'Well, Jaxyn,' he said, resuming his seat and leaning back in it with a casual air. 'Tilly tells me you need my help to save the world.'
Jaxyn put his hands on his hips, glancing at the old woman in annoyance. 'That's not how I would have put it. But then the Cabal of the Tarot always have been prone to exaggeration.'
Jaxyn's statement revealed so much. That he was here; that he knew the identity of Tilly and her role in the secret organisation dedicated to the destruction of his kind; that she not only tolerated his presence, but seemed to be aiding him — all this told Stellan a great deal about the state of the world and the dire trouble heading their way if he did nothing to help.
'I'm sure they are,' Stellan replied, marvelling at the steadiness of his own voice. 'How would you describe our situation?'
'Awkward,' Jaxyn snapped. 'But nothing we can't deal with if you can get me in to see Tryan. Given what's happened of late ... well, I doubt he wants to speak to me, at the moment. The old girl and I agree,' he added, glancing at Tilly who didn't seem pleased with his description of her,'— and there's not much we agree on — that you're the only one with the power and probably the brains to make it happen.'
'Awkward? That's something of an understatement.'
'So you'll do it?' Jaxyn asked, a little impatiently.
'On one condition,' Stellan said, flicking a speck of imaginary dust from his trousers as he crossed one leg over the other.
'What condition?'
Stellan knew that there was no power he could exert over this immortal. There was nothing he could probably ever do to redress the ills done to him and his family by this man. Not the murder of his niece, the destruction of his country, the taking of everything he owned ...
But for a fleeting moment, Stellan had all the power in the world. It may never happen again, he realised, but right now, in this instant, Stellan had something Jaxyn needed and that meant he held the upper hand.
The King of Glaeba met Jaxyn's eye and smiled poisonously. 'You're going to have to say please.'
CHAPTER 47
It was raining in Ramahn. Declan had never seen rain here before. It lent the city a melancholy air. Buildings normally bright, white and deceptively clean were now grey and mottled with moisture. The fine layer of sandy dust that lay over everything in this city, perched on the edge of a desert, turned to mud in the rain, streaking the sides of buildings, leaving the once colourful marketplace awnings hanging dull, limp and dripping, and driving even the beggars indoors.
Declan had sent Warlock to Torlenia to deliver his request for a meeting to Brynden. Given the magical trip-wire Brynden had set around the continent, Declan thought sending a third party to deliver the message — one who wouldn't set off the alarm and couldn't be corrupted by an immortal — the safest course.
He wasn't sure what Brynden's reaction would be to his request, and he wasn't prepared to risk innocent lives on a guess. It was one thing to trigger the magical barrier on the uninhabited west coast where only Kinta was nearby to respond. Quite another to set it off near one of the greatest population centres on Amyrantha.
But waiting for an answer had left his nerves frayed with anticipation. Two weeks was a long time to worry if Jaxyn was doing as he promised, to fret over whether or not Stellan Desean would be able to contain his own feelings well enough to deal with Jaxyn again, let alone bring the warring Tide Lords of Caelum and Glaeba to the table. And whether or not a
rapprochement was even possible. The sheer inconvenience of the war between the two countries irked Declan. With the world on the very brink of destruction, who cared about a border dispute?
His worrying proved a wasted effort. Two weeks after he sent Warlock to Ramahn with a sealed note to be placed in the hands of the Imperator's Consort — on the very same day he decided that his offer had been refused, Warlock must be dead, and he was going to have to risk entering Torlenia himself — a message had arrived from Ramahn with news that Brynden would grant him an audience.
He turned from watching the city at the feel of someone approaching on the Tide. There were two of them, he decided. The powerful ripples of a Tide Lord and the lesser ripples of an immortal who lacked the same power, but who nonetheless was able to affect the Tide. Declan took a deep breath, his heart pounding as the Lord of Reckoning and his lover neared the audience chamber of Ramahn Palace. It was large room, tiled in decorative mosaics depicting the many moral lessons the Lord of Reckoning had bestowed upon his people over the centuries. It was not clear yet, to the people of Torlenia, that their god now sat on the throne. They still believed him to be their beloved Imperator, changed by illness and a miracle into a man of wisdom and insight.
He wasn't sure how Brynden had managed to get away with such an elaborate deception. Having Crash servants helped, he supposed. They were compelled to do and say anything he ordered. All the human staff Declan encountered on his way through the palace seemed to be priests, members of Brynden's own cult. Declan reasoned that with them in charge, there was nobody much around left to object.
Declan's skin tingled. Neither of the approaching immortals was using Tide magic, but the Tide was coming in fast. Even Declan could feel the difference.
There was an urgency about it now; a feeling that before long, nothing would be able to hold it back. It was thrilling. It was terrifying. And it was all Declan could do to stop himself plunging into the magic at every meagre excuse he could find to wield it.
Given he was a legendary warrior, Declan was a little disappointed when the doors at the end of the cathedral-like audience chamber opened and Brynden entered wearing sandals, a loose white shirt and linen trousers of the sort you'd see any ordinary man in the street of Ramahn wearing. Well-built, clean-shaven, with close-cropped blond hair and the gait of a warrior, he seemed more mercenary than majesty.
Kinta, on the other hand, was dressed exactly as he'd seen her on the west coast of Torlenia a few weeks ago, after she'd removed her shroud — heavily armed and wearing a short leather skirt and a tooled leather breastplate. He wondered why she bothered. Armour was designed to protect vital organs from harm. There was no weapon on Amyrantha that could harm her. And no weapon that could harm him, either, if it came to it. Her mode of dress told him something else about this place, too. In a land where women must always remain shrouded in the company of men not of their own family, she was proudly dressed as a warrior. That meant she trusted every soul in the palace not to betray her.
It also meant there was nobody here, if things went badly, who would lift a finger to aid Declan.
Good to know these things ahead of time.
Declan stepped forward, all the speeches he'd been mentally rehearsing in his head vanishing as Brynden strode across the tiles with Kinta beside him, and stopped a few feet from him. He was prepared to hate the man who had sold Arkady into slavery, but couldn't afford his own prejudices to get in the way. He needed Brynden. There was an eternity waiting on the other side of this calamity for him to settle the score over Arkady, once Amyrantha was saved.
'Clever,' Brynden said, speaking Glaeban, as he eyed Declan up and down. 'Sending a Scard to deliver your message.'
'I might not have been born ten thousand years ago, Lord Brynden,' Declan replied, meeting his gaze as evenly as he could manage. There was no point in trying to pretend he wasn't nervous. Brynden would feel that on the Tide, just as Declan could feel Brynden's confidence. And his curiosity. 'But I wasn't born yesterday, either. Where is Warlock?'
'Safe. For the time being.'
'I'd like to see him.'
Brynden studied him curiously. 'Why do you care about the fate of one stupid gemang, Hawkes?'
'I gave him my word he'd be safe.'
The Tide Lord smiled. 'And then you sent him to me with a message demanding a parley? You have an interesting view of the word safe.'
'I was led to believe you are a man of honour.'
That gave Brynden pause. He was silent for a moment and then he tur
ned to Kinta.
'I told you, Bryn—' she began, but he waved her to silence.
'Have the Scard brought here.'
Kinta glanced at Declan uncertainly. 'Are you sure?'
'I'm sure.'
The warrior bowed to her lord and turned for the door. Declan couldn't hide his relief as Brynden walked past him through the arched opening and stepped out onto the rain-spattered balcony to stare at the city.
'It hasn't rained here for years.'
Declan turned and followed him out into the rain. It was warm and not entirely unpleasant outside, and not the venue he expected for a meeting like this.
'Is the rain a consequence of what's happening in Glaeba?' Declan asked, recalling the numerous warnings he'd received about how using the Tide in one place often had a consequence in another.
Brynden shrugged. 'You tell me, Hawkes. You've been there more recently than I have.'
'They've never before had a winter as bad as this one.'
The Tide Lord leaned on the marble balustrade, staring out over the rooftops. 'Nor a summer as hot, a spring as dry ... it's a common thing, when the Tide turns. There will be storms, violent storms, droughts, famines, floods — and that's without any of us lifting a finger. I used to think that was our purpose, you know; that we'd been put on this world to mitigate the effects of the Tide on others less fortunate.'
Declan was surprised to hear Brynden admit such a thing. But then, maybe he shouldn't be. If any immortal had put thought into the meaning of their existence, it was this man. 'Is that what you think now?'
'I don't know.' He straightened and turned to face Declan. His expression was puzzled more than threatening, as if wrestling with the philosophical problems posed by Lukys's plans for Amyrantha was more exhausting than an actual battle. 'The news Kinta brought me from her first meeting with you, has left me ... unsettled. How certain are you of your intelligence, Hawkes?'
Although he suspected she would do so, it was a relief to discover he was right in his assumption that Kinta had passed on to Brynden what she'd learned in their meeting on the other side of the continent when Kentravyon had told them about Coryna. The detailed message Declan sent with Warlock would have done the rest, he supposed.
'I've seen the chamber Lukys has built in Jelidia to open the rift. Best we can tell, Cayal has the crystal and is on his way back to the ice palace with it. As for the risk to Amyrantha?' Declan shrugged, which allowed the water pooling in his collar to run down his back under his shirt. 'To be honest, my lord, we only
have Kentravyon's word on it. On the balance of probability, given Lukys claims the forces released when the portal closes are enough to kill an immortal, I'm guessing the risk is substantial.'
Brynden nodded and folded his arms across his chest. The rain had drenched his hair, and ran in rivulets down his face, but he seemed unaware of it, content to let it fall. Declan remembered riding in the rain with Jaxyn in Herino. He'd had no qualms about carelessly using the Tide to keep the elements at bay. Brynden was much more restrained, much more cautious of the power he wielded and the responsibility that went with it. 'How do you intend to stop them?'
'I can't. Not on my own. That's why I need you.'
Brynden frowned. 'You'll need every Tide Lord on Amyrantha, I suspect, to counter the force Lukys can muster. That means involving all the immortals, including Jaxyn, who is a wastrel, and Tryan, who is a sadist. Neither can be trusted.'
Declan nodded in agreement. 'That's the main reason I need you and Lady Kinta along, my lord,' he said, figuring a show of respect would go a long way with the Lord of Reckoning. 'I need someone I can trust to watch my back.' Declan was amazed to realise he spoke the truth. He probably could trust Brynden; more than he trusted any other Tide Lord, at any rate. That left him feeling more than a little disloyal toward Arkady.
But he couldn't worry about that now. There was a world at stake. It was alarming how quickly he was learning to put his own feelings aside to deal with that threat.
The Tide Lord studied Declan as if he understood Declan's moral dilemma, and then he smiled. 'You believe you can trust me? How do I know I can trust you? You are Lukys's son. Prove to me this is more than an elaborate prank put together by one of my jaded brethren to amuse themselves on the rising Tide.'
'How do you expect me to prove that?' Declan asked. The immortal had a point. Brynden really had little more than Declan's word and the second-hand story of a madman to go on.
Before Brynden could answer, however, Declan felt Kinta returning on the Tide. They heard the door opening and turned to find Warlock walking across the hall beside her, dressed in a plain linen slave's tunic, but otherwise unharmed.
Stepping back into the hall, Declan studied Warlock closely for a moment, looking for injuries, before asking, 'Are you all right?'
'I'm in one piece, if that's what you're asking,' the Scard replied with a scowl. He may not have been physically harmed, but he clearly wasn't happy with his treatment at the hands of these immortals.
The Lord of Reckoning followed Declan back into the hall, wiping the rain from his face with his hand, and then turned to Kinta. 'Hawkes believes he can trust us.'
'Can't he?' she asked, glancing at Declan. He could feel her uncertainty on the Tide, and wasn't sure what it meant.
'I'm more concerned whether we can trust him. Give me your sword.'
Without asking why, Kinta unsheathed her sword and handed it to Brynden in an action that seemed suspiciously rehearsed. The immortal hefted the blade for a moment and then offered it, hilt first, to Declan.
'Kill the Scard,' Brynden said.
'Excuse me?' Declan said, wondering if he'd misheard the order. Not that he seriously thought he had. The offered blade said it all, even without words.
'Kill the Scard,' Brynden repeated, offering him the sword again. 'You want to prove your noble intentions to me, then do as I ask. Kill the Scard.'
Declan stared down at the sword for a moment in confusion and then looked at Brynden. 'What purpose would that serve?'
'I will know you mean what you say.'
Shaking his head, Declan looked at Kinta, who'd contributed nothing, thus far, to the conversation — other than her blade. 'How will it prove that? Tides, it's not Kentravyon who's crazy. It's all of you!'
'You're not willing to do it then?' Kinta asked.
Tides, I was such a fool to think this man could be trusted. He sold Arkady into slavery. When did you stop listening to your instincts, you fool?
'No!' Declan said, taking a step forward to put himself between a rather worried-looking Warlock and the immortals. 'Absolutely not. And the hell with you for asking. What are you people? Are you so far removed from your own humanity that mortal lives have become a tradable commodity?'
As he heard himself utter the words, Declan realised the irony. He sounded just like Arkady after she'd found out about the deal he did with Cayal over her future. That infuriated him almost as much as Brynden's absurd order to kill Warlock. And it forced a decision from him, one he found it surprisingly easy to make. He snatched the sword from Brynden and tossed it onto the tiles with a clatter. 'You know what? The hell with all of you. I'll find another way to stop Lukys and Cayal destroying the world. Without your help. Or maybe I won't. Maybe, if it's the only way to put an end to monsters like you, I ought to go back to Jelidia and give Lukys a hand.'
He turned his back on the Lord of Reckoning and his consort and looked at Warlock, making no attempt to hide his anger or his disappointment. 'Let's get out of here, Warlock.'
The Scard didn't need any further encouragement. He was probably fighting the urge not to retch on the stench of them, anyway. He fell in beside Declan without a murmur of protest.
They'd not taken more than two or three steps, however, before Kinta called them back. 'Wait, Declan Hawkes.'
Against his better judgement, Declan turned back to look at her. 'What?'
She smiled, picking up her sword and checking t
he blade for nicks before she sheathed it again. 'There is no need for you to leave,' she said. 'Brynden was merely testing you.'
'And I failed the test miserably,' he said. 'I get that. See you around eternity, someplace.'
He turned to leave again, but this time it was Brynden who stopped him. 'Your refusal to kill the Scard means you passed the test, Hawkes, not failed it.'
Declan turned back to stare at them in confusion. 'I beg your pardon?'
'You are immortal, Hawkes, but you have a Scard by your side, willing to aid your cause. He must be gagging on the very stench of you, and yet you command his loyalty enough to send him here to Ramahn to deliver your message for you. That's a loyalty not bought cheaply. Scards are not easily fooled or coerced. You must have some good qualities if he will follow you. That you're not a wanton killer is apparently among them.'
Declan stared at him in disgust. 'But you were quite happy to take an innocent life to find out if I was?'
'When the good of many is at stake, the life of one becomes expendable,' the Lord of Reckoning said with a shrug. 'I have long believed my purpose in becoming immortal would one day be revealed, Declan Hawkes. Perhaps that time is come. There is no greater or nobler purpose, after all, than saving millions of innocent lives from the whim of a madman.'
Declan was tempted to point out that Brynden's very own whim had caused the last Cataclysm, but decided that was a debate they didn't have the time for now. 'You're with me, then?'
Brynden shook his head. 'No, Declan Hawkes, you are with me.'
Declan opened his mouth to object but Kinta never gave him the chance. 'Brynden commands the respect of the other Tide Lords in a way you simply cannot, Declan Hawkes,' she explained. 'They have known you for less than an eye-blink. Brynden, on the other hand, has known them for thousands of years, and they know him.'
'And from what I hear, they're not all that fond of him either, my lady,' Declan reminded her.
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