A Thread in the Tangle

by Sabrina Flynn

  “The other is hidden,” Chaim answered gravely. “And although I don’t question your motives, I hesitate to tell you for obvious reasons.”

  “Allow me to paint a suggestive picture for you. This Wise One has been pushing for the Order to support a new Thane who has arisen in the South. Tharios has persuaded the Circle to support this Thane—against my recommendation.”

  “I heard the Thane united the fragmented kingdom.”

  “Yes, but I have had visions of war. I believe the Thane, Lachlan, was in possession of one of the end caps, or had knowledge of its location, and in exchange for it Tharios peddled our Order like a whoremonger. Regardless, a flame will rise from the South and the West will burn. Death howls in the sky, Chaim, which leads me to believe that Tharios may know where the third piece is.”

  Chaim shook his head. “The stave can be used with only one of the end caps.”

  “Then what’s the second one for?”

  “One end has the power to bind anything not of this realm, and the other can open a Runic Gateway. What good is a binding enchantment if you have nothing to bind?” Marsais inhaled sharply. “Do I dare ask?”

  “What do you know of the passages beneath this tower?”

  “You can’t tell me he knows about the tomb? Only Archlords are supposed to know.”

  “And apparently the Guardians,” he quipped. “Tharios is ambitious, Chaim. Capable of wearing any mask he chooses. I have reason to suspect that he is more aware of—memories beyond the River than he has a right to. Tharios will be Archlord, I have foreseen it, and everyone else has for that matter. I’m very unpopular at the moment.”

  “Then make yourself agreeable.”

  “It would not change matters. He will be Archlord.”

  “Then I suggest you kill him, or this realm will surely be lost.”

  “Hmm.” Marsais stroked his braid. “You forget the Tapestry of Time, my friend. A path begins at one spot and it will end at the next. It’s too late to turn back. The sands have already begun to slide, and the rocks will follow, one way or another. Perhaps in my attempt to kill him I will only expedite the end.”

  “I didn’t say attempt, and you’re confusing me again.”

  “No more than I confuse myself,” Marsais chuckled. “We must wait for a Crossroad to reveal itself, Chaim, and choose a direction when the time comes.”

  “In that case, I might as well tell you of the third piece. The end cap in the South is the Gateway enchantment—by far, the more dangerous of the two considering what lies beneath the Spine. The binding part was hidden right under their noses in Fomorri. Have you ever heard of the Finnow Spire?”

  “The Unicorn’s Horn?” he asked, and the Guardian nodded.

  “It’s very well protected.”

  “That’s always relative.”

  “I’ll see who I have nearby to help,” Chaim offered with a heavy sigh. “We’ve had our hands full with other matters of late. If this new threat erupts, I fear it will stretch this realm to its limit.”

  “Hmm, and here I thought you’ve been lounging around Iilenshar bedding Zahra’s Valkryies.”

  “It’s the other way around,” Chaim grinned. “I don’t have much choice where they’re concerned.”

  “O, you poor bastard.”

  “I’m not sure how I’ve survived all these years,” Chaim agreed, but then the god turned serious again. “Keep me informed, will you?”

  “Of course.” Marsais hesitated. “I had a few questions of a more personal nature.”

  “Your wound?”

  “No, not that.” Marsais dismissed it with a wave of his hand before continuing, “My apprentice was raped—”

  “The giant Nuthaanian?” Chaim choked in surprise.

  “No, oh by the gods, no!” Marsais pushed the thought from his mind. “I’ve had a new apprentice for the last two years who happens to be the Nuthaanian’s daughter, and as it turns out, is also a nymph.”

  “You have a nymph for an apprentice?” Chaim asked, carefully, silver eyes narrowing on the other ancient, searching for any sign of escalating lunacy.

  “Has your hearing gone? Didn’t I just say that?”

  Chaim shook his head in disbelief. “Your choice of apprentices never cease to surprise me, Marsais. I thought you were insane when you dragged that crazed berserker from the gutters. To say nothing of the dragon, or Nereus’ daughter, and I try to forget the fiend all together—what was her name?”

  “Saavedra.”

  “Didn’t she try to kill you in the end?”

  “They all generally try to at some point in their apprenticeship,” Marsais shrugged.

  “Has the nymph?”

  “Not intentionally.”

  “How much have you taught her in two years?” Chaim asked, incredulously. “Can she weave the Gift?”

  “Depends if she feels like it.” At the thought of Isiilde, a smile spread across his long lips. “And when she does—it is flawless. She’s as hot-headed as her father, and possesses a strange affinity with fire.” Marsais quickly skimmed over the events surrounding Isiilde, the complications of her ties with Kambe, and her impending sell.

  “I’ve never heard of a nymph like her,” the Guardian admitted when Marsais had finished his tale. “There have been nymphs of power as they are known, but their affinity was for water or earth. Their powers subtle and unobtrusive. There was nothing destructive about them.”

  “Have you ever heard of a nymph fighting her attacker?”

  The Guardian shook his head. “They are usually docile creatures, even when harmed, though they generally attempt to flee.”

  “There’s nothing docile about this one,” Marsais grinned in spite of himself. “You should see her when she’s angry. I question the time I have left in this realm when her eyes flash. That’s why it’s paramount we keep her spirit intact.”

  “If that was the only reason then you would have taken her yourself, my friend. Before any of this happened.” Chaim smiled with knowing eyes.

  Marsais cleared his throat. “What I wanted to ask, before you leave, is if you know how the Eldritch took their Bond? I can’t seem to recall.”

  “I wasn’t an Eldritch,” replied Chaim. “I was too young, but from what I understand, it had to be given freely, from the nymph to the Druid. But in this case, the Bond is no longer hers to give, so Stievin would have to freely pass it to someone else and that doesn’t sound like an option.”

  “No,” Marsais admitted, feeling his heart sink.

  “You’re right about the Law though. Why do you think I didn’t fight it? It serves its purpose. Not only did the Law stop the wars, but it also leaves an opening for the nymph, which few realize.

  “Kambe may hold her attacker responsible, but if someone else takes her Bond from Stievin then the Emperor has no further claim—she is no longer his stolen property. The Laws of Challenge will be observed. The paladins will interpret the Law as you have, and if they don’t, send word to me immediately. You will have Iilenshar’s full support and I doubt the Emperor would be fool enough to defy us.”

  There was that, at least. Marsais nodded in gratitude.

  “You know,” Chaim began slowly, pulling up his gleaming cowl to conceal his features. “If she is as willful as you claim then your answer is quite obvious.”

  “It is?” Marsais tilted his head in puzzlement.

  “Let her choose a man, and hope he is quick with a blade.”

  The mists parted, understanding came into focus, and Marsais slowly closed his eyes with a whisper of regret—What a fool I am.

  “You can’t tell me a nymph who has been Awakened for three months hasn’t had her eye on at least one man.” The Guardian smiled beneath his hood and faded, leaving the Seer with a spark of hope in the middle of nowhere.

  Thirty-nine

  MIND PLUNGED BACK to body with a frisson of shock. Marsais shivered, rubbing his arms briskly as he stepped out of the dissipating circle. With the sluggishn
ess of a body newly emerged from frozen waters, his mind slowly registered another presence, and his eyes followed. Isek had his boots propped on the cluttered desk in the study, snoozing in his chair. A quick gesture from Marsais sent a jolt of energy hurling into his assistant’s shoulder.

  Isek bolted awake. “Blast it! I was resting my eyes.” The wiry little man hopped to his feet, wiping the mud off of the desk. “What were you doing?”

  “Consulting a friend who is well versed in the Law. What time is it?”

  “A bit past the eighth bell.”

  “What news?”

  “The Emperor is furious, but not out of any concern for Isiilde. This will hit his coffers hard. The bidding was up to four hundred thousand crowns and now that Kiln’s pulled out he can’t hope to get that much. The terms have changed and the slate will be wiped clean for the bidding to begin again.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Oenghus has been exiled from Kambe. If he sets foot within the borders then he’ll be executed on charges of treason. The Emperor has summoned the Hound from the Fell Wastes. He’ll champion the Emperor for the right of Isiilde, then take her to Kambe after the duel with Stievin.”

  “Curse it,” Marsais hissed. “I was hoping Soataen would keep her here until Mearcentia and Xaio renegotiated. That would give her some time. When will the Hound arrive?”

  “If the winds favor his mount, then he’ll be here tomorrow morning, but with the storms this season, even a gryphon will have a hard time of it, so perhaps tomorrow afternoon. And what do you mean—time for what?”

  “Let me get Oenghus. I don’t want to explain this twice.”

  ❧

  Steam filled the humid chamber, swirling over scintillating mosaics of soft greens and deep blues, flowing like the ocean’s currents to the circular bath in the center, which was more fountain than tub. Water flowed soothingly from a smaller basin into the larger, stirring the frothy waters with a gentle touch.

  Isiilde sat in the middle of the bubbles, shoulders slumped, head bowed as if her mark moored her in place. Her hair hung limp around her face, and her hand strayed towards her neck, only to be gently pulled away by the giant sitting on the edge.

  “Leave it be, Sprite,” Oenghus said with the haggard patience of one who had repeated himself numerous times. Her delicate hand disappeared beneath the foam, only to reappear a moment later, drawn to the mark like a newly collared slave exploring her chains.

  Marsais stood politely outside his private bath chamber and cleared his throat from the door way. “I need a moment, Oenghus.” At the sound of his voice, Isiilde lifted her eyes, but not her head, meeting his own with a silent plea.

  “Stay here, Sprite. I won’t be far, and don’t touch your neck.” The emerald eyes fell, staring dimly at the surrounding water.

  “So?” Oenghus demanded when he joined Marsais and Isek in the hallway.

  “I did not learn what I hoped for, but my friend suggested another option that I hadn’t considered.”

  “Who’s this friend?” Isek asked.

  “He’s an expert on the Law,” Marsais answered, vaguely. “He confirmed of what we spoke, Oenghus. It isn’t just a loophole; the paladins will uphold it and adhere to the Laws of Challenge. Soataen may issue challenge, but he only has a claim to her if his champion is victorious.”

  “Aye, but that bastard of a swine still has her by a leash and he’s a cook, not a warrior, the Hound will crush him. What good is the Law?”

  “Have you considered letting her choose her Fate? To continue to forge her own path?”

  “What choices does she have?” Oenghus growled. “I said I wouldn’t let another man near her, and I meant it.”

  “So you keep her on another leash—of a different kind. I know what you were planning, and I know what you would have done in the end if everything else failed. Would you have given her a choice before doing the deed?”

  “It would have saved her this pain,” Oenghus whispered, harshly.

  “Life is full of pain, but sometimes a single laugh can make it worth living. You can’t deny her the choice to live.”

  “Whoever she chose would have to stand a chance against the Hound,” Isek inserted into the tense silence.

  Oenghus tugged on his beard. “How long until he’s here?”

  “He’ll be here tomorrow to fight Stievin and take her to Kambe,” Isek replied.

  “She was attacked last evening,” Oenghus said, gnawing on each word. “Her injuries aren’t fully healed and you’d ask her to take another man this soon after?”

  “Oenghus.” Marsais raised his hands in peace. “Her mark is around her neck. Can she feel much worse?” He did not wait for an answer. “Isiilde isn’t four anymore, though I know you can’t see it. She has a keen mind when she chooses. I’m simply asking you to give her a choice in the matter.”

  “Look, the alternative isn’t much better. We can’t be sure if Mearcentia will win the bid. She could be sent to Xaio,” interjected Isek. “Maybe she’s had her eye on someone. It’s not as if the Order is full of common militia here. A few of the Guard and a number of Wise Ones stand a chance against the Hound. I’ll put some thought into it and make a list of our best fighters. If someone strikes her fancy, then we can ask him if he’d be willing to champion her—that is, if she goes through with it.”

  Oenghus stood like a brooding storm cloud, mulling over Isek’s words before he finally relented. “Fine. I’ll talk to her, but I’m also giving her the option to get off this cursed Isle.” He turned his back on the two men, and stalked out, slamming the door in protest.

  Isek leaned against the wall and gave a low whistle. “I don’t think there’s a man on the Isle who wouldn’t risk the Hound for a chance at her.”

  “I’m so glad you’re finding this amusing.” Disgust propelled Marsais into his study, leaving Isek Beirnuckle whistling softly in the hallway.

  Forty

  MADNESS LURKED IN an unobtrusive basket, coiled and waiting for light to touch its long body. The coil was the color of death, of tattered funeral wrappings and dried bone, with two milky eyes lacking the luster of life.

  The Rahuatl took a step back as the dark-haired man reached into the basket, calmly gripping the rope of muscle by its tail, ignoring the sibilant rasp of a creature who had tasted the last breath of many a prey. The snake whipped its head around, searching, seeking the hot blood that tempted its forked tongue.

  As casually as could be, Tharios placed his forearm in front of death. The whipcord struck with ferocity, sinking yellow daggers into the pale skin of the human. The snake jerked, and the human arched his neck, flexing his jaw with the look of a man who had found physical release.

  Humans were strange creatures, N’Jalss mused. Torture them and they howled like infants. Yet for their pleasures, they freely subjected themselves to pain.

  “Have you ever taken ethervenom directly from its source?” Tharios breathed, allowing the snake to continue its piercing intimacies. The Rahuatl said nothing, because only a madman would risk such a thing. “Pure ethervenom affects the mind, but not in the way most believe, rather, it has an enlightening side-effect.” Tharios carefully pulled the Plague viper’s fangs from his forearm and wrapped a pristine cloth around the bleeding bite as he studied the Rahuatl with calculating eyes. “Tell me, N’Jalss, what progress have you made?”

  “None, m’lord.”

  A muscle in Tharios’ jaw twitched, but that was all the displeasure he betrayed. Without a word the sleek Wise One walked over to a large window overlooking the turbulent sea. He stood for long minutes, quiet and contemplating, allowing the knot between N’Jalss’ shoulders to tighten in anticipation. N’Jalss sensed danger, smelt aggression, and knew that the hunt was always with this one. His master was not a man to be crossed.

  “The Shadowed Dawn approaches,” Tharios said at length, stroking the triangular head of the viper slithering over his naked shoulders.

  “I am searching day and night,
m’lord.”

  “All of my plans will be useless if we fail to locate the entrance.” N’Jalss relaxed at the inclusion of ‘we’ meaning that Tharios did not hold the Rahuatl solely responsible for failure.

  “What of Tulipin? Has he held up his end of the bargain?”

  “He has reproduced the scroll—a simple matter for a mind like his. As we speak, it is being shown to the Blessed Order, but I’m afraid it won’t be enough to have Marsais prematurely disrobed.”

  “A toad may bring down a giant,” N’Jalss quoted a proverb of his race. “Our esteemed Archlord digs his own grave with the help of that whining creature.”

  “True,” Tharios admitted. “The nymph has done most of the work for us. It’s almost too easy. If time were not a factor, then I’d let events run their course and assume his throne when the names are drawn. Still—” Tharios trailed off, turning back to the window, where he stood long enough for N’Jalss to grow restless.

  The Rahuatl rubbed his split tongue along the insides of his pointed teeth, cutting the flesh, and wetting his palate for his dinner below the castle. He was so distracted by the scent of blood that he nearly missed Tharios’ next words.

  “Tell me, N’Jalss. If you saw your death coming—would you run from it or fight?”

  “Fight it,” the Rahuatl hissed.

  “A sane man would fight it and a wise man would run, but what of a madman?” Tharios mused, turning to regard the Rahuatl with a tilt of his brow.

  Slow realization crept over N’Jalss and at its conclusion, he dug his claws irritably into the palm of his hand. “Embrace it,” he spat, knowing even as he answered that the Seer had been playing his own game while they played theirs. What Marsais planned, or what he was waiting for, they did not know.

  “Our plans have changed. We must strike before he can see us coming, and I believe the ruined nymph will serve our purposes nicely.”