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Chapter Thirty-Three



Druadaen had guessed correctly; their rescuer was indeed Padrajisse. But his hopes to strike up a conversation with her were dashed within a minute.

She dismissed their profuse thanks, asserting brusquely that, at best, she had saved one of their lives and prevented wounds from being inflicted upon the others. Having kept the Kar Krathauans under observation since returning to the city three days ago, she was convinced the group would have dealt them a swift and decisive defeat. As part of the ship’s fighting detachment, they were more imposing in appearance than performance, she asserted. However, she deemed their leader markedly more competent and experienced: he could have proven “difficult,” according to Padrajisse.

As far as the Caottaluran was concerned, her inquiries revealed that he had been in Crimatha for some time, and had probably been involved, at least peripherally, with the poisoning of the Outriders. Ahearn had clapped Elweyr on the shoulder, expressing confidence that his thaumantic friend would have made short work of the fellow. Padrajisse agreed, but then warned the swordsman against making further assumptions given his “obvious ignorance regarding mantics and their arts.” Ahearn recoiled as if struck, but before resentment overtook his surprise, she explained that some Caottaluran mantics were the product of a semisecret group known as the Sanslova, who practiced a unique blend of mancery and alchemy. According to the sacrist, their true danger lay in their ability to gather and share information swiftly over great distances. Elweyr, more circumspect than usual, simply nodded, but Druadaen had the impression that he recognized their name.

Padrajisse was equally blunt in dismissing whatever role she might have had in settling the matter of the poisoned Outriders, claiming that she merely wished to “prove useful” before sailing home. She did not sound eager to return to Corrovane, but she seemed even less sanguine at the prospect of remaining in Crimatha. Or anywhere in Far Amitryea, for that matter.

Druadaen had mentioned that the captain of the Atremoënse intimated that she might welcome the prospect of joining them in their travels through Crimatha. Her first response was a dry grunt. Her second was hardly more reassuring. “Why not?” she had muttered as she rose to return to the temple hosting her in Treve. She flatly refused the group’s offers to escort her, dismissing the notion that the Kar Krathauans might be lying in wait along her route.

The group ate their meal in comparative silence, other than a few trenchant observations on the sacrist’s demeanor. As they returned to the Swiftsure, they decided to seek an early meeting with Talshane. Perhaps he might offer some perspective upon her singular behavior.

* * *

They arrived at the fortlike consulate while the rest of the city was still waking, peering out windows to check the dove-gray skies for hints of the day’s weather. Druadaen was the only one who was not surprised to discover the Dunarrans already up and active. Two guards made brisk patrols around the crenellated parapet of the roof wall. Messengers, both mounted and afoot, were already being dispatched and received. After a brief wait, Druadaen and his companions were ushered in through the main entry—a small portcullis—and led to a windowless room. The doors closed firmly behind them.

“Be seated.” The words were part offer, part order, and had been spoken by a man standing before a wall map at the far end of the room. The cartographic conventions were standard Dunarran, but several peripheral sections had been replaced. They were field draftings, signifying frontier areas that had been recently surveyed in greater detail by Outriders.

The man gestured to a ring of chairs which were, by either chance or design, in just the right quantity for their group. Probably several decades older than Druadaen, he would not have appeared so except to another Dunarran, or possibly, Iavan. Still, he was relatively young to be a station chief, particularly for Shadowmere: the nexus of all Outrider and Courier activities in Far Amitryea. Rather than asking them to explain who they were and their business, he swiftly synopsized his surprisingly complete information on them, then extended an open hand toward Druadaen. “I believe you have something for me.”

Druadaen passed him the secure pouch. He opened it, glanced inside, studied one item intently, then resealed and set aside the pouch. “So,” he said, a smile trying to push up one corner of his mouth, “you had quite a first night ashore, as I hear it.”

Druadaen’s companions stared at him. He held up his hands in denial. “I did not—”

“Outrider Druadaen sent no advance report,” Talshane explained to the others. “I received a full, if unofficial, account from Senior Sacrist Padrajisse.”

“When?” Umkhira blurted out.

“About an hour ago,” he answered. Seeing their looks, he amplified. “She’s a very early riser. And seems to require very little sleep.” He scratched an ear. “She became a bit of a legend among the Outriders here.”

“She is certainly unique,” Druadaen agreed with a small smile.

Talshane answered with one of his own. “Ah, there’s the Courier in you. What’s your unofficial motto, again?”

Druadaen recited it with a rueful smile: “‘Tact unto death.’”

Talshane’s smile widened. “That’s it.” He glanced around the group. “Not a lot of them will admit to it, you know. Makes them sound…”

“Irresolute?” S’ythreni asked impishly.

He laughed. “Something like that. Now, Druadaen, since you’ve discharged your dogsbody-duty”—Talshane glanced at the hide dossier—“maybe you’ll tell me who you annoyed back home?”

“Sir?”

“Well, someone was irritated enough to send you halfway across the world to deliver routine messages.”

Druadaen sighed. “I don’t even know who gave the order, let alone why.”

Talshane grinned. “A common refrain. I hear the same from at least half of the others that are sent out here on similarly pointless errands.”

“Told you so,” Elweyr muttered sideways at Druadaen.

Talshane nodded. “You seem well informed, Master Elweyr. Of course, your years as an alchemist in Menara certainly afforded you ample opportunities to see how the Consentium operates. Which reminds me: Senior Archivist Shaananca sent along a request”—he tapped the secure pouch—“to help locate your parents. I shall start that process as soon as I return to Shadowmere.”

Elweyr looked wary and stunned, showing no sign that he might respond. Before his odd silence could become uncomfortably long, Druadaen shifted to the reason for their visit. “We are eager for any advice you might have about working with Padrajisse. We will be traveling with her soon.”

Talshane grinned. “So she mentioned.” His smile became meditative. “Frankly, she’s still something of a mystery to me. But she is utterly reliable and utterly determined. She is also utterly candid, to the point of not merely insulting others but injuring her own hopes.”

Ahearn’s frown was more sad than concerned. “Sounds as though you’ve a specific instance in mind, Master Talshane.”

“Just ‘Talshane,’ if you please. No, I’m not thinking of any single instance so much as comments and accounts that came to me unsolicited.”

“From whom?” S’ythreni asked.

Talshane shrugged. “Colleagues in Shadowmere, some in her own temple.” He leaned his elbows on the arms of the chairs, regarded them over intertwined fingers. “Are you familiar with her god, Thyeru?”

“One of the Helper pantheon,” S’ythreni murmured, as if she wasn’t sure. “The deity of law and oaths.”

Talshane nodded. “Padrajisse was determined to become a sacrist before her epiphanesis. She was encouraged by her paternal grandmother, who was from one of the high orthodoxy sects that prevail in Mihal’j.”

When only Druadaen showed some hint of understanding Talshane’s implication, Elweyr explained: “Although worship of the Helper pantheon is considered strict in Corrovane, it’s permissive compared to the Desert Orthodoxies.”

Talshane nodded. “Padrajisse wasn’t exactly a pariah in her youth, but she didn’t rise up through the ranks as quickly as her skills warranted. According to her fellow Thyeru sacrists, she’s the oldest person ever to set out on a first pilgrimage. And of all places, she chose Shadowmere.”

“Why do you say, ‘of all places’?” Umkhira asked. “Is Shadowmere a very holy place for her god?”

S’ythreni cocked her head. “From what I’ve heard, Shadowmere isn’t associated with anything holy.”

Talshane opened his hands into an explanation. “An old legend claims that the original patron deities of Shadowmere were twins: one the god of swords and one the god of betrayals. But, despite being immortal, their names will remain forever unknown, because within an hour of their birth they always kill each other. Over and over and over again.”

S’ythreni sounded both sardonic and amused. “I suspect their temples were a bloody mess. Literally.”

“I doubt any temples were ever built to those gods,” Talshane said with a shrug. “But the legend captures the character of Shadowmere, and Padrajisse made her pilgrimage there to change it.”

“Sounds like she was spoiling for a fight she couldn’t win,” Ahearn mused.

Talshane sighed. “She accrued a fearsome reputation among the foes of Thyeru. But she accrued an equally fearsome reputation among the other Helper sacrists in the city.”

Umkhira frowned. “So in defeating many enemies, she made even more among her friends.”

Talshane nodded. “In Shadowmere, you either learn how to walk a very fine line—or you may lose your legs.” He leaned back, a melancholy look on his face. “So when they learned I was heading down here—”

“—they sent her along to ‘help,’” S’ythreni concluded.

“I suspect that was their thinking. But rest assured: she will be a good comrade, whatever lies before you.” He looked around the circle. “But you haven’t mentioned what brought all of you here to Far Amitryea. Now he”—Talshane pointed at Druadaen—“hardly had a choice. But since the rest of you look like fortune-seekers, whatever he means to do next must sound profitable. And that would be…?”

Druadaen’s four companions looked away, embarrassed. He shrugged and sighed. “Giants,” he said. “I’m looking for giants.”

“Are you now?” Talshane’s eyes may have twinkled as he leaned his chin into a palm.

Druadaen stared. “Padrajisse told you.” He shook his head; she had assured him she wouldn’t mention his quest.

Talshane grinned amiably. “Well, don’t take her to task for it. She was quite sure that I already knew.”

“Why?”

“Well, because you were in Treve to deliver a secure pouch, she thought all your business here was official and that I’d already know about it. Including your ‘mission’ to locate giants.”

“Here?” laughed Ahearn. “Why? Does she think there are giants wandering about the streets of Treve?”

“No,” Talshane admitted, “she thought you were talking about the ones just south of Crimatha.” The room was suddenly silent. He smiled at Druadaen. “Sometimes fortune smiles on seemingly forlorn enterprises. You see, if you had met me in Shadowmere, I would have sent you here, anyway.”

“So…there are giants here?” Ahearn asked incredulously. “Well, near-abouts, at least?”

Talshane smiled and nodded. “About fifty leagues to the south. Apart from the far wilds of Northern Omthrye, it’s the only part of Far Amitryea they’re known to inhabit.”

Druadaen glanced toward the map on the wall. “Fifty leagues is well over Crimatha’s border, isn’t it?”

The station chief shrugged. “Crimatha is bounded by land that has slipped back into wilderness. So its borders aren’t as fixed as our cartographers would like. If King Arvanak agrees to protect an area’s farmers and they agree to pay taxes to the Crown, then you are in Crimatha. Otherwise, you’re not.

“Now, let’s take a look at those maps. Recent events acquainted me with the northeast hills and forests, but I’m sure I can find a few Outriders who are familiar with the southwest. And maybe they can point to some likely places to find giants…or at least, show you places where you won’t.”


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