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Chapter Sixty



The first three days at sea were so filled with sudden gusts of rain and confounding winds that Druadaen and his companions were ordered to remain below. Not that they would have been disposed to stretch their legs in the squalls that rolled over the ship unpredictably, but it did leave everyone but the two “bookworms”—he and Elweyr—both bored and tense.

However, the weather seemed to be relenting when they ate the third dinner of their voyage and then hastened to their bunks. The prospect of sleeping without being tossed out of them several times during the night was too welcome to put off.

For Druadaen, the current voyage had brought fairly normative dreams of his old home, probably because that was where they were bound. Or possibly, they were reminiscent ripples caused by the sudden reappearance of his uncle and the reminder of all the questions about his parents, their extended family, and their life that had never been answered.

In the middle of a dream which included bits of the discussion he’d overheard between Alcuin and Shaananca years ago, the scene suddenly changed. Shaananca was present once again, but Alcuin IV had been replaced by his grandfather Alcuin II, the Propretor Princeps himself. And the detail and immediacy of the experience told him that this wasn’t a dream at all: it was another vision of a distant occurrence.

Behind Alcuin, the sun was just setting over Tlulanxu’s unmistakable skyline. The Propretor turned away from the window and gazed at Shaananca. “Is there any possible connection?”

Shaananca was silent, then shrugged.

Alcuin II shook his head. “I am not trying to implicate the lad, you know. Or you. But the hieroxi…Well, they mean to find a common thread if one exists.”

“Or if they can invent one which satisfies their limitless appetite for uncovering conspiracies.”

Alcuin nodded impatiently. “Yes, but in this case, we have to consent to an investigatory forum, at least. If we refuse, they will have strong grounds to accuse us of acting out of favoritism.”

“That would be absurd.”

“Yes. You know that. I know that. I daresay some of them know it as well. But Druadaen’s name has been connected with all three of the most blatant attacks on or near our borders, and all within the last twenty years. First the one in the Connæar Protectorate, then one right here in Tlulanxu’s harbor and streets, and now the Hidden Archivist plucked from an Iavan ship within sight of our shores.”

“It is ridiculous for them to even suggest that he—”

“Shaananca. It doesn’t matter. His name is associated with all three attacks, and all carried out by Tsost-Dyxsos.”

Shaananca stiffened. “There was never a final determination that they were the ones who attacked the farm.”

“No, but you’re the one who argued that the methods all pointed to S’Dyxoi. Or have you changed your assessment?”

Shaananca shook her head angrily.

Alcuin nodded sadly. “It’s not fair to the lad, but life doesn’t trouble itself with such moral niceties. And there’s no way for us to stop the temples from making the most of his coincidental connection with the attacks.”

Shaananca frowned. “Unless it’s not a coincidence at all.”

Alcuin leaned back. “Are you saying you think the lad is involved?”

“Of course not. But there’s another possibility: that he’s a means to an end.”

Alcuin steepled his fingers and thought. “You mean that he’s simply a convenient cat’s-paw for the S’Dyxoi to increase the friction between us and the temples? Isn’t that a bit too convenient?”

She shrugged. “The hieroxi may be right: that three times can’t be coincidence. But the plot is more subtle: to give the temples a pretext to mount a politically divisive investigation.”

Alcuin was nodding. “The Tsost-Dyxoi would like nothing better than to drive a wedge between us and our sacrists. But there’s a missing piece: How do they make sure that the investigation occurs? They can’t leave that to chance; they’d have to suborn—”

Shaananca started, then abruptly glanced around, as if she had detected something very close to where Druadaen’s point of view was situated—

And as suddenly as the vision had begun, it was over. Druadaen discovered that, as on prior occasions, he was clutching his blankets close to his body, but this time, they were rank with the sudden sweat of terror.

His parents. The S’Dyxoi. The temples. The Propretoriate. The Hidden Archivist. Were all somehow connected in some strange and multi-sided intrigue? Or were none of them connected, making this no more than a surreal yet disastrous comedy of errors? Or, as was usually the case, was the truth someplace in between, and if so, how could he sort it out from all the false clues and misdirections?

Druadaen’s mind not only began to race but started chasing in different directions, speculations and theories splitting and subdividing and multiplying until—

He leaped out of the bed, did not care what the weather was like, did not care that he was in a sleeping shift, did not care what Alcuin IV or anyone else might think if they saw him. He needed to get out of the claustrophobia of his bunk, of the compartment, of his own mind. He raced up the companionway.

He was breathing hard, but not from exertion, when he burst out on the deck—and discovered the sky above him littered with clear, bright stars. The ship pitched lightly as it moved through low risers, and two moons painted glittering paths upon the water which collided in a riot of multiple reflections.

Druadaen stopped, closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath—

And nearly coughed it out when a voice called, “Hey, Philosopher, you having bad dreams again?” In the light of both moons, he could make out Ahearn grinning at him from the fo’c’sle.

Other than a few glances from the midwatch, no one took particular notice as he made his way forward and up the short flight of stairs to the bow. Ahearn smiled at him all the way. “Well, aren’t you a sight.”

Druadaen smiled back, glad for the company, glad to have left the swirling uncertainties behind. “Anything to break the monotony.”

One of Ahearn’s straight black eyebrows climbed slightly higher. “You were sleeping, mate. Or were the dreams so monotonous that they woke you?”

I wish. “No. I just needed to get out of the cabin.”

“And maybe out of yer dreams, too?”

“Maybe a bit of both. But what are you doing up here? You’re a pretty sound sleeper, from what I’ve seen. And heard.”

Ahearn feigned umbrage. “Is ‘sound sleeper’ your polite way of saying, ‘sleeps like a rock and snores like a mill saw?’ Because if so…well, I can’t deny it, so I won’t try.” He smiled and leaned his elbows on the gunwale, looking west over the bow.

“Last time I saw that look on your face,” Druadaen said, joining him at the railing, “we were leaving Dunarra.”

“Aye, and that’s what brought me up here. Well, truth be told, it’s thoughts of that pony-sized beast I call my dog.” His eyes wandered back to the moonlit western horizon. “I’ve got to make sure that he was delivered safely home. Not that I doubt Captain Firinne for a moment, but, well, our own lives show what becomes of careful plans, hey?”

Druadaen was struck by the deep seriousness of Ahearn’s tone as well as his words. “You really do love that dog, don’t you?”

“I do indeed,” Ahearn breathed, eyes fixed on something far beyond the horizon. He seemed only partially aware of his immediate surroundings.

Druadaen glanced at him, suddenly realized what he had to say, to share. It was the last thing he wanted to bring up, to suggest. But he had to do it for Ahearn, and the others, because despite all odds, they had truly become his friends. “When we get to Dunarra,” Druadaen said casually, “you and the rest should take passage someplace else. Maybe to Menara. So you can look in on Raun.”

Ahearn looked sideways at him. “Now where’s this malarkey comin’ from?”

Druadaen leaned on his elbows, laced his fingers, looked out at the risers. “I will be, well, under investigation, I suppose you could say.”

Ahearn half grinned. “Investigation for what? Reading too much?”

“No. Actually, I’m not sure, but if things get serious, well, treason.”

“Treason?” Ahearn hissed, turning to stare at him. “You? Of all people? Godsblocks, what daft drivel could make anyone think that you—?”

“Ahearn. Listen now. I can’t say much. Just that my investigations have…Well, either some powerful people are mistaken about what I’ve been studying, or I’m just a pawn in a much larger game. But whichever it is, the only safe course for you and the others is to go to Menara. Or further. Just don’t be near me: this business is none of your concern.”

“But it is, y’see,” Ahearn said quietly with a small smile. “And it’s not just because we’re mates. And it’s not just because there’s no liars as dangerous as powerful ones. It’s not even because we need to hope that, sometimes, justice might be done for you and me and the others and the whole wide world of scrapers and scrabblers after power and wealth. It’s because of the innocents. For them more’n the rest.” His eyes softened. “The ones who have naught but songs in their hearts and flowers in their hair.” His eyes grew wet.

For no reason Druadaen could name, images of Ahearn flew past his mind’s eye: the swordsman meticulously wrapping two out of every three coins in tight bricks; the cottage outside Menara; his description of the passing of the woman he’d loved: “Life. Death. Just the natural cycle of things”; and finally, his rageful readiness to attack a dragon in its own lair if its favorite target among humans was—

“A child,” said Druadaen, wondering, nodding in both surprise and final understanding. “The cottage. You have a daughter there.”

“Indeed I do,” the swordsman confirmed in a voice of anguished pride.

“Then that is all the more reason why you must not tie your fate to mine. You have money now. You can stay and protect her, to be there as she grows up.”

He wiped his eyes. “That’s of no count. Aye, I have money, but it won’t last forever. And when it’s gone, then what am I to do? What am I to become, to be a good father to her? A farmer? A merchant? A grocer?” He scoffed bitterly. “Closest I come to a respectable trade is being a butcher, and I’m a damn messy one at that, eh?”

His jaw clenched tight; the muscles bunched and spasmed. “This is all I know how to do; this sword is the only tool I’ve learned how to use. You saw how it was when you came along; I was scraping for money, talking as big as I could because my purse was as small as could be.” He stopped suddenly.

“And then?”

“Well, then you show up and suddenly we have the attention of wizard aunts. We have a friend who thinks naught of rubbing elbows with Crown-lord Darauf of Teurodn and the like. And then, well, it stands to reason that with a mate like that, you’ll never be entirely out of the money, yeh?

“But then…well, truth be told, it wasn’t what you were searching for that made me stop and think. It looked like philosopher-madness, just as I said at the outset. But you weren’t mad. You were handy with a sword, clever enough for a trained soldier, and most of all, you were true and never hasty. So I started wondering, well, if he’s not mad after all, I wonder what it is that he’s on about with all this esoteric codology about the world not working.

“And so I started watching and thinking about what you said you were seeking. And then you started finding it. And damned if it didn’t make me wonder, too. Wonder if maybe this old world we’re moving through isn’t so much a hard-packed country road, but a bridge built over a bottomless swamp of uncertainties and mysteries. And what if some of that bridge’s pilings are worm-eaten, or naught but lies? Well then, I reasoned, we’re all at risk.”

He shrugged. “That’s no great never-mind for me, of course. After all, I accepted a life of danger and uncertainty, so a wee bit more hardly makes a difference. But”—and his eyes were suddenly shiny again—“but not for my little darling with flowers in her hair. Not her. I won’t let her die because some cabal of gods and their priests and mancers keep us dancing and prancing on the surface of a world that’s like to crumble under our feet.”

He leaned straight into Druadaen’s face. “So it’s sticking with you, I am. Not just to keep her warm and fed, but to keep her safe. Because it’s the answers you’re after that will show me how best to protect her.”

He leaned back and shrugged. “And besides, much as it pains me to say it, you’re not the worst bloke I ever fell in with.”

Druadaen laughed and jostled his elbow against the swordsman’s.

“Ah, get on wit’ yeh,” the big man said, trying not to sniffle.


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