“This foreknowledge may be enough for us to face them.”
May be enough
. The words sent a chill down Ecko’s spine.
“But – what about the blight?” Amethea said. “We need to be finding a cure.”
“We must comprehend before we can cure,” Nivrotar said. “But our lore is lacking and as yet, we know nothing.”
“And that’s a longer problem,” Triqueta said. “Look at the damage one daemon caused – if Vahl’s family are playing range patrol, then we need to know. And now. We need to know where they are, and where they’re going.” She looked back at the Lord of the city. “We should scout…”
“There may be a better way.” Nivrotar stood looking at the shrivelled Karine. “A way to bring them from hiding, to bring them to us and all unready. To draw them to a place and a time of our choosing and to assess and defeat them. It is a gamble, but a fierce one. And we should show no doubt or fear.” She looked up, held Triqueta’s eyes for a long, considered moment. “Roviarath holds to her freedom, does she not?”
“Yes, my Lord.” Triqueta smiled, a flicker of sunshine. “As far as I know.”
Nivrotar nodded. “Larred Jade is a strong Warden and a good man. You will bear him a message. Are you stalwart enough to ride the winter roads alone?”
“Ride…?” Triqueta blinked, realised the Lord was serious. She snorted.
“Good.” The Lord glanced sideways at the Bard, but his gaze was cold and he didn’t return the look. She said, “Ecko, Triqueta, Amethea, you have earned the gratitude of Amos, and of the world entire. In destroying Maugrim, you saved Roviarath and thus we stand not alone. In destroying Aeona, you halted the crafting of Amal’s creations, and forced Vahl into the open. If and when we come to confrontation, these are victories that will count in our favour. Trust in yourselves – you have might unrealised, and wisdom unseen.”
“Let’s damned well hope so.” Triqueta scratched at her flaking hands. “Or we’re all in the rhez together.”
With a flicker of a smile, Nivrotar came to stand by the broken Karine, the corpse’s dry, open eyes staring empty at the black vaults of the Varchinde’s oldest building.
“Once before, we discussed Amos finding the fighting freemen and women of the Varchinde, and this I have done.” Her eyes flashed. “I have a strong force here, enough to leave the city secure and to muster for a march.”
“A march?” Ecko said. “Can you say ‘overreaction’? Christ, we dunno what or where the Kas – Kiss – even are—”
“No.” The Lord met Ecko’s gaze. “But I know the one thing they cannot resist, the lure that will bring them to our gaze and our weapons both. And by that thing, so they can be led, like a furious child with a favourite toy.” Her smile was amused, pure and cold. The Bard was staring at her now, his eyes burning with question. “We have much knowledge – gleaned from The Wanderer, from the Library, from your own struggles and triumphs, from the Bard’s long returns of seeking, and from my rulership of this city. And I trust it will be enough.”
She turned her hand like a street conjurer, and released a single white feather that drifted gently to the stone floor.
“We have one chance to do this, and if we fail, the Kas will take us all.”
* * *
The Kas will take us all.
Triqueta stood alone, fighting a fear that seemed to wield many blades.
Outside the Lord’s audience hall, the archway was cold; the winter wind came through it hard from the empty terrace. Rain stung like flung stones.
Nivrotar had outlined an impossible plan, an insanity, a wager bigger than anything Triq had ever taken, ever dreamed of. It was crazed beyond words, hung on one single and critical assumption – but she had met Vahl Zaxaar and it made immediate sense. It thrilled her to the core of her soul.
Her message to Larred Jade in Roviarath, that was the easy part. The others—
Behind her, Ecko’s
May be enough
. The words sent a chill down Ecko’s spine.
“But – what about the blight?” Amethea said. “We need to be finding a cure.”
“We must comprehend before we can cure,” Nivrotar said. “But our lore is lacking and as yet, we know nothing.”
“And that’s a longer problem,” Triqueta said. “Look at the damage one daemon caused – if Vahl’s family are playing range patrol, then we need to know. And now. We need to know where they are, and where they’re going.” She looked back at the Lord of the city. “We should scout…”
“There may be a better way.” Nivrotar stood looking at the shrivelled Karine. “A way to bring them from hiding, to bring them to us and all unready. To draw them to a place and a time of our choosing and to assess and defeat them. It is a gamble, but a fierce one. And we should show no doubt or fear.” She looked up, held Triqueta’s eyes for a long, considered moment. “Roviarath holds to her freedom, does she not?”
“Yes, my Lord.” Triqueta smiled, a flicker of sunshine. “As far as I know.”
Nivrotar nodded. “Larred Jade is a strong Warden and a good man. You will bear him a message. Are you stalwart enough to ride the winter roads alone?”
“Ride…?” Triqueta blinked, realised the Lord was serious. She snorted.
“Good.” The Lord glanced sideways at the Bard, but his gaze was cold and he didn’t return the look. She said, “Ecko, Triqueta, Amethea, you have earned the gratitude of Amos, and of the world entire. In destroying Maugrim, you saved Roviarath and thus we stand not alone. In destroying Aeona, you halted the crafting of Amal’s creations, and forced Vahl into the open. If and when we come to confrontation, these are victories that will count in our favour. Trust in yourselves – you have might unrealised, and wisdom unseen.”
“Let’s damned well hope so.” Triqueta scratched at her flaking hands. “Or we’re all in the rhez together.”
With a flicker of a smile, Nivrotar came to stand by the broken Karine, the corpse’s dry, open eyes staring empty at the black vaults of the Varchinde’s oldest building.
“Once before, we discussed Amos finding the fighting freemen and women of the Varchinde, and this I have done.” Her eyes flashed. “I have a strong force here, enough to leave the city secure and to muster for a march.”
“A march?” Ecko said. “Can you say ‘overreaction’? Christ, we dunno what or where the Kas – Kiss – even are—”
“No.” The Lord met Ecko’s gaze. “But I know the one thing they cannot resist, the lure that will bring them to our gaze and our weapons both. And by that thing, so they can be led, like a furious child with a favourite toy.” Her smile was amused, pure and cold. The Bard was staring at her now, his eyes burning with question. “We have much knowledge – gleaned from The Wanderer, from the Library, from your own struggles and triumphs, from the Bard’s long returns of seeking, and from my rulership of this city. And I trust it will be enough.”
She turned her hand like a street conjurer, and released a single white feather that drifted gently to the stone floor.
“We have one chance to do this, and if we fail, the Kas will take us all.”
* * *
The Kas will take us all.
Triqueta stood alone, fighting a fear that seemed to wield many blades.
Outside the Lord’s audience hall, the archway was cold; the winter wind came through it hard from the empty terrace. Rain stung like flung stones.
Nivrotar had outlined an impossible plan, an insanity, a wager bigger than anything Triq had ever taken, ever dreamed of. It was crazed beyond words, hung on one single and critical assumption – but she had met Vahl Zaxaar and it made immediate sense. It thrilled her to the core of her soul.
Her message to Larred Jade in Roviarath, that was the easy part. The others—
Behind her, Ecko’s
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