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CHAPTER EIGHT

The empty lunch trenchers had just been removed and Ahearn was about to wax both poetic and prolific upon the virtues of common food excellently prepared when S’ythreni started as though she’d been stuck with a very long pin.

Alarmed, expecting to see her choking on the pit of a just-finished peach, Ahearn exclaimed, “Some’t went down sideways?” He rose to help—but she angrily waved him into his seat. But her face was pale with shock, not fury. “What is it, High Ears? What has—?”

“He’s gone.” Her whisper was almost a gasp.

“What?” said Ahearn, utterly confused.

“Who?” Umkhira asked, frowning. But Elweyr was simply nodding.

“Who do you think?” S’ythreni snapped.

“Druadaen?” Ahearn asked, knowing that’s what she meant, but too stunned to fully accept it.

S’ythreni plainly understood his question as disbelief rather than confusion: she nodded, jaw rigid.

Talshane had been watching her carefully, quietly. “So: you skeined him, at some point.”

Her eyebrows raised as the strange term came out of his mouth, but she nodded.

“Skeined?” repeated Ahearn helplessly. “Please: in a language I speak! And now!”

It was Elweyr who answered. “All Iavarain sense each other in what they call the Great Weave. However, they can pick out another strand—usually a being from another race—and so bring it into the awareness of the others.”

“And you did this to the Dunarran?” Umkhira asked in a tone both surprised and affronted. “Did he know? Did you ask him?”

“Neither was necessary,” S’ythreni hissed through nearly clenched teeth.

“How dare—!”

Ahearn interrupted, as much to prevent a fight as resolve what, to him, seemed a certain contradiction. “What I want to know is how you did it, High Ears. After all, it’s settled fact that the Dunarran’s mind can’t even be touched or tickled by a dragon.”

She rolled her eyes. “The Great Weave has no need of ‘touching’ or ‘tickling’ a mind to be aware of it.”

Ahearn had risen to his feet without even realizing it, was itching to be out the door, through the portcullis, and on the streets of Shadowmere in order to— Well, what the bloody blazes could he do, anyway, if the daft Dunarran’s meeting with the Lady resulted in his being swept out of existence? “I realize that I am not a vaulting intellect, S’ythreni, but I didn’t ask what skeining isn’t; I asked what it is. And if you can’t or won’t do me the simple courtesy of—”

Talshane leaned forward slowly, calmly. “One of her people explained it this way to me: Think of yourself among thousands of people, all lying half-asleep in an endless field, on the edge of dreaming the same dream.”

Ahearn frowned. “Eh… very well.”

“One of them rouses, gets up, notices a butterfly perched on your arm, points it out, lies down again—and in that moment, your awareness of it becomes part of everyone’s shared almost-dream.”

Ahearn’s awareness was, however, fixed upon making sure his frown did not become a scowl. “I’d hoped for an explanation rather than a long string of metaphors. But if I’ve the right of your meaning, ye’re saying that the dream is the Great Weave and if someone that’s part of it draws attention to something outside it, everyone becomes aware of that ‘something.’”

Talshane was nodding agreeably. “Yes, but without any knowledge of its particulars. Just that it exists.”

Ahearn looked around the room. “Am I truly the only one here who’s never heard of this”—he avoided the word “foolishness” at the last second—“this phenomenon?”

Only Umkhira shook her head. But quite vigorously.

Wonderful: my educational compass matches that of a wilderness-reared Lightstrider. “So when did you, er, ‘skein’ Druadaen?” Sounds vaguely risqué, that.

“Just before we entered the Under of Gur Grehar. Same time I skeined the rest of you.”

“What?” Ahearn exclaimed in a chorus with the other two.

S’ythreni stared at them out of eyes akin to those of a cornered and very irate cat. “If we were separated in those trackless warrens, what plans did you have for finding each other?” She nodded at their silence, looked away. “You are all very welcome, I’m sure.”

Umkhira crossed her considerable arms. “How reliable is the direction you receive from this awareness?”

“With other Iavarain, we know roughly the direction and distance.”

Ahearn leaned on the back of his chair. “And with us?”

S’ythreni shrugged. “The connection of the skeining is much weaker. At best, it’s like a crude compass, but at least we know if the being is still present.”

Elweyr frowned. “And by ‘present’ you mean… ?”

“Anywhere on the face of Arrdanc.”

Ahearn tried to ignore what felt like an icicle piercing his skull from the rear. “You’re saying Druadaen is dead?”

She shook her head. “Death causes a different sensation, like a winnowing of the person’s being, even if the passing is very swift.” She shuddered. “This was abrupt. Here one instant, gone the next.”

Elweyr nodded, said, “It could be some manner of portal”—and glanced quickly at Talshane.

Who raised an eyebrow, setting off an expression that Ahearn read as You’ll not see any tells so easily on me, my friend. Not too proud to publicly admit and add another measure of ignorance to his already ample supply, Ahearn appealed to the Dunarran with an outstretched hand. “Are tales of such portals included in the whisperings about the Lady’s Tower?”

Talshane nodded but held up a hand against Ahearn’s eager, relieved smile. “And to answer the question I’d surely ask in your place, no, I cannot help you in this matter.”

Umkhira’s frown was grave rather than angry. “Why not?”

Elweyr sighed. “Because of who he works for… and why Druadaen is here at all.”

S’ythreni’s low mutter was almost a hiss. “What I think you mean to say is, ‘because Druadaen is not just an exile, but a pariah.’” She turned wide, questioning eyes upon Talshane.

Whose answer began with a sigh. “Well, that’s part of it. But I also have very specific rules about any actions or discussions with Moorax Tower.”

Umkhira crossed again. “Which are?”

Talshane sighed. “Would you care to guess what the first and most important rule is?”

Elweyr looked like he was trying to smile while sipping vinegar. “The first rule is that you must never discuss or reveal the other rules.”

Talshane nodded sadly.

Ahearn leaned in. “But there’s another reason ye’re tossing water on our hopes. It’s because we’re not part of your precious empi—er, Consentium, either. You already know that no appeal from us will budge your superiors.”

“I’d contradict you if I could,” Talshane muttered. “Unfortunately, the only assistance I can provide is unofficial.”

“Such as?”

“To believe me when I say that Corum Torshaenyx has both the freedom and knowledge to help you.”

“And you think he will? The Lady’s lapdog? Smiling to our faces while our friend is either evaporated or whisked off to gods know where?”

Elweyr put a restraining hand on Ahearn’s forearm. “Hear him out. This is not Talshane’s doing. And he’d be unworthy of this post if he couldn’t follow its special rules.”

S’ythreni glared at the mantic. “By the Bole, whose side are you on?”

Elweyr’s eyes closed as he drew in a measured breath. “There aren’t any ‘sides,’ here. Talshane is trying to help us within the limited scope of his permissions. Besides, the Lady has no reason to bring Druadaen all this way just to send him to his doom.” He turned to Ahearn. “And if you really believe that Torshaenyx is anyone’s lapdog, just don’t tell him.”

“Why?”

“Because despite his patience, he might decide to show you just how wrong you are.”

Ahearn grumbled. “Well, I suppose that’s wisdom, right enough… but d’yeh think he’d help us against the will of the Lady?”

Talshane shook his head. “I strongly suspect that helping you is exactly what the Lady will want him to do.” He called out to his orderly, who appeared in the doorway, hand on hilt. “Ureth, please summon Cerven.”

“Here to your office, sir?”

“Yes. Promptly.”

Ahearn leaned toward Elweyr, whispered, “And what the devils does that lad have to do with any o’ this?”

Elweyr shushed him just as quick, light footsteps approached.

Cerven appeared in the doorway. “Yes, Captain Talshane?”

The Dunarran waved him in, faced the others. “Cerven is a very skilled fellow and, as it happens, is free to accompany you. In fact, the sooner he leaves, the better.”

Before Ahearn could object to such a scheme, Umkhira frowned. “Shadowmere is unsafe for him?”

Talshane’s expression was so unchanged it might have been painted on. “Far Amitryea is unsafe for him. Which is why his next assignment is on Ar Navir.”

Ahearn clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Well, not to be difficult, but there’s no certainty that our next port o’ call will be on Ar Navir.”

“No, but I strongly suspect it will be.” Before Ahearn or the others could probe the certainty of Talshane’s assertion, he stood. “I hope your travels are safe. If they bring you back to Shadowmere, you’re always welcome in this place. Now, Cerven will bring you to Corum, who I suspect will be happy—and ready—to help you find your next steps.”


Even before the portcullis was fully closed behind them, Ahearn was striding toward Corum Torshaenyx. “So, Station Master Talshane told us to seek you out. Something about being likely to help us?”

Ahearn had hoped to see some hint of surprise in the other. All he got was a calm nod as they gathered around him. “The Lady would be happy to retain your services as free agents, taking only those assignments which you wish. She is a generous employer.”

S’ythreni stared at his words. “So, you know, already. About Druadaen. That he is… gone.”

He nodded. “I do. He has passed through the Lady’s Mirror.” He answered their stares with a shrug. “It was not unexpected.”

“By which you are suggesting it was voluntary?” Ahearn pressed.

Corum’s patience seemed to wear a bit thin. “The Lady invites no one to their deaths. And she leaves no one adrift whose lives are touched by the Mirror. Hence, her offer of employment.”

“We have no doubt that she is a kind and generous patron,” Elweyr replied, “but our goal is to be reunited with our friend, and I suspect that will not be accomplished by waiting for him here.”

Corum put one hand in a pocket and nodded somberly. “That is almost certainly correct. What do you intend to do, then?”

“Too soon to say,” Ahearn grumbled. “B’damn, we need to figure out the questions we should be asking before we can start coming up with answers. I don’t suppose the Lady would deign to give us a few minutes of counsel?”

“As I understand it, she is drafting a letter that will convey the events concerning your friend and share what she may about the nature of his probable travels beyond the Mirror. You are correct in presuming that waiting here for him will be fruitless. None who leave by way of the Mirror return through it.”

“Why is that?” Umkhira almost snarled.

The Tualaran shook his head. “None know. Should Cerven deliver the Lady’s letter to the Atremoënse?”

“If she means to send it tonight, then yes; all our kit is there. But while we’re on the topic of ships, Talshane said something about this young chap”—he gestured toward Cerven—“heading to Ar Navir. But we don’t know where we’re headed yet. And we don’t even know whose service he’s sworn to: your Lady’s, the Dunarrans, or—?”

“He is not sworn to anyone’s service. However, his mentors are friendly with the Lady and the Dunarrans. And as for his destination, trust me in this: he will be a worthy companion and your paths are likely to steer by the same stars, at least for a while.” He seemed about to add something but became distracted, as if by a distant sound. He smiled, returned his attention to the faces around him. “Now, before I leave, there is one last matter to be settled.”

S’ythreni sounded suspicious. “Which is?”

By way of answer, Corum drew his hand from his pocket and opened it: a silver ring lay upon his palm. They stared at it.

S’ythreni leaned over to study it even more closely. “Is that… sai’niin?” she murmured.

Torshaenyx nodded.

“What is it for?”

“To aid you in your search.”

As they stared at him, Umkhira stared at the ring. “It knows to look for Druadaen?”

He frowned. “Well, it might… but it most assuredly can detect the velene. And the sword. Here.” He held it out to her.

Umkhira almost flinched back, then extended a thumb and a forefinger to gingerly grasp it.

The Tualaran shook his head. “No, just allow it to rest on your palm.”

She did, stared at it, shrugged. “And now?”

“And now, pass it to the next person.”

The ring made its way around the circle, Ahearn being the last and very bored by the whole process. Just what are we supposed to divine from this silly bit of—? “Hey-o! Gets a little warm, now and again, eh?”

Torshaenyx smiled and shook his head. The others did the same, but without the smile. S’ythreni looked a bit disappointed.

Ahearn blinked at the faces hemming him in. “What? I’m to wear it? Is the thing daft? No one could be less a mantic or miracle-weaver than my own poor self!”

S’ythreni glanced at Corum. “Why him?”

But it was Umkhira who answered with an impatient shake of her head. “Because he loves Druadaen best.”

Ahearn started. “Here now, that’s not—!”

Umkhira might not even have heard him. “Though they may seem like filings from different castings of iron, the pull is strongest between them.”

“But—” S’ythreni began.

“Do you truly think you can know better than it does?” Umkhira interrupted, nodding at the ring that sent another warm pulse into Ahearn’s palm. “Besides, what does it matter? It has chosen Ahearn. It needs give no reason. Its actions are determined by its nature. Only creatures that think feel the need to have reasons—usually to create the illusion of order among those parts of the universe which we cannot understand.”

Ahearn was not sure which left him more astounded: that the ring had chosen him, or that Umkhira had so thoroughly bested S’ythreni in an argument. He leaned toward the Tualaran. “So how… how does it work?”

Corum smiled. “All you have to do is wear it. Once Druadaen has returned to Arrdanc, it will urge you to find him.”

Ahearn raised an eyebrow. “It’s a passably big world, y’know.”

“True, but it is attracted to other ‘metal filings’ like itself,” he said, with an appreciative nod to Umkhira for her metaphor. “And now I must truly take my leave.” He started off, Cerven right behind him.

“Was it something we said?” S’ythreni called after him facetiously.

He ignored the jibe. “Once again, were I to stay longer, that might turn out to be an intrusion.”

“Upon whom?” Ahearn asked.

Torshaenyx’s only answer was a glance down an empty alley.

Umkhira frowned. “There’s no one there.”

“Not yet. I bid you safe travels and, truly, good fortune.”

The somber emphasis he put on the last phrase made Ahearn wince. “Sounds like we’ll need it.”

“All of us do, all the time,” Corum answered as he began walking toward a narrow lane opposite the alley he’d glanced at. “But some have more urgent need of good fortune than others.”

“That’s not a comfort!” S’ythreni called after him.

The Tualaran turned, smiled ruefully, shrugged and slipped behind a passing wain sagging beneath a high load of crates. By the time it had moved on, neither he nor Cerven were to be seen.


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