Turning his back to the bar and rising to his feet, he ambled over to the back wall of the bar, where there were rows of large, fluffy couches colored a garish purple and red combination that almost brought a pain to the eye to look at. There were, however, half dressed women lounging here and there, and they were definitely not hard to look at. Which more than made up for the couches.
Dormael plopped unceremoniously down on one of the empty cushions, far enough away from other patrons and the whores who flirted with them to have a little privacy. He wasn’t in the mood to be sold a romp in the sack in any case. He took another long pull from the firewine and glanced toward the door as it opened once again, and almost choked on his drink.
A woman stood in the doorway, one hand holding the door open and looking around the room with squinted eyes. She was diminutive, petite and pretty in a way that kept a man looking at her and trying to figure out what it was about her that made her outshine buxom beauties of half again her height. Her eyes were big and brown, though a light brown that gave her face a fey quality. She was wrapped in a large Sevenlander cloak, which looked a bit out of place on her small frame, especially since she had the hood drawn all the way up to cover her hair. Dormael knew that she would have a wealth of raven locks concealed within that hood, and as their eyes met any shred of doubt that for a second may have been in Dormael’s mind as to who she was fled in an instant. He’d thought she was dead.
“Inera?” Dormael asked, incredulous and scarcely daring to believe it.
Their eyes met, and Dormael knew it was true in that instant of recognition, when a hundred emotions were conveyed in a single moment. There was relief, longing, apprehension and love all swirling around in her eyes in that single second. Then her expression abruptly changed to something Dormael couldn’t read, and she was gone, the door slamming in her wake as she rushed back out into the street.
“Inera, wait!” Dormael shouted, scrambling up from his seat. He rushed after her.
****
“So…this means that someone was using magic in here?” Bethany asked, her consciousness flitting around and touching things in Dormael’s room uncertainly.
“Yes…but, Bethany, what can you tell me about the resonance, how does it feel?” D’Jenn asked her, knowing the answer but using the opportunity to instruct the young girl.
“It doesn’t feel right…something is wrong about it.”
“What do you think that is, little one?” D’Jenn could almost feel the girl’s face scrunching up as she probed clumsily around the room with her awareness, trying to puzzle out the answer.
“Well…it doesn’t feel like his song…his magic. Someone else was doing something in here.”
“Very good, Bethany.” D’Jenn was pleased with the youngling’s perception, but that one fact troubled him for some reason. He thought he recognized the song in the magic in Dormael’s room, but he couldn’t recall where he’d heard it before. He was fairly sure that Dormael had gone off for the day on one of his jaunts, doubtless to get drunk or find some young and pretty girl to flirt with, because D’Jenn hadn’t seen nor heard from his cousin since the night before. Dormael had seemed a little irritated with the current events in the Conclave, and he’d probably woken this morning and decided to get away for a while.
Magical resonance didn’t last very long, depending on many different things – the strength of the spell and type of magic being among them – and once a spell had run its course, the subsequent magical resonance would disperse fairly quickly. That could only mean that someone had been in his cousin’s room recently, and had used magic. It wasn’t a bad thing really, but it did raise a few questions. D’Jenn had to find Dormael and tell him.
“Lessons are over for the day, Bethany. Why don’t you go and find Shawna and get her to entertain you for a while?”
“Alright,” the youngling sighed, and she hugged D’Jenn around the neck once before bounding from his room and into the hallway.
D’Jenn rose from the place where he and Bethany had been meditating and began to pace around his room, trying to puzzle out why he suddenly had a nagging suspicion that something was wrong. Since their arrival in Ishamael, events had seemed to slow a bit for the companions. It was nice to get some rest from the hard living of the road, but since he’d been back in the Conclave D’Jenn couldn’t shake the feeling that he was missing something important.
There was, of course, the current political turmoil. The Conclave was on edge, with more and more young wizards – and even students, by Eindor’s Eye, who should be concentrating on their studies instead of politics – taking sides on current events. To D’Jenn, however, the undercurrent of anger running through the Conclave felt like only part of the problem. Something didn’t fit, and the longer he brooded on it the more determined he became to figure it out.
Since the moment they’d picked up the armlet, obstacles had seemed to rise up in their path. It was understandable, Dargorin probably had agents almost everywhere and enough coin to reach far from his capital, but the obvious adversaries had been matched equally by unexpected and mysterious players in this little game. For instance, how had the Cult of Aeglar obtained equipment that had obviously been Infused? Such things were hard to come by, and expensive, and the Cult was not loved here in the Sevenlands. So where had they gotten the money to outfit their soldiers in such expensive equipment? There was also the matter of their appearance in Gammeritus, putting them in the perfect position to intercept the party and kill Dormael and D’Jenn. It had been a bold move, even for them.
Then, the man in the black cloak had appeared, a shadowy figure that obviously had disciples, coin, and power enough to inspire fear in those that followed him. The rogue Vilth, Jureus, had been powerful enough to give Dormael a serious fight, and his presence with a group of miscreant highwaymen was simply too coincidental for D’Jenn to dismiss. Someone had known where the armlet was going, and even by what road it was going there. That information could only have been discovered by someone close, someone who could have overheard their plans…
Kendall.
D’Jenn inhaled sharply at the thought. Kendall had been there, at Dormael’s homestead when the party had arrived. He’d been just passing through on his way to an assignment. His purpose had been vague, and he’d hovered in the background, always listening. D’Jenn didn’t like the thought, Kendall was a dear friend to both himself and to Dormael, but logic told D’Jenn that he was the most likely explanation. Chills went down D’Jenn’s spine as he grew more confident in his conclusion.
Where was Kendall now?
He had to find Dormael. D’Jenn hurried about his room, throwing on his cloak and pulling on his morningstar. Shawna and Bethany were under Victus’s protection at the moment, and nothing would happen to them as long as they didn’t venture from the Conclave grounds. Dormael, though, was probably drunk in some tavern or brothel. D’Jenn had to find him before anything happened.
****
Rain began to patter into the streets as Dormael shouldered through the throng of people choking the East Market. The firewine had dulled his wits and slowed his reactions a bit, so he ran into people here and there amid shouts of protest and spat curses, and even once went sprawling on the wet cobbles. He would catch fleeting glances of Inera in the distance, just enough to keep him running down the street after her or change direction at the right moment.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid…,” he muttered, shaking his head as he pursued her. D’Jenn had always said that women would be the death of him, and it seems that his hedonistic nature had finally caught up to him. It had been years since he’d seen Inera, in fact their parting had been emotional and painful. He’d assumed that she’d died, caught in the tide of the advancing Galanian invasion of Neleka. It seems that he’d been wrong about that.
He felt horribly guilty. Perhaps he should have searched harder for her, should have torn apart occupied Neleka until he found her, and to the Six Hells with the political co
nsequences. He’d been expressly forbidden to do just that, even though a large part of him had wanted to. He’d gone a little insane after her death, escaping for awhile to travel the world as a vagabond in a self-imposed exile. Who knows what horrors Inera had lived through, and she was obviously searching for him. It seemed that finding him at the Headless Dancer was a fitting ending to her journey. It exposed him for the wretch that he felt like.
“Inera! Wait!” he called. She threw a quick glance over her shoulder, and he caught the slightest glimpse of pain-filled eyes, and then she slipped around a corner into an alleyway. Dormael rushed after her, weaving through the sea of people to reach her. Thunder rumbled overhead as he slipped into the alley.
****
D’Jenn walked as calmly as he could down the hallways of the Conclave Proper, nodding to acquaintances and friends as he passed by. He had to appear normal. If Kendall was indeed the traitor, and the more he thought about it, the more it seemed likely, then there was no way to know as yet who else had been corrupted. D’Jenn felt like a complete idiot.
So far, he and Dormael had been rushing headlong toward Ishamael, lulled into a false sense of security because they were once again in the Sevenlands. They’d gotten drunk and who knows what information Kendall had been able to gather about their activity over the past winter? D’Jenn himself couldn’t remember if he’d told Kendall anything in confidence. He felt like a blind man trying to navigate a rocky hillside, heedless of the rocks that may trip him up, and send him over a cliff and to his death.
The armlet was safe, that much he was sure of. The Mekai had taken it two days ago in order to study it and think on a solution to the problem. No one would be able to get to it for now, and that had to be the main objective for any operative of Dargorin’s in the Conclave.
Unless Kendall was working with the Vilth in the black cloak – that thought was chilling, for a whole new set of reasons.
He had to stop the information leak, lest it sink the proverbial ship. D’Jenn was almost of a mind to track Kendall down himself, but there was no telling where the man was now. The magical resonance in Dormael’s room hadn’t belonged to Kendall; of that much he was sure. That fact could be innocent enough, but it could also mean that there was another traitor here, working alone or in concert with Kendall.
The Conclave of Wizards was the most powerful bastion of strength in the Sevenlands, the one thing that kept her enemies at bay more than anything else. The fact that someone had infiltrated it was staggering, and it more than angered D’Jenn. He felt like a fool, and he didn’t like feeling foolish. Someone was going to pay. They’d conspired to kill him, his cousin, and his friends, and that kind of audacity would not go unpunished. D’Jenn promised himself that once his suspicions were confirmed, all those responsible would answer to his morningstar.
He made his way down the white-washed halls of the Conclave Proper, through wide hallways inhabited by students, servants, and the occasional wizard. Turning a corner to head for the stairs to the Common Hall on the first floor, he spotted Victus down the hallway. The Deacon motioned him over, and D’Jenn grumbled but obeyed. He didn’t have much time, but Victus should be informed about what D’Jenn had puzzled out, and now was as good a time as any. He stepped hurriedly over to the head of the Warlocks.
“D’Jenn,” Victus grumbled, “I’ve been meaning to speak with you and Dormael about the girl.”
“Bethany?” D’Jenn asked, taken slightly aback by the change of direction in his thoughts.
“Yes. I understand that she’s quite talented, and that the armlet seems to have some connection with her. I was wondering if you’d mind if we conducted some tests on the matter, away from prying eyes.”
D’Jenn narrowed his eyes. Usually, that sort of thing would be the Philosophers’ area of expertise. He’d expected that question from Lacelle, not Victus. Still, it seemed like the two of them were especially at odds lately, and perhaps Lacelle was exactly the person that Victus wanted to keep out of the loop of information.
“I…will ask Dormael, Honored Deacon. He has adopted the girl, so her well-being is his responsibility. It would have to be Dormael’s decision.”
“I thought you would say as much, but I haven’t been able to find him today. Do you think he’s gone out into the city on one of his little trips?” Victus asked.
“You were looking for him?” D’Jenn asked. That could explain the resonance in Dormael’s rooms, but what sort of magic would Victus have used there if he was only coming to call? Why would it be necessary? D’Jenn shook himself mentally; this was Victus, after all. He was growing suspicious of everyone.
“Aye,” Victus said, not noticing D’Jenn’s reaction, “He wasn’t in his rooms, or the Common Hall, or anywhere else for that matter. I sent runners for him, but I suspect he’s escaped the Conclave grounds for the day. Still, I think it’s important that we find out exactly what relationship the armlet has with the girl, before everyone else in the Conclave gets word of this and it becomes a political nightmare. We both know the information will get out eventually, and all the Deacons will be scrambling to get a look at the girl and the armlet. I’d rather just get it out of the way; have the decision made before the matter can gain any political momentum, that way the girl isn’t constantly yanked between wizards who only want to gain prestige for their own factions.”
D’Jenn had to admit, it made sense. The last thing that Bethany needed in this stage of her training was to be constantly tested and treated as an oddity. The girl was fragile enough as it was without adding extra stress to the equation.
“Who would conduct the testing?” D’Jenn asked.
“Lacelle, of course. She may be an insufferable ice queen, but the woman is damn good at what she does. What I’m suggesting is that you and your cousin give me leave to watch over the girl in your absence, that way I can supervise the testing and ensure that the proper care is taken on the girl’s behalf.”
“That sounds reasonable,” D’Jenn replied, “But the Mekai has yet to make a decision about Bethany or the armlet.”
“As always, he takes his time with these things. I respect him for thinking a problem through to the end, but sometimes I can’t help but feel that the Mekai is too careful. There are too many players in this game, and we need to move quickly if we are to get ahead,” Victus grumbled. D’Jenn said nothing, not wanting to get into a political discussion. Still, it seemed that Victus was more and more disgruntled with the Mekai. “Well, just tell your cousin to consider my offer when you find him. If her care is officially given over to me, and Lacelle conducts the tests, then there will be no room for squabbling.”
“I will pass on the message, Honored Deacon,” D’Jenn said, nodding his head. Victus gave him a fatherly pat on the back and continued down the hall, stalking his next errand down like a mountain cat. D’Jenn turned and headed down the stairs into the Common Hall.
After a few turns and switchbacks, D’Jenn emerged onto a black marble floor, polished to a dull shine. The Common Hall of the Conclave was the nexus of the Conclave Proper. It was where the people of the Sevenlands would come with grievances or petitions, herded this way and that by students who were close to choosing their Discipline and were given the task of sorting through the petitioners for the day. The Hall was a grand display of the majesty of the Conclave, not only meant to show power, but also to provide a comfortable area for the petitioners to wait. There were padded booths and benches along the walls, where Sevenlanders from all over would sit and await the summons of the students that took their petitions for consideration.
The walls were lit by candles, which cast a more pleasing light than the ruddy torches most other rooms of the Conclave employed. The Hall was decorated with tapestries and paintings of famous Mekais, Deacons, and scenes from the history of the Conclave, and the walls were lined with expensive dark-colored rosewood. The entire setting was meant to put people at ease while they waited, to soothe fears or tempers so that by t
he time they made their wishes known, the person was more relaxed.
D’Jenn stalked past groups of farmers, merchants, and even minor city nobles from the families of Clan Leaders and Kansils who had business here. He tried not to appear too anxious, but as his steps neared the grand double doors that led out onto the grounds he couldn’t help but walk a little faster. His thoughts turned back to the problem at hand.
Why had Victus made a point of seeking out Dormael simply to ask him that question? He was acting as if the departure of the companions was a foregone conclusion, instead of a matter under consideration by the Mekai. The Mekai had been studying the armlet for a couple of days now, locked away in his private archives, sifting through Gods-knew-what ancient, secret histories. That is, if they actually existed. It was rumored that there were texts in the Conclave that only the Mekai had access to. D’Jenn was apt to believe it. It was the nature of man to put dangerous or embarrassing accounts of history away from prying eyes, and D’Jenn was also sure that there were probably tomes in those archives that the Conclave had specifically obtained in order to keep them from anyone else. Some knowledge was dangerous in the wrong hands.
Was Victus planning on sending them out on missions so soon? They’d already spoken of the possibility of the existence of other artifacts out there, and perhaps Victus thought to send wizards to seek them out before Dargorin could obtain them. The obvious choice would be Dormael and D’Jenn, since the matter of the armlet was being kept as quietly as possible. He couldn’t imagine Victus would want to employ anyone else in the search, if that is what he had in mind.
The Sentient Fire (The Seven Signs) Page 59
