by Brandon Mull
The suggestion caused an incredulous outburst.
Galloran raised his hands until the overlapping comments subsided. “I can hear the disbelief. Rachel, would you stand up?”
Rachel complied, keeping her eyes on Galloran, trying not to think about the soaring rows of seed people all around her. “This young woman is a Beyonder and an Edomic adept. She slew the menace this week. You will now find the Drowned City deserted.”
The subsequent uproar sounded more skeptical than pleased.
“Believe me or not, when you investigate, my words will be confirmed,” Galloran said. “My point is that although an offensive would certainly be risky, we would be foolish to utterly ignore the option. Victory has occurred against difficult odds before. In our present circumstances, defense can delay, but it cannot prevail. The oracle at Mianamon has been reliable for centuries. Why not send a delegation to investigate whether an offensive could succeed? If it can, we plan an attack. If it can’t, we concentrate with full purpose on prolonging the inevitable.”
“This delegation would have to include seedfolk,” Pallas said.
“Naturally,” Galloran assented. “The delegation should arrive in six or seven weeks. You could start sending eagles to Mianamon for a response at that point.”
“It will not be easy for a delegation to reach the destination,” Pallas observed.
“The prophetess can only read the futures of those present,” Galloran stressed.
“I understand, but how do you propose they get there? The emperor will be watching our passes.”
“The emperor has unfinished business with me,” Galloran said. “You need to discuss the status of your treaty. We will journey to Felrook together on a diplomatic mission. That should prevent men from accusing me of coming here to hide. It will also help preserve the illusion that your people are willing to bargain with Maldor. Besides, my presence would only hinder the delegation to Mianamon, given the road they must travel.”
“And which road is that?” Pallas asked.
“There are other ways out of these Vales besides the passes,” Galloran said. “The details should be contemplated in private.”
“I’m amenable to this course of action,” Pallas said. “Our current strategy is founded on the proposition that an offensive would be ineffective. With our survival in the balance, we would be wise to verify that premise.”
“Do you need to add a member to the Conclave for the vote?” Galloran asked.
“Not if three or more agree,” Pallas said.
All four approved the proposal.
CHAPTER 20
THE DELEGATION
The following evening, Jason sat between Nedwin and Tark, using flatbread to scoop various mashed preparations from wooden bowls. Since the bowls were communal, everyone tore the dense bread to create one mouthful at a time. Each time he dipped the bread, a twinge of pain reminded Jason that his index finger remained bruised and swollen after a practice duel with Lodan earlier in the day. Tark seemed to eat without enthusiasm, but Nedwin gulped down food, as if the lungrot and his stay in the sicktent had never happened.
“You should try the purple stuff,” Jason suggested to Tark. “It’s sweet and nutty.”
Tark held up a hand. “Ever since the treatment, everything has a foul aftertaste. Even water.” He smacked his lips discontentedly. “It’s unfortunate.”
“I don’t mind it,” Nedwin said, shoveling a large bite of flatbread and orange mush into his mouth. “Twists the flavor a little.”
Tark grimaced. “It’s more like a glimpse of how the food would taste after it spoiled.”
Nedwin shrugged. “I’m not a reliable judge. Nothing has tasted quite right since Felrook—different shades of bland.”
“That’s too bad,” Corinne said. “The food is delicious.” She had a smudge of purple goo on the corner of her mouth.
“Renetta told me the aftertaste would fade after a week or so,” Tark added.
“I’m surprised how pleasant it is to sample dishes from my homeland again,” Drake said, motioning for Corinne to dab her lips. She did so with a blush. “For all the variety represented at Harthenham, we seldom got fare like this.”
“I’ll wager they fed you meat,” Aram grumbled, his voice deep now that the sun was down.
“From the common to the exotic,” Drake confirmed. “Have you ever tried ground sloth? Wonchut? Horned shark?”
“Don’t torture me,” Aram said. “At this point, I’d settle for chipmunk.”
“Speaking of the Eternal Feast,” Nedwin said, voice halting, eyes remote, “did you ever encounter Tristan, the former Earl of Geer?”
“I remember Tristan well,” Drake said, sharing a glance with Jason. Now that Jason thought about it, if Nedwin packed on about eighty pounds, he would look a lot like the husky nobleman who had tried to escape with them.
Nedwin bowed his head, drumming the fingers of one hand against his hairline. “Then the rumors were true. When I was held in Trensicourt, Copernum claimed that my brother had challenged him for the chancellorship and had lost. I sought him after my release, but heard he had accepted an invitation to Harthenham. I never imagined him surrendering.”
“He died helping us escape,” Jason said softly.
“What?” Nedwin asked, blinking.
“He came with us, but didn’t make it. He fell in battle.” Jason thought it best not to add that he had been savaged by a pack of fierce dogs.
Nedwin smiled and made a choked sound that was half sob, half laugh. He wiped his eyes. “He met his end bravely?”
“Helped save us all,” Drake confirmed. “He died with blood on his sword.”
“That’s a weight off me,” Nedwin said, eyes moist. “Tristan always valued his honor. He taught me the meaning of the word. I’m relieved that he regained some of it before the end. I’m glad I brought it up. I’d been afraid to ask.”
Jason found himself clenching his jaw to resist tears. He was thankful the tidings seemed to gladden Nedwin rather than depress him. Nedwin had suffered much more than his fair share.
Wiping her mouth with a napkin, Rachel stood. “Come on,” she said to Jason.
“What?” Jason asked.
“Galloran’s back,” she said. “He needs to speak to us.”
A door opened, and Farfalee entered. She, Galloran, and Dorsio had left earlier in the day to confer with Pallas and the other members of the Conclave. “Jason?” Farfalee summoned. “Rachel?”
Jason followed Farfalee and Rachel into an arched hallway.
“I’m thinking of a number,” Jason said.
“It doesn’t work that way,” Rachel sighed.
“Come on. It’s between one and five.”
“Two?”
“Pi.”
Rachel rolled her eyes. “I can only read minds close to my intelligence.”
“Oh. Like clams? Inchworms? Bread mold?”
“More like wizards, torivors, and supercomputers.”
Farfalee led them to a door and entered with them.
“I didn’t mean pie like you eat,” Jason explained. “I meant pi like the number.”
“I get it,” Rachel said. “I was calculating the area of circles in second grade.”
“I wasn’t,” Jason admitted. “I was playing with friends.”
Galloran cleared his throat. He sat on a mat behind a table, Dorsio at one side, a grim seedman on the other, his dark hair trimmed rather short except for the roll at the nape of his neck. They all wore robes somewhat dusty from recent travel.
Jason glanced at Rachel. “Galloran says you shouldn’t joke about my intellect or it might swallow yours whole.”
“Now you’re hearing his thoughts too?” Rachel replied.
Jason gave a small shrug. “Galloran says don’t be jealous, but we’ve been using telepathy since our first meeting. Right, Your Majesty?”
“Jason and I share a quieter understanding,” Galloran said diplomatically. “Please, sit;
we have much to discuss. This is Sakar, a friend of Jasher and Farfalee.”
Sakar nodded a greeting.
Jason and Rachel sat on mats across from Galloran. Farfalee occupied a mat at the side of the low table.
“You met with the Conclave?” Rachel asked.
“Indeed,” Galloran said. “The delegation to Mianamon will depart the morning after tomorrow.”
“You want us to go,” Jason said. Why else would Galloran have singled them out for a conversation?
“No,” Galloran said. “You have already sacrificed so much for the sake of Lyrian. The trip to Mianamon will be dangerous, and if successful, the journey will only lead to more peril. This request has nothing to do with my wants. Only our need.”
“So you need us to go,” Rachel said.
Galloran sighed heavily. “My hopes that an offensive could be successful largely rest on the fact that the oracle of Mianamon summoned you from the Beyond to aid our world. She must have seen your involvement making a vital difference. Since you’ve already contributed more than I could have dreamed, your roles in our struggle might be complete. However, if the oracle truly foresaw a chance for victory, I suspect your involvement may remain integral to our success. The only way to know for certain will be to bring you before her.”
“You told Pallas that the oracle can only see the futures of those present,” Jason said.
“Those are certainly the futures the oracle can see most clearly,” Galloran confirmed. “For that reason, members of the Amar Kabal should be in attendance, as should some drinlings, as well as any others who may play a key role in the rebellion.”
“What if we find out that our roles are finished?” Rachel wondered.
“Then I’ll do everything in my power to shield you from the upcoming hostilities,” Galloran said.
“Won’t you need to be there?” Jason asked. “Your role might be the most crucial.”
Galloran nodded. “For that reason, after my diplomatic mission to Felrook, I will seek to rejoin you at the Last Inn, the southernmost outpost before the jungle. In case I fail to arrive, Corinne will have to join your delegation, prepared to fill my role in my absence. As the last true heir to Trensicourt, she should be able to rally the kingdom under her leadership, if necessary.”
Jason could tell that Galloran didn’t relish the thought of that responsibility falling to his daughter. “Why are you going to Felrook at all? It seems too dangerous.”
“Partly to satisfy the Amar Kabal,” Galloran said. “My presence will reduce the appearance that they are trying to secretly harbor fugitives. I’ll share in their diplomatic immunity, and consequently I do not expect Maldor to move openly against me. He does not yet crave a war with the People of the Seed. I believe this will be the safest way for a blind man to escape the Vales. Also, I have some unfinished business of my own with the emperor.”
“Sounds risky,” Jason muttered.
“We’re all out of safe options,” Galloran replied.
“I have a question,” Rachel said. “If we have to be at Mianamon in order for the oracle to prophesy, how did Tark’s friend Simeon learn about how Jason and I could help Lyrian?”
“I’m not sure Simeon ascertained many specifics,” Galloran said. “He may have simply learned that you two could make a significant difference and how his own efforts could summon you.”
Jason rubbed his hands together anxiously. “With us there, the oracle should be able to fill in the details more clearly?”
“In theory,” Galloran said. “Predicting the future is an uncertain endeavor. You can never guarantee how much or how little will be visible to even the most powerful oracle.”
“It would be nice to know for sure why we were brought here,” Rachel said.
“The price of that knowledge may be high,” Galloran warned. “You’ll take a precarious northern passage through rugged mountains, until you reach the tundra of the hinterlands. From there you will move eastward, paralleling the mountain chain. You won’t be able to go south until you reach Ebera, the Forsaken Kingdom.”
“None who enter Ebera are permitted to leave,” Farfalee interrupted. “The Forsaken Kingdom lies on the eastern coast of Lyrian, north of Kadara and the fertile hills of the drinlings. The infamous wizard Kel Jerud built his tower there, a stronghold known as the Black Spire. Before his death, he warned that his abode was protected by nightmarish wards. He was the mightiest wizard of his time. Centuries after his death, a group of treasure hunters finally defied his warning, lured by the promise of unguessable riches. The fortune seekers unleashed a virulent plague that transformed them into the walking dead.”
Galloran continued the narrative. “Only the geography of Ebera, accompanied by the swift action of King Linus, ruler of Ebera when the plague broke out, saved all of Lyrian from infection. North of Ebera lies frozen wasteland, west lie the mountains, east lies the ocean, and south lies the Silver River. Linus burned all of his shipyards and ferries, cutting off Ebera from the rest of the continent. When the sickness spread quickly to the various cities of Ebera, he established walled settlements for those not yet infected by the plague, and forbade any citizen of Ebera, healthy or not, from leaving. Linus warned Kadara of the plague, and Kadarians have patrolled the Silver River ever since, to help prevent an infected person from crossing.”
“We get to go there?” Jason asked.
“The current state of Ebera is unknown,” Sakar said. “Surely the population has dwindled and grown sparse. The drinlings help Kadara patrol the Silver River. I’m not wanted by the emperor. While you go through the mountains and across the tundra, I can take a more direct road to consult with the drinlings. I’ve dealt with them in the past. Hopefully, they can help us get you across the Silver River and aid you on your way to the Last Inn.”
“The way will be hard and fraught with uncertainty,” Galloran said, “but that is part of the reason we doubt Maldor or his minions will anticipate this road. We have no surety about what to expect in Ebera. We’re hoping that if you stay in the wilderness, you might slip through the Forsaken Kingdom unnoticed. But there is a significant element of risk. None will be compelled to join the delegation, including the two of you.”
“The Seven Vales represent the most secure sanctuary in Lyrian,” Farfalee said. “Either one of you would be welcome to remain here as guests until the end of your days … or for as long as our nation stands.”
“Who else will join the delegation to Mianamon?” Jason asked.
“I intend to invite all of our companions besides Dorsio,” Galloran said. “There will also be six seedfolk.”
“Including me,” Farfalee said. “I will represent the Conclave.”
“Really?” Rachel asked.
“We all must do our part,” Farfalee responded.
“Rachel,” Galloran said. “Jason. You’ve had little choice regarding much of your involvement against Maldor. This time the decision whether to participate is truly yours. As Farfalee said, the Amar Kabal would grant you safe harbor if desired. By staying here, you would have a fair chance of avoiding violence for years to come. I will still do everything in my power to help you get home as soon as that option becomes feasible. Should this rebellion fail, the Seven Vales will almost certainly be the last nation to fall. If you need time to deliberate, you’re welcome to respond tomorrow.”
“I don’t need to wait,” Jason said. “I came back to Lyrian on purpose. Our best chance of getting home is to defeat Maldor, and if my help might be important, I want to know. If my help isn’t needed, that would also be good to find out.”
“I’m with Jason,” Rachel said. “You can count on us to go to Mianamon.”
Galloran smiled. “The need is great, or else I would not consider this strategy. You will be accompanied by some of the finest warriors in Lyrian. The way will be difficult, but I do not believe it will be impossible, or else I would not involve my daughter.”
“Tomorrow evening we’ll travel to the t
railhead to quietly get an early start,” Farfalee said.
“Anything else you would like to know?” Galloran asked.
“What about all of the orantium in the Drowned City?” Jason asked.
“The Conclave sent a message by eagle to a small group of seedfolk who man a permanent observation station in the trees near the northeastern corner of the swamp. They will recover the orantium in the rafts and dive for more at the Drowned City.”
“Yesterday you mentioned how we killed the menace,” Rachel recalled. “You also talked about finding a large stash of orantium. Some who listened might guess that the orantium was in the Drowned City.”
“Which is why we sent the eagle,” Galloran said. “We have no reason to believe spies have infiltrated the Amar Kabal, but we can’t be too cautious. Pallas is doing everything in his power to quickly and quietly acquire the explosives.”
“One more question,” Jason said. “Rachel told me you were able to psychically use her eyes to win the duel yesterday. If she stayed with you, couldn’t you keep on borrowing her sight?”
“It was a desperate gambit,” Galloran said. “Viewing myself and Naman that way required extraordinary mental exertion. You may have noticed, after I maneuvered into position and got used to the perspective, I went for a hasty victory. Had Naman held off my attack, exhaustion would have soon led to my demise. It was a calculated risk, and one that would not be very useful outside of a controlled environment. Could I see through her eyes again? Certainly. Could it ever be useful again? Possibly. Am I willing to bring Rachel to Felrook, even under supposed diplomatic immunity? Given her gift for Edomic and her status as a Beyonder, absolutely not.”
“I’d come if you wanted,” Rachel said.
“You’re brave and loyal. But no, I would honestly prefer you far from Felrook. If Maldor understands your capabilities, he’ll be more interested in apprehending you than any of us. Your presence could jeopardize the mission.”
“Then I guess I have a final question too,” Rachel said. “What can we do to prepare between now and when we leave?”
“Get rest,” Farfalee advised. “It will soon be in short supply.”
