The Dagger of Trust

by Chris Willrich

  "Alone at last," Gideon said.

  "You, me, and an audience of a dozen druids, I'll wager."

  "All right, as close to alone as I'm ever likely to get." He leaned closer, and seeing in her face that he was not unwelcome, kissed her.

  After a time, they pulled apart. "Were my parents alive," Corvine said, "they'd ask you your intentions, Mister Gull."

  She smiled as she said it. He recalled that her parents had perished by drowning when she was a girl. And yet she was willing to travel aboard ship, for the sake of her people.

  "When we were first...entangled," he said, "before the Shadow School and all, we were rather less chaste."

  She closed her eyes. "I remember."

  "But it's more serious now. It means more."

  "I think you're right."

  "I think even this sparrow may be too much of an audience, and this setting too open. I think what I'd like is to bring you to my home in Carpenden, and let you meet my family, and consider if you'd want them as your own."

  "Too fast, Gull! Too fast!"

  "You asked my intentions."

  "I didn't exactly ask, and I didn't exactly expect an answer."

  "Ah."

  "I'm not displeased you were ready to give one," she said, more gently.

  "For a moment there, I feared perhaps there was someone else in your thoughts."

  "Jealousy doesn't become you."

  "That doesn't quite sound like a denial."

  She pursed her lips. "It may be that someone isn't quite the man I thought he was, and it may be that someone else is more than I'd hoped."

  "You do keep a man off balance."

  "One does what one can." She considered the sky. "You spoke of your home. You haven't been there in a long time."

  "I've been angry at my home."

  "The winery, or Andoran?"

  "Both, in a way. And I'm not certain I'd be welcome."

  The sparrow chirped.

  Corvine looked out at the water. "I'm certain. Come on, Gideon. Let's see what's wanted of us."

  They followed the sparrow up, as the cold wind bit and they huddled close.

  "It would be funny if the stairway ended in a trapdoor," Gideon said.

  "No, it wouldn't."

  They spotted Ozrif and Viridia climbing a similar stairway, more slowly, on the redwood tree opposite. The couples waved at each other, but their calls couldn't carry across the gulf. Snow blown from branches slapped their faces and encouraged them to look down. Although Gideon was trained to negotiate rooftops, this was a rather higher vantage. He doubted they would stay in one piece if they fell now.

  They ascended into the branches.

  It was a different world up there. The wind ebbed; snow melted in drips and slow crumbles. Pathways of wood and wicker twisted among the radiating branches and along the trunk, and here and there were hanging chambers of uncertain function. Gideon saw one stashed with books, another with goblets, a third with boxes of herbs. There were still no druids to be seen, although all around they heard the cries of birds. At the sparrow's direction they ascended past a platform ringed with fighting staves set into nooks, another with braziers still smoking from some ceremony whose participants were nowhere to be seen, and a third with a sigil drawn onto its planks with resin and gold dust.

  "The sigil," Corvine said, "it's—"

  "The same as beneath the ship."

  The sparrow landed upon this platform, which hung by ropes from a quartet of stout branches. Here tree limbs blocked almost all sight. It was as if they stood in a green-walled room, where a cluster of irregularly shaped windows were fringed with snow-brushed needles.

  As they looked, Gideon realized something odd about the view. "It's daytime out there..." he nodded in one direction.

  "But nighttime over here."

  "And here we look out upon a mountain..."

  "And there an ocean."

  "I see another tree through here, but it belongs in some southern jungle."

  "And look down here. Stunted trees upon a frozen plain."

  Gideon frowned. "Always more questions. What is this place? What does the symbol mean?" He looked for the sparrow as if expecting answers, but even the sparrow had gone.

  A voice said, "It means 'Watch.'"

  It was Estergraethe. She looked just as Gideon had left her. She bore an earthenware cup in either hand. Something steaming and smelling of grass, and possibly pickles, was in there. She handed a cup to each of them.

  "This is for drinking, yes?" Gideon said. "All right, here goes." He chugged it down. The world seemed to spin, leap, spin once again, and finally settle down. His nostrils snorted like a bellows.

  "If you like," said Estergraethe. "However, most of the effect can be gained by simply breathing the vapors."

  "Oh." He felt twitchy, but more rested and alert than he had in days.

  Corvine sniffed, and sipped. She made a face. "Thank you."

  "This is Estergraethe," Gideon said, and coughed.

  "I'm Corvine Gale."

  Estergraethe said, "I know," and sat cross-legged at the center of the pattern.

  "Should we sit as well?"

  "That is up to you. I prefer comfort, but you are separate organisms, as much as anything can be separate, and I do not care to make too many assumptions."

  "Why are we here?" said Gideon, sitting. Corvine joined him.

  "You of the nations have an idea of hospitality. We of the Lodge have an idea of aptness. These ideas form a confluence at the present time."

  "Why did those three druids test us?"

  "'Test' is your notion."

  "But there's something more going on, isn't there?"

  "Something is hunting you."

  "We're hunting the fog," said Corvine, frowning into the vapors of her cup.

  "You're certain?" Estergraethe asked.

  "What other interpretation is there?"

  "I observe that your fog provokes mania. Your inquisitiveness about it is a kind of mania."

  "So we should stop?" Gideon asked. "Let it come to us?"

  "What has chasing it brought you?"

  "Loss," Corvine said. "But someone must investigate."

  "That's your nature."

  "Here now," Gideon said. "I thank you for your hospitality. Truly. But you can't just act all wise and remote and never give us a direct answer. You're involved. Brother Zaganos painted this symbol on our ship, didn't he? Or he made it happen. Why?"

  "I am not Zaganos," Estergraethe said. "I suspect he meant for various entities to watch your ship."

  "Entities?" Corvine said.

  "Creatures of the river. There is more to every piece of this world than you are aware."

  "Creatures that speak to him?" Gideon said.

  "Perhaps. Perhaps not. You will have to ask him. In any case, I will let you be."

  "Excuse me?" Corvine said. "That's all? You brought us here to say nothing?"

  "We brought several pairs of you to places where you might enjoy companionship, for it seems to us you need it as much as food. Some pairs are more companionable than others, of course. Some will fight. Some will share secrets. Some will mate. We chose as best we could. This seems to me a good place for you, Corvine of Cassomir and Gideon of Oppara and elsewhere. Enjoy."

  The druid walked past the dumbfounded Gideon.

  "No," said Corvine, rising.

  "What?" said the druid.

  "You heard me," Corvine said, crossing her arms. "People have died. We've all fought. You yourselves placed us in danger. We've been traveling and traveling, and all we've done is catalog and treat symptoms of a disease. We need to fight the cause!" She waved her arm to take in the chamber. "This place can spy distant vistas, no? Use it to seek the source of the fog."

  Estergraethe frowned. "Do you truly think we never thought to do this? When Zaganos reported your troubles, we did investigate, out of curiosity. When we scried for the source, it was hidden from us."

  "Surely bein
gs of your power..." Gideon began, and was again interrupted. It was like talking through a storm.

  "Oh, we could exert ourselves and find this threat. This seems unwarranted, however. As it's mainly a danger to the nations, the nations should have the ability to cope."

  "So that's it. You want to know if Taldor and Andoran can deal with the fog on their own."

  "There are always ants," Estergraethe said. "What is not always the same are the particular colonies, or their spread. We would regret the loss of ant-kind in its entirety. But we will not go out of our way to guard this colony or that."

  "This ant asks your help," Corvine said. "Scry for us. Today you've seen the fog for yourself. That will surely help you in the attempt."

  Estergraethe smiled. "Why should I help a particular ant, if I balk at aiding a particular colony?"

  "Because you were once an ant."

  Estergraethe slowly nodded. "A human, rather. I was once rather like you, Corvine of Cassomir, a hundred years and a winter's day ago. Very well. This one thing."

  Estergraethe closed her eyes. She murmured peculiar syllables. To Gideon's mind, it sounded like the chirping of a sparrow.

  All the openings in the boughs blurred and swirled with new images: fog on the river; fog on the wharf; fog in an alley, in the woods, coiling over rooftop and road. A man bellowed silently, waving an unseen flag. Two boys swung sticks against each other. Two girls regarded each other with crossed arms and icy stares, a third girl crying between them. A woman prayed before an unseen altar before drawing a dagger with a murderous grin.

  Corvine looked from image to image. "There. What's that?"

  There was a granite cliff face upon the river. Waters swirled beneath it, caught in a back-current that resembled soup swirling in a cauldron.

  Gideon squinted. There was something different about this scene. Something that called to him. "Does that rock formation seem familiar to you?"

  "No," said Corvine. "Estergraethe, you're a century old. Have you ever seen this?"

  The druid slowly nodded. "I rarely leave the island, but this reminds me of a spot along the Verduran Fork, some ways upstream from here. But it also calls to mind a place north of Bellis..."

  Something changed within the scene. Gideon saw fog reaching up from the churn, for all the world resembling a feminine hand with dainty, cloud-like joints.

  "What is that?" Corvine said.

  "My Desdimira," Gideon said, his throat try. "My muse."

  Don't trust ...

  All the visions went white. Estergraethe opened her eyes. "Interesting. In some way unknown to me, the fog cloaked itself more deeply. It is more potent than I imagined."

  Corvine cocked an eyebrow. "Enough to worry the druids?"

  "No." Estergraethe smiled faintly. "I'm still uncertain as to which river we saw, the Sellen or the Verduran Fork. It was too brief a glimpse. I will not attempt this again."

  "It would make sense if the location was Bellis," Gideon said. "Everything points there."

  "You may ask your captain. He is coming for you."

  The white had faded from some of the openings. Through one Gideon saw Sebastian and Grizzendell ascending the winding wicker stairway. Through another, he saw Riposte now at anchor in the cove below the lodge. And now he could see the Mistress of Stillness and Motion, standing within Headmaster Xeritian's office and scratching her chin. In a nearby gap, the agitator Savaric lay facedown in a prison cell, a Qadiran dagger beside him, a dark red pool beneath.

  Distantly, Gideon could hear the voice of Sebastian calling from far below. Gull! Gale!

  "Each of you has had respite. It is time for our dynamic tranquility to return. You must take your unbalanced psyches away from here."

  "Respite?" Gideon said. "But we spent it talking to you. He looked at Corvine nonplussed. "We might have...I mean..."

  "Come along, Gideon," Corvine said, with a sigh and an eye-roll.

  "Druids," Gideon muttered.

  "Men," Corvine said.

  Estergraethe didn't follow as they descended the wicker stairway toward the captain, who approached with the quartermaster puffing alongside.

  "There you are," Sebastian said. "I have it on good authority from the druids that we should be leaving. I'm inclined to believe them. The River Guard has given us provisions and a few reinforcements."

  "How did you get here so quickly?" Gideon asked.

  Sebastian looked puzzled. "Quickly? You've been gone half a day. When the River Guard returned without you, we brought the ship around."

  Gideon looked up at the sun and saw that it was true. "Druids," he said again, and shook his head.

  "The druids gave us a direction, Captain," Corvine said, and filled him in.

  Grizzendell, between ragged breaths, said, "At last. I'm tired of wild fog chases. Also, stairs. But which way?"

  "I think Mister Gull's correct," Sebastian said. "There are no reports of trouble on the Verduran Fork. Bellis, however...Gideon, it may be that what you confronted as a child has reawakened. Are you ready to confront it? Whatever the truth reveals?"

  Gideon looked across the way and noticed Ozrif and Viridia descending their own redwood, waving, laughing, leaning against each other, and laughing some more.

  Corvine patted him on the shoulder. "We'll have our respite someday. Perhaps in Bellis."

  "Druids," he muttered a final time, looking beyond Ozrif and Viridia to the snow-covered ground where so many fog-possessed guards had fallen.

  Then: "I'm ready."

  Chapter Fourteen

  Fugue for Lost Souls

  Riposte was a subdued ship as it traveled beyond the Isle. The heart of the Verduran Forest now lay to starboard, and the crew felt watched by trees and brambles, stalked by sounds of owls and wolves, mocked by fireflies and frog croaks. And although tiny settlements still appeared on the Andoren side of the river, these seemed more tentative, less at ease in their surroundings. The emissaries of the Shadow School agreed they wouldn't question any more villagers, but make best speed to Bellis, and Gideon was just as glad not to touch shore. The druid encounter had left him uneasy about these lands.

  Those who'd entered the Lodge were reluctant to speak of their experiences.

  "Don't expect a report from me," Merrigail said. "A lot of druidic nonsense." She turned to Kester. "That's your opinion, too."

  "Yes, ma'am," said Kester with a grim look.

  "I have nothing to say either," said Ozrif with a smile. Viridia squeezed his hand.

  "But you are not-saying it quite loudly," Corvine said, not unkindly. "Viridia, did the druids not mend your leg?"

  Viridia frowned. "No. Our raccoon friend said something about natural recovery, but personally, I think he was just lazy. I didn't press the matter. It's not like a battle injury."

  "It's an injury," said Gideon, "and it happened in battle."

  "You know what I mean. It's mostly fine now, except when I try to jump. Then there's excruciating pain."

  "I'll apply magic tomorrow," Ozrif said.

  Silence fell upon the group; all the talk of Arenway left them spent. Work occupied them for a time, and in late afternoon Gideon and Corvine took a break at the bow. They were too tired and preoccupied to speak, but it was pleasant to be weary beside each other.

  The sound of splashing made them look up. "What's that in the water?" Corvine said.

  "It's a woman!" Gideon said.

  "Help!" cried the woman, her accent Andoren. She was beautiful, but pale and shivering as she clutched a fragment of hull. It was as though a ship had shattered in a storm—the sort of storm that should never occur on a river.

  "Hang on!" Gideon yelled. "Help's coming!" To Corvine he said, "She's drifting past. I'll jump down." He stood upon the edge. "You alert the crew."

  "Oh, help, help! Are there no men in this age?"

  "I'm coming!" Gideon cried; and the brave smile the castaway threw him made him feel strong and proud. A small quiet voice within him wondered at his o
wn reaction—but he hesitated only long enough to grab a line before leaping.

  Corvine was shouting something, and it sounded angry. That was not his problem, however. He swam to the woman, the cold water snatching away his heat. "Take my hand."

  Her grip was like a rockfall. He squeaked and flailed.

  "I haven't fed in too many days."

  "We have...plenty of food...on board..."

  "I can't go to your ship, delicious man. The druid-sign won't allow it. But since you've come to me..."

  Gideon was still entranced by her beauty, and if it weren't for Corvine's furious voice, he might never have broken the spell. But he knew Corvine's rage was on his own behalf, and it helped him resist.

  "What are you singing, man?" the woman—if indeed she was a woman—asked sweetly.

  "'Haul away for Arcadia,'" Gideon said, and completed the spell.

  The line in his other hand snaked out and snared the pale woman.

  He jerked free of her grip and swam to the ship. As if this were a signal, crossbow bolts shot from overhead. Several hit the woman, who hissed and dove. Someone threw Gideon a fresh line, and he ascended.

  Corvine met him as he came aboard, and as he reached out to her, she slapped him.

  "Idiot! Come see what you were trying to save."

  Down in the water floated a nauseating thing that looked something like a horse-headed humanoid with slime-covered, transparent skin revealing unmoving organs, bones, and viscera. Its snout ended in long, cruel teeth.

  Grizzendell and Lunette were there, armed with crossbows. "A kelpie," Corvine said. "Anyone who desires women is particularly vulnerable to their enchantments."

  "They can also look like horses," Grizzendell said. "Some people desire a good mount." He paused. "It's possible that didn't sound quite the way I intended."

  "I thank you for your aim," said Gideon, shivering. "And your good sense," he told Corvine.

  "Remember that," Corvine said. "Come on, let's get you warm clothes."

  Belowdecks, with a curtain drawn for privacy, Corvine helped him undress. Her gruff manner suggested no interest in intimacy as such. And yet she took care in making certain he was all right.