first let me see the marker you carry.”
The other man eyed the gold token greedily, and then fast as a cat pulled out a token from a pocket in his thick leather belt and laid it on the table. The token had Diamedes’ mark on one side, with a counter mark across it, indicating that he had entered the item with the local trade broker.
“Looks good,” Diamedes said, pushing his own marker with the symbol for “one hundred” engraved upon it, and the same counter mark on the token’s edges, indicating payment had been left with the same broker.
“What do you want anyways with that blasted eastern magic?” the man asked, pocketing the token and whisking it out of sight. He picked up his pipe again and gave it a big puff, making the dull red embers within renew their bright glow.
“If the potions work as promised, then they may make a big difference in the outcome of a very important quest,” he answered, putting his token in his pouch and tucking it back in his belt.
“More of that bad news that they say you spread around here?” the man asked.
“Not bad news. What would you know about it anyway?”
“We hear the rumors, and they are not kind to you, old man. Better if you had stayed in Akilon with your king and books,” the other man said.
“Couldn’t be helped this time, though I do prefer the private of my personal study,” Diamedes said, taking a swill of his ale.
“Your company has arrived,” the other man said, with a barely perceptible nod towards the front door.
“Man or a woman?” Diamedes asked.
“Both. Just don’t look back.”
“Redhead accompanied by a slender man in a silk cape?” Diamedes asked.
“That would be she and he,” the other man said, putting his pipe down and joining the historian in a drink. “The only cape wearer in the middle of high summer, I might add, silk or no.”
“Not the most inconspicuous of people, are they?”
The other man laughed mightily and several people nearby turned to look at him, and then quickly went back to their business. “This is rich indeed. You don’t know who they are, do you, Master Librarian?”
“Should I?” Diamedes asked, perplexed at the question. Of course he didn’t know who these people were.
“You got any real coin in that pouch of yours?”
Diamedes understood now. “So you know them. What will it cost me?”
“Just my ale for the day, old man—a silver ought to do it. Ten coppers for each. How does that strike your fancy?”
Diamedes fished back into his pocket again and felt for the silver that was notched around the edges so it wouldn’t be mistaken for a copper. “This day is getting expensive,” he added, pulling the shiny metal coin and setting it in the middle of the table.
Just as quickly the other man placed his mug over the top of it. “Albreda is the redhead, an entertainer with the local theater company, and her companion is Adolfo the Illusionist, also an entertainer in Utandra.”
“You’re kidding me, right? Adolfo and Albreda?” Diamedes asked.
“Serious as a wizard studying a spell,” the other man said. “And you know what house is the largest patron of the arts in Utandra?”
“House Vandersot,” Diamedes said, a smile crossing his face.
“As in Lady Gemma Vandersot. Pretty sharp for a librarian, though not sharp enough to miss the likes of them two.”
“I saw them long ago, though did not know who they were nor whom they worked for.”
“Nothing like having that she-dog of a noble after you. Better watch your back there, Master D.”
“Indeed.” Diamedes sighed. “Watch my back indeed.”
Qui Amatha looked around in contentment at her replenished army, now marching towards Tannis. She had flown from her lair to the battleground where her minions had fought with the human forces from that blight of an infested town that the humans had settled, so close to her personal domain.
They never really did seem to learn, and in retrospect, she felt maybe that was the natural course of things, for her kind awoke most hungry after so many centuries of hibernated sleep. Perhaps it was beneficial for the humans to build again, so much closer to her abode. They usually surprised her, however, as they were so industrious between each transit of her Dragon King.
She turned to see Sivern awaiting her final orders. “So you understand? Kill everything that discovers us and wait for my attack on the edges of the infested human lair they have built. I will soften them for you and our servants.”
“As you command. Oh, Mother of all Death, what will you do if they face you with their champions again?”
“I will destroy any resistance set in our path. Do not let your wounds confuse you, Sivern, for you are small and weak. If they set another she-witch of light against us, I will stamp out that light and return us to blessed darkness. Now go, and don’t fail me again!”
Sivern turned and flew off, weaving his way back and forth over the undead troops marching slowly but co
ntinuously below him. Far off in the distance, once he had gained enough altitude, he fancied he saw faint wisps of smoke from unnaturally shaped outlines on the ground. That, he thought, must be the human settlement. That, he thought, was his destination. With one more turn he lined up his route and headed towards the humans.
Cornelia walked quickly back to the Grand Temple of Astor in Utandra. She had gone to the royal palace to make some inquiries that her master, Supreme Patriarch Torwell, had commanded of her. The news wasn’t going to be to his liking, and she was sure of that.
She arrived at the temple gate, and the two hands guarding it bowed slightly as she passed. The temple compound here was much larger than any in the realm, even the one in the king’s city of Akilon, which had large temples but to different causes. This was the central repository for all things relating to the Goddess Astor, handmaiden of Agon herself, in the days of yore before the self-awareness of man.
It didn’t take long for her to find Patriarch Torwell, sitting at his dinner table and eating alone. She swore he must have eaten two dinners already, one official with the staff and later, in the long evenings, another alone near the Great Chamber of Astor in a small duty alcove used by the acolytes to prepare for ceremonies and public events.
“Well, do come over. Help yourself, Cornelia, if you’re hungry,” Torwell said, stuffing a ball of rice with meat in his mouth. He was polite always, if nothing else, Cornelia thought.
“I’ve partaken already, Master, but I do have news,” she said, pulling out a chair next to his and sitting down. “I made the usual inquiries of the servants and others who had accompanied the duke’s group to Tannis, and they confirm that the prefect’s daughter was initiated as a hand and that apparently the Lady Gemma forced Markus to do this.”
“Nonsense!” Torwell stopped eating for a moment to look at Cornelia, both surprise and disbelief on his face. “Markus would not have been intimidated by chatter from that woman, duke’s cousin or not. If he made the prefect’s daughter a hand, then he had other reasons. Most troubling this is,” he said, and then started eating again.
“Well, if he didn’t do it to appease the noble woman”—Torwell glared at her at the use of the word noble—“well, to appease the duke’s cousin,” Cornelia said, deferring to his preference, “then who could be behind the unauthorized initiation and why?”
“I don’t know,” Torwell said, finishing his last piece of meat with a chunk of bread and grabbing a towel to clean his hands and wipe his jowly chin clean. “That is why you must go there and find out.”
“You want me to go to Tannis?” she asked, surprised.
“Yes, why not? The duke is sending yet a third party there tomorrow morning to ascertain the facts and make a final report on whether the realm is threatened by one of those foul beasts,” Torwell said, setting down the cloth on the table and leaning back to rest and allow his meal to digest.
“Am I to confront Master Markus directly?” she asked.
Torwell thought for a moment before answering. “Do what you deem best, but do not return without answers. The prefect’s daughter was allowed to study as an acolyte only to appease her father and, from what I had heard last year, he wasn’t too fond of the idea himself. Some say his daughter was too willful with him and, being spoiled, had her own way. At any rate, we must assume that, for whatever reason, the daughter is a spy for the duke or, worse, for the king, so treat her as such in your dealings with her.”
Cornelia sighed. “I don’t understand, Master. Why would the nobles have cause to spy on us? We have been nothing but loyal since our inception centuries ago and have always worked in peace and harmony with the ruling bodies of Agon.”
“Not every realm in Agon accepts us, Cornelia,” Torwell said softly. “Ulatha was where Astor herself was born, lived, and died, so here we are at our strongest, but the farther away from Ulan Utandra we go, the weaker our power and influence become. For that reason I fear that those with designs on Ulatha seek first to undermine our authority in this realm before attacking us directly in any other realm.”
“You think we will come under attack soon?”
“The attack has already begun, Cornelia. We are being discredited by several powers, and our quest for truth in this matter of the dragons lies at the heart of the conflict. Someone or something does not want us to learn why we are at war with the draconus species, which we thought perished in the last transit.”
“And the duke’s cousin?” Cornelia asked.
“Ah, yes, she is one of them, I am sure. She represents those who don’t want to know the truth or those who fear it. I think she is more a hindrance to the duke than anything. The prefect in Tannis is under the direct authority of the duke himself, so that daughter of his would play a key role in anything the duke’s cousin is plotting against us. That may have something to do with why Markus acted so quickly and alone in this matter. What is that girl’s name again?”
“The servants there said her name is Olivia Moross. She was an acolyte for only one year before receiving the initiation as a Hand of Astor.”
“Yes, most shocking. The promotion to hand should have taken her years, if not a decade or more. Something is afoot, so do be a good girl and perform an old man a favor in this matter. Go to Tannis, find out the truth, and then report back to me.”
“Very well, Patriarch Torwell. May I take an escort with me?”
“We have none to spare, Cornelia. You wouldn’t leave me defenseless here with that woman after us, would you? No, you are a Fist of Astor, so you can protect yourself. Go, prepare yourself, and return within a fortnight at the latest . . . with the answers I seek, please,” Torwell said.
Cornelia stood and walked towards her quarters in the temple, but stopped at the arched entrance to the alcove where Torwell had just finished his meal and turned her head so he could hear her clearly. “I’ll return, Supreme Patriarch,” she said, using his formal title. “But you may not like the truth you hear.” With that the Fist of Astor left her master alone in silence.
Rualf paced in his own tower that had been assigned to him by the Duke of Ulatha. His plans were unraveling, and he was starting to wonder who knew what and when. He was waiting for Jezebel to return and report if the Order of Astor was going to send a representative, as was customary, to accompany the duke’s party on the morrow to Tannis in search of the original missing group.
Blast that incompetent mage, Rualf thought to himself, walking over to his critir and looking at it for the hundredth time that week. The critir was a specially made and charged globe of dense gas and other translucent metals that allowed the Kesh to communicate, one with another, over great distances. The power within the orbs alone was responsible for a large part of the Kesh rise to prominence over the last few centuries, but they were good only if their owners used them.
Despite his anger and frustration at Ketas for failing to contact or even send word of his whereabouts, the Kesh ambassador started to realize that something serious could have befallen the man. Oh, the Kesh knew that there was a species of draconus in the Kero Swamp, and the mission had been simple. Kill the beast and then kill the surviving party members so that no trace of evidence existed as to what was there.
Rualf was one of only a select few in all of Claire Agon who knew the real reason why the war with the dragons started. He also knew that if many of the realms that were currently embroiled in the conflict suddenly were to learn the truth, then many if not all of Agon’s warring kingdoms would turn on Kesh. While Kesh was indeed a very strong and powerful civilization, it could not hope to survive the combined attacks of several adversarial realms.
He heard Jezebel’s footsteps on the outer stairs and turned to watch her enter the room. “Well, you are late. What news?”
Jezebel closed the door behind her and then walked across the room to stand in front of Rualf and his magic orb, sitting upon its stanchion. “You were correct. The order will send someone to appease the duke, but I haven�
��t learned yet who will represent the Crown this time.”
“Uthor will most likely send one of his personal guards. He has scant few left here in Utandra, and that will work to our advantage. Did you find out who that fat cleric is sending?” Rualf asked.
Jezebel frowned, and for a moment Rualf thought she would spit upon the stone floor in anger. “He’s sending his she-Fist, whatever her name is—Clarice or something.”
“Ah, yes, the Fist of Astor, Cornelia,” Rualf said, smiling. “This will be most interesting indeed. We need to counter this move, and someone needs to attend to our interests before it becomes too late.”
“What did you have in mind?” Jezebel asked.
Rualf looked at her with a gleam in his eye. “You will do most well. Yes, we cannot send Amal. He would just die too quickly, especially with a warrior of Ulatha and a Fist of Astor in the group, but you will do nicely. I have a man in Tannis as well . . .”
Jezebel’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not one of you,” she said, looking at Rualf with more than a little contempt. “A mage would do better in a situation like this.”
“Agreed, Jezebel, but we have none here at this time, and the group departs tomorrow. There are too many loose ends, so I think in this case a Balarian specialist will do rather nicely. You will have to wait till you meet my man in Tannis. He will represent the Kesh in this matter, and you will represent the Balarians,” Rualf said.
“There will be a price for this one, Mage. The nobles here may think I work for you, but my superiors in Balaria won’t take well to the assassinations of so many high-profile Ulathans. We can’t afford a war with them either.”
The Black Dragon: A Claire-Agon Dragon Book (Dragon Series 1) Page 12
