Chapter Sixty-One
As the square-master made its final approach to the main wharf at Tlulanxu, Druadaen watched the city’s skyline grow. He’d seen it from this perspective so many times as a homebound Courier, and he’d had many reactions to the sight: relief, comfort, pride, excitement, even a renewed wonder at its majesty and beauty. But this day, it evoked a new feeling: foreboding.
They docked at the very end of the longest pier but were not cleared to debark until an armed guard arrived. And it was not the watch or even the city guard; it was a section of Legiors. They came aboard and welcomed Alcuin and Varcaxtan and the others who had been with them at The Nidus. Half of the Legiors escorted them away. Druadaen’s uncle turned to look for him, spotted him at the gunwale, was about to wave, but then reconsidered and nodded instead.
Shortly after, the second officer of the remaining Legiors came aboard and asked to speak to Druadaen and his “associates.” His manner was not unfriendly but nor was it welcoming. He explained that Tlulanxu was being guarded more closely these days and that Druadaen’s companions would be taken by skiff to the docks in the foreigners’ quarter.
Druadaen interrupted, asked the officer to clarify: by foreigners’ quarter, was he referring to the trade quarter? The officer answered in the affirmative, explaining that the terms were used interchangeably now. Druadaen and the group exchanged glances: when they had left, the term “foreigners’ quarter” had only come out of the mouths of bigots and newly arrived persons who used it because it was a common label in other ports. And now, it was in Tlulanxu as well, apparently.
Druadaen asked if there was space for him in the Outrider’s service hostel, but the second officer shook his head. Druadaen had already been assigned a private room at the Waiting House. He felt a chill move down his spine as he heard those words. The “Waiting House” was government and military slang, a shorter and somewhat sardonic reference to the House for Visitors Without Credentials. It was a clean and safe residence for persons claiming to have official business with the Consentium, but who had no standing with it or means of authenticating their ostensible bona fides. Typically, such persons spent a period of time there as their identities and business were verified: hence, the Waiting House.
But it was also the city’s accommodations for credentialed foreigners who had been asked to remain in Tlulanxu pursuant to the resolution of an accusation against—or investigation concerning—them. Not quite house arrest, but still, a close cousin of it.
Druadaen asked if he was currently facing charges of some kind, or had been named in an investigation. The second officer had no knowledge of that. Druadaen then inquired about using the resources of the Archive Recondite. The second officer again had no direct knowledge, but informed him that it was regrettably closed. Druadaen asked to send a message to Shaananca, to inform her that he had arrived. The officer indicated that Shaananca was also currently in a private room at the Waiting House and, like him, would only be receiving official visitors.
Druadaen was preparing to ask about the possibility of sending written messages beyond the premises, but the second officer held up a palm. He patiently explained that he really had no other information regarding Druadaen’s circumstances or restrictions and was in no position to speculate upon them. His only other relevant knowledge was the content of his orders: that he was to give Druadaen ample time to say his goodbyes, gather his belongings, and then depart with the remaining escort of Legiors. With that, the second officer nodded cordially and returned to the dock.
When he was gone, the others gathered around, offered subdued wishes of good luck and assurances that they would be waiting in the trade—well, “foreigners’”—quarter for as long as it took to get “this nonsense” sorted out.
Ahearn lingered behind, and once the others were out of earshot, he muttered, “Library closed, and yer auntie in a comfy cage next to yours?” He shook his head. “You know, I think I feel the brush of a spider’s leg behind all this.”
“The same spider whose web we tweaked in Vallishar?”
“Who knows? But if it’s not, then this world is broken in another way.” Ahearn answered Druadaen’s quizzical look: “If it isn’t the same spiderweb, then either Arrdanc is thick wit’ ’em, or the gears which keep the world spinning are driven more by coincidences than causes.”
Druadaen nodded. “You just might be right about that.”
“About which?”
Druadaen shrugged. “Either. Both. There’s no way to know which answer—if any—is the right one.”
Ahearn shrugged back. “It’s of a piece with how we’re born and how we die: filled with uncertainty.”
“Ahearn, you are beginning to sound like a philosopher.”
“Bite your tongue and swallow it fer good measure!”
Druadaen laughed and, mindful that they might be watched, kept his tone and actions jovial as he said, “Take my sword with you. I left it atop your gear.”
“What? Why?”
“Because I’m sure they’ll impound it for the duration of this ‘nonsense.’ And even if I’m cleared, they might not give it back. Either way, I’d want you to have it.”
“I suspect ‘it’ might have something to say about that.” He scowled at Druadaen’s uncertain frown. “Don’t play the fool. We all saw what happened on Imvish’al, especially that little dance you did with it in the pool. That dragon knew what it was about when it put you and the blade together. And remember its words? He couldn’t give it to you because it wasn’t his to give.” Ahearn glanced at the bracelet that was the velene’s present form. “Same thing your magic aunt said about your silver beastie.” He shook his head. “Don’t know what all of them see in you, but I doubt I could change their minds.”
Druadaen smiled, nodded. “Just don’t tell anyone about the sword.”
Ahearn blinked. “And just how stupid d’ya think I am? Of course I won’t!” His eyes and tone became serious. “Don’t you worry; I’ll keep it for you. As long as it takes.”
* * *
In a capital where the rush and press of governing both a teeming city and an expansive nation combined to ensure that things never happened quickly, Druadaen rose the next day to discover four Legiors waiting outside his isolated room at the Waiting House. Politely, but firmly, they informed him that he was wanted at the Propretorium and hoped that noon would be convenient. Which was the polite Dunarran way of informing him that they would make sure he was present at the required time if they had to tie him hand and foot and carry him there bodily.
However, rather than being led to the Rotunda in which the Propretors met to deliberate and vote, his escorts steered him to one of the smaller meeting chambers housed in an attached building. As the door opened, and he faced the room, he discovered he recognized almost everyone inside from important public events during his days in the capital.
There were three Helper hieroxi present: Paramon of the temple of Unabasis, Sutaenë of Adrah, and Olcuissan of Amarseker. Alcuin IV was one of the two secular authorities in the chamber, the other being Wynclynran, Propretor and First Advisor for External Affairs, the Consentium’s de facto senior intelligencer.
There was a sixth person he did not recognize, sitting on the same side of the table as the two secular members. She quickly discerned his uncertainty and introduced herself. “I am Seer Temmaê,” she said with a sitting bow.
So, not just a representative of the Ar: a Seer. And not sitting with the temple leaders.
But before he could spare a thought on what that might signify, Hierarch Sutaenë folded her hands on the long table and nodded for him to come forward and stand at the small lectern across from them. Once there, she asked, “You are Druadaen, son of Tarthenex, yes?”
“Yes, Hierarch Sutaenë.”
“And do you know why we have called you to meet with us?”
Druadaen frowned. “I have not been told what it involves. But I have reflected upon what it almost certainly does not involve.”
“I am interested in hearing that,” Paramon muttered.
At an approving nod from Sutaenë, Druadaen complied. “I have had no remit or orders from the Consentium since delivering a secure pouch to Talshane, the OEC station chief for Shadowmere, then in the Crimathan capital of Treve. So logically, I could not have failed to carry out orders since I have not been given any. Also, to my knowledge I did not violate my oath of service. If I had, the Consentium’s military code would have brought a warrant against me, with charges specified, and any hearing such as this would be convened in a Legion headquarters. So I must presume that I have not been called here in regards to a military matter. Or have I overlooked something?”
“I can find no flaw with your conclusions,” Sutaenë said with a nod. “Go on.”
“Well, if the matter is not military, then it should be civil. But again, to my knowledge, I have committed no crimes. I reside fair confidence in that conjecture since, again, no charges have been brought against me and this is not a civil court. So it can’t be that either, can it?” He waited for confirmation.
Sutaenë nodded. “Again, you are correct.”
“Well then, it must have something to do with my questions.”
“It may,” Paramon agreed, leaning forward, “but you have left out a separate category of potential offenses: crimes against the state, some of which may have been committed before you joined the Outriders or even the Couriers.”
Although he had a pretty fair idea of what was coming, Druadaen asked, “And what crime am I supposed to have committed against the Consentium?”
Sutaenë answered before Paramon could reply. “There is no specific crime being considered at this time. But you have been close or connected to three proven or suspected Tsost-Dyxos attacks on our territory. Some members of this board wished to hear your response to this strange circumstance.”
Druadaen was suddenly glad for the vision of Shaananca and Alcuin II discussing this very matter, now three weeks past. He was not sure how he would have reacted had he been surprised—not to say ambushed—by the news that the S’Dyxoi might have been behind the attack on the farm. “My response is that all three attacks are surprising and deeply worrying. And in the first case, personally disturbing, if the attack that killed both my parents was indeed their doing.”
Paramon leaned forward. “So, although your name figures in all three reports, you still deny involvement in the planning or execution of these attacks?”
“Categorically.” Druadaen stared at the hierarch of Unabasis, whose quick glance away indicated he’d understood the message behind the look: I was nine, you cretin. But Paramon’s query had been useful to him, since it left no doubt that he was, as Druadaen had already suspected, the most hostile of his questioners.
“So,” resumed Sutaenë, “let us turn to the questions—or rather, explorations—you have conducted on your own, Outrider Druadaen. Please describe them and explain your purpose for undertaking them.”
Druadaen met her eyes. “Are you not already aware of them?”
Temmaê nodded. “We are. But they should be entered into the record. Besides, we have only the notes you gave to Captain Firinne to convey to the Archive Recondite. They are rich in observational detail but offer little comment on the impetus behind the investigations. Also, it is our understanding that you may have completed even more of them since.”
“That is true, Seer Temmaê, but a sufficient answer to your question could prove…quite lengthy.”
“We are aware of that,” Sutaenë assured him. “Please proceed.”
Which he did, adding his observations on the dragon to those of the Bent and the giants. At the end, he surveyed the faces arrayed before him. “However, I suspect it is my most recent investigation which was the catalyst for this hearing.”
Paramon leaned forward again. “Oh? Why? If you wish to recant your findings, this is the time to do so.”
Druadaen stared at him again. “Hierarch Paramon, how may I recant a position when I have not declared one? But I can answer your question about why I suspect my findings on Saqqaru are the issue of greatest concern to this forum.
“Most simply, the three investigations into contradictory phenomena in other species only imply inconsistencies in the world around us. But my findings on Saqqaru explicitly contradict the official history of that nation, as well as the accounts of Arrdanc’s age and conformation that predominate among its many religions.”
Sutaenë nodded slowly. “Yes. Tell us about those now.”
“I shall synopsize, since I have already submitted my findings and sources to the Propretoriate Archive.” He proceeded to share only the most salient facts and findings and concluded with a summary review of the precise and plentiful supporting evidence that had been found at Imvish’al.
Temmaê nodded her thanks when he was done and explained, “That was very helpful, as we had little time to read your extensive reports. However, I believe you cited another factor that strongly suggests Saqqaru appeared suddenly: that its language has no etymological overlap with any other on Arrdanc. And yet, that country’s own earliest records reveal that, from that point forward, it was fully developed both commercially and culturally, possessed a lexicon that included place names for the other nations and cities of Arrdanc, and had a vocabulary consistent with a sophisticated understanding of sciences and engineering.”
“The state of a language hardly constitutes empirical evidence,” Paramon snorted.
Druadaen nodded. “I agree. That is why I did not include this element in my review. However, it is exactly what one would expect to discover if Saqqaru was not present on our world originally, but was then suddenly added with sufficient ‘evidence’ of its having always been there.”
“Regardless of what is being asserted,” Paramon persisted, turning away from Druadaen, “it is unconscionable that an impressionable young person should have had access to the documents which set him on this path. Those records should have been kept in the Reserved Collection.”
“They were,” Temmaê replied mildly.
Paramon rounded on Druadaen. “And so you violated the permissions of your position at the Archive?”
“No, I did not work in the Reserved Collection for many years. That occurred later, and then, only under special circumstance.”
“What special circumstances are you referring to?”
“When I was given leave to work there, it was primarily to retrieve and then replace tracts required by elderly scholars who found the stairs too taxing. This did not require entering the collection itself, only depositing and picking up various references for the scholar. I was only allowed to enter the collection in later years.”
Alcuin jumped in before Paramon could respond. “The decision to permit him to do so arose from a recommendation put forth by the secular authority that oversees the administration of the entire Archive: Senior Archivist Shaananca.”
“Who should be held to answer for her disastrously capricious decision.” Paramon turned toward Druadaen. “You may thank her unconscionable—and suspicious—dereliction of duty for your present unhappy circumstances, young Outrider.”
“Actually,” Alcuin objected mildly, “the final decision on that proposition rested with my grandfather.”
Sutaenë’s eyes widened as she looked sideways at him. “What did you say?”
“Senior Archivist Shaananca did not act autonomously in this matter. Because it was unprecedented, she put her recommendation before the highest secular authority: Propretor Princeps Alcuin II.”
“And he permitted it,” Paramon said, sounding both disgusted and angry.
“Obviously.” Alcuin IV’s smile was chillingly mirthless. “Perhaps I should summon him to these proceedings? To explain himself?”
Paramon seemed to be considering that offer when Sutaenë leaned forward and stated, “I am sure it will not be necessary to review all the recommendations and permissions that pertain to this matter.”
Temmaê spread one hand upon the table before her. “I am not sure that I agree. It seems that there is still such resistance to Outrider Druadaen’s later report on Saqqaru that now the focus has shifted to whether his own, earliest researches in the Reserved Collection were lawful. I propose that we settle both matters at once.”
“And how would you propose to do that?” Sutaenë asked.
“By speaking to a person who has spoken with the Hidden Archivist, who has empowered him to act as his representative before this forum. I refer to Tharêdæath of Mirroskye.”
Sutaenë frowned. “This matter concerns Dunarra, not the Iavarain.”
“A point of order,” Alcuin IV put in. “The Reserved Collection was established in conjunction with the Great Pool of Mirroskye, in part to provide a means of controlled access to the Hidden Archivist. Who, by the terms of that agreement, must be an appointee of the Great Pool, and who must be apprised of, and confirm, all applications to the Reserved Collection for obvious security reasons.”
“An outdated agreement that is a vestige of a dead alliance,” Paramon muttered.
“Perhaps you would wish to raise that topic with Tharêdæath.”
“Perhaps I might, but I don’t see him here.”
Temmaê smiled. “That can be remedied.” She turned to Sutaenë. “Tharêdæath is waiting in the corridor outside to answer any and all questions pertaining to these various matters.”
Sutaenë stared at her. “Why was I not informed?”
Temmaê’s smile did not change. “Since these proceedings are, as Outrider Druadaen correctly pointed out, unofficial, it seemed unduly formal to present a list of potential speakers. Just as it was apparently deemed unnecessary to ensure that the Outrider was given advance notice of the suspicions connecting the Tsost-Dyxos to his parents’ deaths.”
Gnarled Wynclynran leaned over to look at Sutaenë. “If you want the most credible source with the most complete information on the Reserved Collection, then insofar as Senior Archivist Shaananca is unavailable in the Waiting House, you will want to speak with the Hidden Archivist’s designated spokesperson.”
Sutaenë glanced down the table at the other hieroxi. Only Paramon scowled his disapproval. “Against my better judgment, I will allow Tharêdæath to speak—for the sake of this forum’s unity.”
Sutaenë gestured to the Legiors posted by the door, and they ushered in the Uulamantre.
Tharêdæath looked as relaxed and composed as when Druadaen had chatted with him in his sitting room in Herres, but his eyes belied that demeanor; they were quick, assessing.
“Welcome, esteemed Tharêdæath,” Sutaenë began, leaving out the proper Iavan honorific that he was due as an Uulamantre. “You are familiar with our inquiry, I believe?”
“I am honored to speak before you and am familiar with the inquiry. I presume you wish me to attest to what I know of the evidence Outrider Druadaen has unearthed in relation to the origins of Saqqaru?”
“We do, Til’A’Tharêdæath,” Alcuin answered, the honorific earning a small nod and smaller smile from the Uulamantre. “Speak at your leisure.”
“I shall be brief, which I trust shall not be heard as being terse. In short, Outrider Druadaen has proven independently what the Uulamantre have always known: that before the Cataclysm that followed the events recounted in Costéglan Iavarain, there was no continent of Saqqaru. And if its people colonized it from some other region on Arrdanc, then we have no record of their prior existence nor of their migration. And I must point out that before the Sundering, my race sailed all four corners of the world and made—and kept—detailed records on the other races we encountered.”
“Are you claiming you could not have overlooked any?”
“No, Hierarch Sutaenë. The longer one lives, the more one avoids using the word ‘impossible.’ But it would be very, very unlikely for us to have overlooked such a profoundly different culture that would also had to have significant seafaring capabilities to effect a migration to the new landmass.
“However, its original absence from the surface of this world is indisputable. I do not have the Hidden Archivist’s complete recall of the sources, so cannot chant them for you. However, if you are interested, he has indicated that he will ensure that an embassy of your scholars would be welcomed in Mirroskye, where they would be permitted access to our archives.
“The Hidden Archivist has also asked me to convey that, between his long personal knowledge of Shaananca and having overheard comments by his captors at The Nidus, he rejects any suggestions or suspicions that she might have been in collusion with, or even unwittingly manipulated by, them. On the contrary, they considered Senior Archivist Shaananca a singular threat to their plans.”
“Which were what?” Paramon asked, leaning forward quickly.
“It is not my place to say,” the Uulamantre said, lowering his eyes slightly. “Besides, I believe that as the First Advisor for External Affairs, Propretor Wynclynran would have at least as much information on that matter as I do. I may only say that the Hidden Archivist swears on his kin and his tree that Shaananca is not to be suspected of any wrongdoing.”
“And Outrider Druadaen?” asked Olcuissan impassively.
“He did not say.”
“Because he did not know?”
“I suspect it is because he refused to dignify such a theory by deigning to respond to it.”
Sutaenë and Paramon both bristled. Druadaen resisted the urge to bite his lip. There it was: the infamous Iavarain proclivity for responding to specious comments with serene but biting disdain.
Paramon did not fail to exploit Tharêdæath’s slip in decorum. “I wondered how long it would take our esteemed guest to curl a lip at his barbaric hosts. Even though we are supposed to accept him in lieu of the actual authority on such matters.” He crossed his arms. “I am not disposed to accept the word of anyone but the Hidden Archivist himself.”
Wynclynran looked down the table at him with dead eyes. “Hierarch, you are certainly aware that the Hidden Archivist cannot emerge from hiding, ever. And certainly not after being seized by the Tsost-Dyxos.”
“I am aware of all of that. But that does not bear upon whether I deem the input of an intermediary reliable enough for admission as evidence.”
Olcuissan’s voice was crisp. “As you have already been reminded, this is not a trial.”
“No, but it should be.”
“Enough,” Tharêdæath said quietly, but with such firmness that the room became silent. “I have come at the behest of various members of this forum. However, I have been questioned as though I am a suspect, rather than a friend.”
“I presume you have a point to make?” Paramon speculated with faux diffidence.
Druadaen glanced at Sutaenë. So did Alcuin, Wynclynran, and Olcuissan, waiting for Sutaenë to censure, or at least mildly rebuke, Paramon.
But instead, she said, “Perhaps you find our courtesy strained because you claim to have known the ‘truth’ about Saqqaru all along. Assuming, that is, that your account of its origin is any more accurate than the ones brought to us by this Outrider.”
The room was utterly silent. Druadaen suspected it was because, like him, they were still wondering if they had heard correctly: that the senior leader of the largest single temple in the Helper pantheon—Adrah—had just implied an august emissary from Mirroskye warranted brusque treatment because his people had not conveyed the information they had on Saqqaru’s origins. Information that, it was suggested, was either the product of mistake or mendacity.
Alcuin recovered from his surprise first. “Til’A’Tharêdæath—”
But the Uulamantre held up a long-fingered hand. “No, my friend. I cannot let this pass. Hierarch Sutaenë, you know the twinned history of our peoples since the Cataclysm. You know that the Iavarain do not insist on helping where their help is not wanted. Or where it is received with doubt and resentment, as has been the increasing reaction of your human temples. With some notable exceptions,” he added, glancing at Olcuissan. “We have accommodated your fears and restrictions. We have allowed ourselves to be muzzled so that our words would not be at odds with the cosmology and creation accounts promulgated by your deities.
“But there comes a point where our input becomes pointless if your restrictions leave us unable to share salient facts, or alert you to dangers, that live in our memories but not in yours. Yet some of your hieroxi have asserted that it is only those memories and knowledge that make it acceptable to ‘tolerate’ creedless beings like ourselves. We have found the inherent contradiction baffling, to say the least.
“But now, it seems you no longer value our memories at all because you no longer believe them.” He leaned slightly toward Sutaenë, his eyes narrowed, questioning.
Sutaenë was visibly sweating as she forced herself to say, “There is considerable dispute within my temple, and others, over such harsh opinions of the Iavarain. But in the matter of the origins of Saqqaru—and therefore, the world—there is no room for debate. Our gods tell us one thing; your memories and records claim another. Our duty as consecrants is as clear as the creedlands we walk every night.”
Tharêdæath nodded sadly. “We repeatedly advised your forebears on the inevitability of this very conundrum and how it might affect their temples. In time, we predicted, the truth of the world would emerge, even if we agreed to remain silent.” He shrugged. “We were ignored.”
“They were fools to even listen to your godless fables!” Paramon shouted. “My temple is done with their ways. And with you. And so are the others that I represent. We will not have you tree-birthed perversities steering us from the shadows. Not any longer!”
Tharêdæath straightened and shook his head. “We are at an end, then.”
“Til’A’Tharêdæath,” Alcuin said, standing, “this is neither the will nor the word of the Dunarran people. This is—”
“This is,” the Uulamantre interrupted sadly, “the holy writ of your temples, which have the ear of your people. I am sorry, my friend, but we must take our leave. And the Hidden Archivist shall be departing with us. No, do not object: this possibility was foreseen by the Great Pool. I am bidden to inform you that as of this moment, the covenants that have bound our peoples are deemed undone.”
Sutaenë stood too. “Til’A’Tharêdæath,” she said, finally using the proper honorific, “surely there must be a way to resolve your dissatisfaction with our alliance. Surely we can persuade you to—”
But Tharêdæath silenced her with a slow shake of his head. “It is your own intransigence which has brought this to pass. It lies within your scope—and only yours—to correct it. For it is not we who have changed; it is you.” He bowed, smiled sadly at Alcuin, then Druadaen, and then left without a backward glance.