> “Look at the wall, and ask yourself if you could have built it alone. Consider the cut stones, the mortar, the plaster and the paint. Do you know the secrets of making these? If you know any, you know only one or two at most. Now apply the same thought to your clothes, your carriage, your windows and floors and food. If it would consume all your effort to make one component yourself, how can any man claim self-sufficiency? He cannot: it is a lie. But now we have found this lie, how far must we chase it before we reach its end? And what truth will we find, once our quarry is brought down?”
>
> —Nils Civorage, The Circle
ELLAENIE’S STUDY
The Oasis, Alhulw Earthmote 09.06.03.09.13
“That is…quite a story.”
“No less so than yours.”
Jerl had to concede that point. He’d stood up to walk around the room as Ellaenie told him how the Oneists had seized Enerlend, and how she’d come to be here afterwards. But still, he hadn’t yet got around to telling her his recent history. “Did…Queen Talvi tell you, or—?”
The duchess nodded yes. “Well…more accurately she reported things had gone as foreseen. They’re all involved. Her, my husband, Eärrach, Haust…”
“And you?”
She nodded. “Releasing Time to your care was their plan and they implemented it, but you know enough by now about the way they think to guess the rest. They want us—mortals, that is—to solve the problem ourselves. Nils Civorage is a human, so he needs to be dealt with by humans.”
“So that we’re agents of our own, not just pieces on a game board,” Mouse agreed, nodding.
“We’ll never be just pawns to them,” Ellaenie replied. “It’s not that way around. They want us to get ourselves out of this mess because it’s a step along the road of becoming like them. It was…the thing I realized when Sayf asked me to marry him and I said yes, I saw it in him without needing the Sight. They need us.”
She rose to her feet as well and took a turn around the room, waving a hand generally at the palace and, somewhere in its depths, her husband.
“The Four…they’re terribly, terribly lonely. They cope with it in their different ways: Sayf has the love of us, his spouses. Eärrach has Rheannach and the wolves at his side, Haust pretends at a series of ordinary lives, Talvi lives in ascetic solitude and cherishes her rare guests…but they’re all aching for a real companion. For somebody to ascend from among humankind and become their fifth.”
Jerl nodded slowly as he considered that. “And they’re so ancient, they can be patient about it…”
“Yes. They expected it to take, I don’t know, millions of years. I think they expected this world they made to grow into something even larger and stranger before anyone even set foot properly on the path. But from what I read into what they’ve told me…it’s happening far sooner than they expected. And they don’t know whether to be excited or terrified.”
“Why terrified?” Jerl asked.
“Because the process is delicate. They speak of the World Before as though the number of people who lived in it was beyond counting, and yet only the four of them remain out of so many. I think they’re afraid that if they involve themselves too closely in this—”
“Then it’ll burst like a shredded bag,” Mouse finished.
“I was going to say pop like a soap bubble, but yes. Whatever it is, exactly.”
“There’s another reason to be terrified too. What if the fifth is Civorage?”
“They wouldn’t allow that,” Jerl predicted.
“Exactly. They’d be forced to destroy the very thing they’ve been working toward all this time.”
“And who knows what the consequences of that might be?” Ellaenie asked. “So…that’s where we are. The Crowns are giving us as much help as they dare, more than they really want to, even.”
“Will they show us where the Words are?” Jerl asked.
“No.”
“Right. I suppose the act of tracking them down is all part of the process…”
It was Ellaenie’s turn to stand up. She crossed around the study to her tea set, and turned up the heat under the kettle. “Perhaps. Or perhaps the Words choose their speakers. You hold Time because Time wants you to, don’t you?”
Jerl, not yet ready to grapple with that terrifying prospect, said nothing.
“What about Mind?” Mouse asked. “If you’re right, it chose both me and Civorage.”
“Maybe. Or perhaps the Words don’t always get their way. There doesn’t have to be one clean explanation for everything.” Ellaenie spooned some leaves into the teapot. “Every influence has its say.”
“…You’re saying I might have spoken Mind against its will?” Mouse fretted.
“Or Civorage might have.”
Silence fell as they all thought, and Ellaenie brewed. Jerl paced, running a finger through his beard—come to think of it, somebody around here would definitely be able to give him a shave and badly-needed haircut—but his thoughts were on somewhere dark and cold, and the piece of the puzzle that was still refusing to fit into place for him.
Ellaenie handed him a teacup. “Steel for your thoughts?”
“…I was just wondering where the Shades fit in all this.”
She gave him a puzzled look. “What about them?”
“Civorage controls them, somehow. I’ve seen him do it. Just before Queen Talvi rescued me, he walked unlit through the darkest Eclipse, and the damn things bowed and stepped aside for him.”
“…That…” she put a hand to her mouth. “…Wow.”
“Yeah. I don’t like the implications one bit.”
Ellaenie turned to Mouse. “Could you do that?”
Mouse shrugged, wide-eyed. “I don’t know, and I don’t want to find out,” he said.
“Fair, but—” Jerl trailed off as there was a tiny knock at the door, which creaked open and an equally tiny head covered in curly brown hair poked through. It was followed by a tiny body, clutching a large piece of paper covered in colorful looping lines. A little girl, perhaps about five years old insofar as Jerl was any good at judging, and as dark of skin and hair as Sayf himself…but with a pair of astonishing green eyes to match Ellaenie’s.
“Mummy?”
Ellaenie’s troubled frown vanished in an instant. She set her teacup down and swept across the room to take the child by her hand. “Hey, Pickle! Is it twelfth hour already?”
“Y’s…” the girl gave Jerl a wary look; Mouse escaped her notice.
“Hello,” Jerl said cautiously, not quite believing what he was seeing. “I don’t think your mummy told me about you yet…”
“She was going to come next,” Ellaenie smiled, and scooped her daughter up into a hug-carry. “Captain Jerl Holten, may I present the princess Saoirse Emilie Sayfschild of House Banmor.”
Jerl put on his best formal manners and bowed with a flourish. “Your highness!”
The princess blinked warily at him, then managed a cautious, “’Ello…”
“She gets me all to herself for the next three hours,” Ellaenie told him. “Don’t you, Pickle?”
Saoirse waved her piece of paper. “I drew Uncy Lokar an’ Anty Pal!” she declared. Actually, the paper was covered in asymmetrical tadpole people in at least three shades of watercolor paint, augmented with glitter and feathers. Jerl could sort of tell which one was meant to be Pal, though, and the other one had blue zigzags that might be an immature hand’s attempt at a Stormclansman’s tattoos.
Jerl frowned at Ellaenie, who was too wrapped up in cooing over her daughter’s painting to notice. Could she…could she not see what she was holding? No, probably not. She didn’t have Time. But to Jerl’s sight, little Saoirse was a sort of a…a walking knot, or tangle. Potential shifted around her as she moved, like a cat under a sheet. Her very presence twisted probability, fate and future to the point where Jerl could almost see them as shimmering threads in the air.
Questions for later. He gathered himself, and affected a small indulgent chuckle. “I can see you have a prior engagement,” he said to Ellaenie. “And we should probably check on my crew.”
“I’ll see you at dinner,” she agreed distractedly. “And after that, we need to plan.”
“See you there,” Jerl agreed, and politely fled. Little Saoirse’s presence was starting to give him a headache.
Mouse followed him, and tugged at his sleeve once they were a ways down the corridor. “Jerl?”
“She’s…the child is…” Jerl paused and gathered his thoughts. “Not even the Crowns are that intense to be around.”
“What?”
“It’s…it’s hard to explain, and I don’t know what it means. But that little girl is…Time does strange things around her.”
“Well…” Mouse glanced back towards Ellaenie’s chambers. “She is a Crownchild.”
“No, it’s more than that. Lander doesn’t twist fate around himself the same way. There’s something different going on with little Saoirse…” Jerl shook his head to clear it, glad the feeling of pressure was subsiding, and realized he was actually a little lost. “Uh…which way?”
Mouse chuckled, and pushed on a patch of wall, which turned out to be a disguised door as it swung open on silent hinges. “Here.”
Jerl followed as Mouse led them with remarkable surety through a portrait gallery lined with the likenesses of Sayf’s past spouses and children, into a hall of flowing water and crystal glass, then out into a courtyard where an astonishing number of cats variously blinked lazily at them, snubbed them, or tried their purring best to trip them up.
He could see fruit trees over the outside wall, and hear music, clapping hands and whoops of approval. As they ducked through the small wall gate, they entered an olive grove where the crew was entertaining, and being entertained by, Prince Sayf under the cool shade and the ripe green fruits.
Sin was playing, of course. It was quite an elfish party out there, though Jerl had learned over the past few weeks that Penitents were a dour lot overall. Indeed, Sin was downright bubbly and joyous by Rüwyrdan standards. They were letting their hair down for now, though. Something about Sayf’s presence invited joy, not least because he and Lady Pal were leading the dancing. So between Sin’s guitar, a flute, a fiddle and a hand drum, there was actually quite a merry jig going on amidst the trees. The Lotharsson twins were boasting and showing off for a couple of ladies, Andony Marren had his feet up and was smoking his pipe as he bobbed along to the music, Gebby was clearly several cups deep into something potent…
Derghan noticed Jerl and Mouse approaching first, and gave them an up-nod. He was sitting nodding along to the music and drinking with Amir, though his eyes of course had been on Sinikka. “So. His Crownship says you were meeting one of his wives.”
“Mhm.” Jerl sat down. “Duchess Ellaenie, as it happens.”
“No shit?”
“So this is where she vanished to…” Amir mused.
“Seems so. Also seems all that stuff about her being a witch is completely true, too. Except, bein’ a witch is actually a sacred service to the Crowns.” Jerl shrugged.
“Oh, I could have told you that,” Amir nodded. “Witches passed through the Thundering Hall now and again while I was studying there. I don’t think I’ll ever quite understand where the Garanese hatred for them arose.”
A new voice chimed in as a slim, elegant woman with dark hair sat next to them. “Oh, well, if it’s scholarly interest, I can offer a history lesson…”
Even Mouse blinked at her in surprise: she’d appeared like a shadow when a cloud went away, totally unseen until she wanted to be. Amir surged to his feet and bowed.
“My lady herald!”
The woman’s smile flashed warmly in eyes like molten gold. “There’s no need for that here. It’s been many years, Amir. You were, what? Nine years old when last we met?”
“I…believe so, my lady, yes.” Amir cleared his throat, clearly unbalanced by her remembering him, and fell back on manners. “Ah, er, her ladyship the herald Dragon, may I introduce Captain Jerl Holten of the Cavalier Queen, and Derghan, chief of Clan Vargur…” he trailed off with an increasingly familiar scowl, as though searching for a word on the tip of his tongue.
Mouse cleared his throat.
“Oh! Ah. Damn. Sorry. Yes. And this is Mouse, adventurer and treasure hunter,” Amir added, flushing a shade darker.
Dragon gave Mouse an amused look, clearly seeing right through Amir’s flattering description. “How dashing!”
“Much more dashing than I deserve,” Mouse demurred.
“I’m sure you’ll fully deserve it in time,” she replied. “Anyway, please forgive my interruption. I’m here on behalf of the Court Unkept. No doubt some others will be along too, soon enough.”
“Other—Oh. I see.” Jerl blinked. “That’s, uh, unexpected. My understanding was the Crowns have already done as much as they dare in this matter…”
“They have. But Heralds are not Crowns. We are….in many ways, much closer to mortals than we are to the Four. Our actions don’t have as much weight as the Crowns’. We still have to step very carefully of course, but the consequences of us putting a foot wrong are less, ah….devastating.”
“I see…” Jerl said, not really seeing at all. But, very well. He was glad for whatever help he could get. “Well…it is a great privilege to meet you. I’ve always hoped to catch a glimpse of you in flight, but I haven’t been so lucky, yet.”
She smiled. “I can’t be everywhere at once, alas. And the sky is so very big. But you’ll see me fly, soon enough. For now…ah, there she is.”
She stood up and trotted away to embrace another dark-haired woman, this one not quite so tall nor so striking. Indeed, if not for Ellaenie’s story, Jerl would have had no idea who she was. Gorgeous, yes, but in most regards she looked simply like a Craenen ridirevhan. A slightly wide mouth, round eyes, swathed in black and a green-and-blue tartan…but it could only be Rheannach.
She caught him watching her, and favored him with a small smile of welcome before returning her attention to Dragon. What were the Heralds of different Courts to each other, Jerl wondered? Did they see each other as siblings? Cousins? Friends? Questions for later, maybe. here and now…
He massaged his temple. The headache little Saoirse had given him was starting to come back. All these powerful, ancient beings around him, he thought. Between Sayf, Dragon and Rheannach, the presence of three immortals weighed heavily on time, like a boulder depressing the soft earth around it.
…Except…
He blinked, and turned his attention to a robed figure lurking under a tree at some remove from the party. The robe was plain, undecorated, as colorless as morning fog. The figure wearing it had Fey skin though, the colour of a fallen log just starting to go mossy, His beard and hair were as dark as a treacherously tempting stepping-stone in the middle of a forest stream, its surface slicked by algae. Bright eyes glinted hollowly under the hood, seeing all and clearly finding no joy in any of it.
He stank of time. Not even the Crowns felt like him, but then again Crowns were creatures of deep eternity. Jerl couldn’t sense the time on them for about the same reason he couldn’t envision the entire earthmote beneath his feet. But time oozed off this elf like a fog, in a way that was at once disturbing and strangely familiar, as though he’d squeezed far more time into his being than there was room for…
It dawned on him that he knew where he’d felt this before: Sinikka. Sin had that same feeling of being older than she actually was. But it was nowhere even close to the weight of extra lifetimes leaking from this stranger.
Which meant, from what Jerl knew of Sin’s own history, there was only one possible candidate for who this person could be. Only one person could have been punished by the Crowns even harder than the Laughing Death.
“Jerl?”
Jerl came back from staring, glanced at Mouse’s hand where it wasa jogging his elbow, then up at Amir, then Derghan, and cleared his throat. “Sorry.”
“Who is that?” Derghan asked.
Jerl stared a moment longer, then decided…fuck it. If he was here, they’d all find out soon anyway. May as well get it out of the way.
“I’m pretty sure,” he said, “his name is Ekve.”
The music stopped.
----------------------------------------
INTERLUDE: THE OLD CITY, EIGHT YEARS PREVIOUSLY
Auldenheigh, Enerlend, Garanhir 09.05.15.13.04
Last night had been a good night for Jed Bothroyd: he’d slept in his own bed for a change.
First time in two weeks, that. And the missus had been so happy to see him home she’d had nowt to say about his long hours.
‘Course, she was used to it. This wasn’t the first Dukesmoot Jed had been involved in guarding, nor would it be the last, most like. The gathering of Garanhir’s rulers always brought the crowds out, and that meant the Constabulary was out in force too. Especially after the riots and protests. And as a veteran serjant, Jed’s job had been to shout and cajole and threaten and berate and generally “motivate” his lads into lining up and keeping the peace.
Then he’d got his night’s sleep at home with Dahlia, because he’d bloody well needed it, and now…here he was. Marching up and down behind his lads keeping orderly control of the thin black line in their austere uniforms and the distinctive helmets that had earned the force the nickname “bellheads.” Normally it was the only actual protection they wore, other than a stout truncheon and a service pistol, and normally that would be all the protection they needed.
Turning out for the Dukesmoot was normally just a lot of standing around looking well-groomed while the toffs nobbed it up inside the old palace for an afternoon. Today was very different.
Today, stuff was getting thrown. Small stones and paper bags full of shit, mostly. If some silly bugger moved on up to bricks or stones or firebombs, they got brought down hard by Lieutenant Morson’s outfit, the Willow Yard Specialists.
Morson wasn’t a bad sort for an officer, Bothroyd thought. Man at least knew which end of a criminal the shit habitually flowed out of, and he had the keen eye for detail of a man with thrice his experience. He was wasted on taking the silly buggers out in the streets down, when he ought to have been chasing down the young duchess’ attacker.
But…nope. Word had come down from so high up it might as well be casting Eclipse that the first of the Dukesmoot’s business today was to hold trial, in absence, of Ellaenie of House Banmor on charges of working evil magics. Should she be found guilty (which everyone believed was a certainty at this point) they would then strip her of her titles and authority, and elevate a suitable heir.
A good chunk of the public were, to put it mildly, fucking livid.
Those were the ones who loved their young duchess and firmly believed Rheannach must have come to save her, rather than punish. In the absence of certain knowledge though, the fence-sitters were in a large majority, and dwindling as the Oneists pushed hard on the witchcraft and wickedness angle. Auldenheigh was split down the middle, and Ellaenie’s support was dwindling rapidly. Not because they’d been won over, but because their cause seemed increasingly hopeless. Even the staunchest loyalist had to admit defeat in the face of overwhelming opposition.
Still, there were a few diehards lashing out in Ellaenie’s name, and rather more self-righteous prats determined to root out the witch’s sympathizers. And Jed Bothroyd and his men were caught keeping the peace in the middle.
Which was why today they’d put on the riot gear. Thick padded gambesons, sturdy wicker shields, and long batons rather than the short truncheons promised a bloody rebuke to any fool who disturbed the public order today. As did the chosen marksmen conspicuously placed around the Elven Palace.
Jed hated it. He’d have retired on principle, if not for the Darkdrake.
Still. Enough armed men and enough threat was doing its work. The crowd was muttering and restless, but the hours of the Dukesmoot stretched by without incident until nearly nightfall.
The bells rang. With a heavy slam, the Elven Palace’s front doors were heaved open, and a trio of men, two in the colorful array of the palace wardens, marched out with their heads down and their expressions solemn. They moved directly to the spot where the flight of stairs up to the palace was flattened out, the tradiitonal spot for grand declarations, and the man in the plainer clothing took position, with a scroll in his hand and the other gripping a magestone.
There was a brief flash and tingle of magic, and the man’s voice echoed across the square at a thunderous volume.
“Hear all! Hear all! By order of the Dukesmoot, be it known that Ellaenie of House Banmor is found guilty of the working of evil magics. At her feet are laid the crimes of treason by attempting to subvert the due authority and process of the Moot; slavery by bewitchment of the mind; conspiracy to murder, by use of Shades, their graces the late Duke Einharth and Duchess Emilie—”
From somewhere deep in the crowd, the word “Bullshit!” cracked out with all the volume of a pistol shot. The man who’d yelled it wasn’t alone: in seconds, the crowd was shouting, booing, jeering so loudly that even the cryer’s magically amplified voice was shouted down.
“Lying bastards,” one of the men next to Jed grumbled.
“Steady now, lads. ‘Er Grace wouldn’t want no-one gettin’ ‘urt on ‘er account. We keep peace, even for these lyin’ sods, arright?”
“It ain’t right, sarge,” another man commented.
“No lad, it ain’t. So we do what is right. An’ right now, that means makin’ sure there’s no blood in’t streets today. An’ we—”
A young man burst out of the crowd with something in his hand. He made it ten paces up the palace stairs and drew back to throw the juicy, overripe projectile he’d smuggled with him, perfectly aimed into the cryer’s face.
Seconds later, the two wardens descended on him, cudgels flying.
“Shit.” **Jed was moving, pushing past his men to get the stupid bastards off the boy before it became a murder, but as he drew close he saw it was already too late for that. There was a crunch, and the cudgel came away smeared with red that was altogether the wrong shade to be tomato pulp.
The crowd surged forward, even as Jed shouldered the two wardens off the stricken youth. But the lads were right behind him, and the thin black line closed in from both sides of the palace steps, just in time for the angry mob to crash against them.
Jed Bothroyd did not get his wish.
Blood ran in the streets that day after all.
----------------------------------------
> Here, then, is the truth we have chased: The self is a lie. It is a dream, an illusion, nothing more. If a man cannot live except by the efforts of his collective, and the same is true of every man, then how can an individual be said to exist at all? What are you?
>
> You cannot know by turning your thought inwards. But you will find the answer in your neighbor’s face.
>
> —Nils Civorage, The Circle
SUMMER’S GROVE
The Oasis, Alhulw Earthmote 09.06.03.09.13
There had been rather a long and tense pause at first.
Afterwards, there had been an even longer and more tense conversation in Feydh that Jerl hadn’t followed at all. Spiteful, at first. Angry, bitter, vengeful, dark and threatening. There had been the definite impression that only Sayf’s presence and his will for there to be peace had kept things even that civil.
But Jerl’s attention had been on Sinikka. While Harad and the other Rüwyrdan squared off with Ekve, she had stood back and stared at him a long, long time until at last Sayf had come and put a hand on her shoulder and spoken some words for her ears only.
She’d looked up, at him, looked back at Ekve, then stepped forward, literally pushing Harad gently but firmly aside in a way that reminded Jerl she had once been an empress herself, in distant past lives, and was still the first Penitent, the founder of a whole school of Elfish philosophy…
If he’d been expecting a hug, some grand gesture of welcome and acceptance though, he was disappointed. She just asked Ekve a question. A short one.
Ekve’s reply was to hang his head. Whatever his answer was, it was equally short.
The tableau that followed would stick in Jerl’s mind forever, and made him wish he could paint like the masters hung in Sayf’s galleries. The Penitents on one side, the lone arch-Supremacist on the other, Crown and Heralds alongside dozens of human onlookers, beneath the branchs of an olive grove. No-one spoke or moved on either side for several long, silent seconds.
Then Sin softened, very slightly. “Ukao rüvaya vachadvatemka, Ekve.”
“Sooth.”
“On uka ik dhech? Thran wol chal, lach vam?”
Ekve nodded, slowly and with a weight of endless regret. “Se. Hako…hako’n cradh ki wyrdko i….” He took a deep, trembling breath, then declared: “…Ohako ord, se Ordsiwat Set boet. Mé ir sooth av ordfey covka advatemko. Virtüen hako i Cankuu, at thre els iren elanakun.”
Sin glanced at Sayf again as astonished whispering rustled around the elves. The Crown nodded; for once, his face was lined and grim. This was a moment so serious that even the god of jollity had grown deathly serious. She glanced over at Jerl, who could offer no help. He, in turn, turned to Amir.
Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
“What did they say?”
“She told him his….uh…journey-of-regret, his penance, would never end. He said that was true. She asked him if he was willing to embark on it anyway, across all his endless lives to come, without escape or failure. He said yes, and then he said…” Amir’s voice caught, and he had to clear his throat before he could translate. “He said…‘By my authority, the Ordsiwat Tribe is no more. May its philosophy of the supremacy of elves be abandoned forever. So I swear to Prince Sayf, and to the three others who made us all.’”
“Valkyr’s veil.” Derghan murmured. “The fuck did they do to him?”
Jerl looked to Mouse. “…He’s earnest?”
Mouse, he realized, was having a hard time keeping his expression steady, but he still managed to croak out the word “Completely,” through clenched teeth. Whatever emotions were rolling off the former emperor must be overpowering.
Very well. Jerl looked back at Sinikka, found her waiting patiently for him and stepped forward. He gave Ekve a good hard look up and down. The elf’s gaze was hollow, anticipating nothing. He was quite beautiful, Jerl realized, in the otherworldly way of elves. But regret and shame hung so heavily on him that his fine bone structure aand bright eyes were quite overshadowed, and there was nothing proud or poised in his bearing. This was a broken being.
No less than he deserved, perhaps.
“…I’m guessing you don’t know much Garanese.”
Ekve tipped his head slightly. “I speak it well enough. Remember from…other lives.”
“Hrrm. And now you’re here. The Crowns clearly think you should be.”
Ekve didn’t reply, beyond a small conceding nod.
“What do you want?” Jerl asked him.
“Purpose.” Ekve spread his hands. “Ordsiwat Set is no more. Dream of Ordfey is gone. Should have been gone long ago, but I was too stubborn to learn lesson. Now…I am nothing. Not Soothnadhar of a Set, not emperor in waiting. Just…one who sinned terribly. Caernnenas tells me I am loved no matter what, but…”
Jerl nodded. “Purpose, I can give.”
“Then you have a servant in me, if you will have me.”
“Do you bring anything to us beyond just another penitent Fey and his wychwethel?”
Ekve cleared his throat. “I had thought…Knowledge and advice. Long experience,” he said. “These, you have already. But perhaps I know mind of this Civorage well. Perhaps he thinks like to me. You are…hm…innocent, of thoughts of men like him and me.”
“Monsters, you mean.”
Ekve didn’t flinch. “Yes. And even Bomirdd, beloved Bekhil, she is different kind of monster. Bekhil was...a safe consort. No grand designs of having my throne. So long as blood flowed, Bomirdd was happy. Never wanted what I craved. Civorage, he is same kind of monster as Ekve Feycaernko. Wants whole world, all people in it, to serve and worship. Thirst for it, needs it. Endlessly: even if he wins, he will never drink his fill.”
He looked around the grove. “No other here has same sickness, even if they are not innocent. I do.”
Jerl frowned at him, then looked up toward the three immortals. Dragon and Rheannach were stood aside, watching this unfold, and neither gave away anything off her thoughts. And Prince Sayf had quietly vanished, unnoticed. But Sinikka caught his eye and nodded, just a twitch.
“That may be useful,” Jerl conceded. “But I noted you said you have the same sickness. Present tense.”
“Even Caernnenas did not burn it from my soul. Maybe he could not, maybe he would not. Maybe in my next Chal I will fall back and be what I was before…I think not. I hope not. Bekhil did not.”
“Bekhil swore an oath to me,” Jerl reminded him.
“I will swear too, if you let me.”
Premonition struck at last. This was a fulcrum moment, a nexus in time, a breadcrumb Jerl had left for himself. Curiously, it went completely against his instinct. The right thing to do, it seemed, was the opposite of what he was inclined to do. How? Why?
Well…if there was anyone he trusted entirely in this whole mess, it was himself. Or at least the godlike version who’d charted this course after speaking Time.
He looked Ekve in the eye and shook his head. “I will not accept your oath,” he said, and ignored the surprised look Sin gave him. “But I will take your counsel and insight.”
“Unbound? Free?” Ekve looked just as shocked as Sin.
“Yes.”
“…Then you have them, and my blade. But why?”
“The mysteries of Time. I don’t know why, but…I have a premonition that you’ll be more useful if you are not bound to me by oath,” Jerl told him, straightforwardly. “Do not disappoint.”
“I shall not,” Ekve promised.
“Outstanding.”
“If that is settled, I believe it’s about time we all had a good long talk about the reason we’re all here…” Lady Pal declared, stepping forward out from under the trees to settle, quite comfortably, in the middle of the circle with all eyes on her. She seemed entirely natural there. “We have had our merriment, our song and our good food and wine. Now must come the more solemn business. My husband has prepared a forum where we can discuss these matters appropriately…if you will follow me?”
She gestured with the quiet confidence of one who knew her polite invitation carried the weight of royal command, and turned to lead them away. Around the grove, the Queen’s crew, the Rats and the others traded curious glances, then rose to their feet and followed her. Ekve bowed slightly to Jerl and glided away across the grass, while Mouse went to help his father along.
Jerl, Sinikka, Derghan and Amir brought up the rear. And as soon as they were private enough to talk…
“Are you sure about not binding him with an oath?” Derghan asked. ““Elves take oaths seriously, you know.”
“Ach! You make it sound like some weird foible,” Sin grumbled.
“Says you of all people,” Derghan retorted, fondly. “I know it’s no foible. It’s just…that’s the guy whose people tried to kill us a couple weeks ago. The emperor who’s plotted for thousands of years to bring the Ordfey back. I’m not sure I like the idea of him running off-leash, y’know?”
“He’s got something far more powerful than a leash restraining him now, Derghan.” Sin shook her head. “No, the reason to secure his oath isn’t about controlling him or having trust in him. It’s…it’s about status.”
“The difference between taking on a servant, and allying with a king,” Amir agreed.
“I have a whole Set of oathsworn,” Jerl pointed out. “Maybe I need an alliance with a king more. Or maybe…maybe something’s coming where doing the right thing would be in conflict with his oath. Either way, premonition warned me to leave him free, so I did. I mean…if I can’t trust myself, who can I trust?”
Sin shrugged. “A question close to my heart, nay?”
“…Uh—”
“Don’t make the mistake of assuming you can’t go the same way as Civorage did, skipper,” she cautioned him. “We all can. You’re a good man and I trust you…”
“But trust is only meaningful in the presence of doubt,” Amir nodded. “Just as there’s a difference between a peaceful man and a harmless man, there’s a difference between a trustworthy man and one so meek that trust never enters into it.”
“Well, I’m going to keep trusting my past self, until I get a reason not to,” Jerl declared.
“Only thing you can do,” Derghan agreed amiably. “Can’t let doubt paralyze you, now.”
“Also true,” Amir conceded. Sinikka just shrugged.
They were the last out of the olive grove, and emerged into a circular forum perched right on the edge cliff, even jutting out slightly beyond it. The half-circle stretched out into the sky was fenced by a chest-high wall, and the forum’s centerpiece was a brazier in the shape of a lotus flower in which a blue flame danced gently.
Sayf was waiting patiently next to it, and he gestured for them to be seated as they joined the group. He seemed…distracted, somehow. Like his thoughts were simultaneously here and elsewhere. It was the first time Jerl had seen his face slip completely out of its resting jovial smile, and into something more serious and contemplative. The blue flames glittered in his eyes as he stared into them and stroked his beard.
For a second, silence ruled as the mortals sat and waited, while their host gathered his thoughts. Then he exhaled softly, drew himself a little more upright, and smiled again.
“Ladies and gentlemen, beloved Heralds, dearest of friends and darling wives…” he began.
----------------------------------------
INTERLUDE: A BLISSFUL DAZE
The Circle Manor, Auldenheigh, Enerlend 09.06.03.09.13
“Lisze. Up, dear.”
Lisze sighed at being woken by the gentle touch on her elbow, rousing her from her bed. Around her, the others were likewise being roused, stirring, rubbing sleep from their eyes, yawning, sitting up.
Somehow, even after all these years, the thought of how different life was now still filled her with a happy glow, and a sense of how…shallow she’d been, before. How foolish. Before, she’d had a vast bedroom and wardrobes, jewels and silks and dainty shoes and a wide bed all to herself in the middle of a room so empty, so lonely, that she’d needed a fireplace to keep it warm
How had she ever slept without the comforting sound of her sisters breathing around her? How had she ever got comfortable in a bed so expensive it could have fed a whole family for months?
She’d been a silly, spoiled girl, then. Now, even the cold flagstones under her bare feet were a source of joy. Eagerly, smiling, she skipped to her place at the edge of the room, held out her arms, linked hands, and joined the Waking Circle.
There was not much to it. she linked hands with her sisters, smiled at them to her left and right, then lowered her head and breathed. In slowly through the nose, out openly and without effort through the mouth, more a sigh than an exhalation. Then again. She turned her mind outwards, reached out through the fingers interlaced with her neighbor’s, and let the flimsy, illusory wall that was the name Lisze escape from her mind.
With it went her thoughts. There was only peace, companionship, love. The blissful warmth of them becoming her becoming us. No edges, no walls, no separation, just one circle of the joined.
They sang as they worked, stripping the beds and changing the sheets, ready for the night-sisters to take their deserved rest. After that, a simple but satisfying breakfast of porridge with a little caraway, and the luxury of a hot tea. They disrobed, bathed, dried, dressed, and went out to the lawn for the Dawn Circle with all the brothers.
Lisze was on laundry duty today. Four hours of pounding and thumping clothes in the hot vats, scalding her fingertips as she plucked the linens from the seething water, cranking the mangle until her arms and back were sore…
Good, honest work. A cause to celebrate. She and her sisters sang some more as they labored.
The Midday circle was a welcome reprieve though, as was today’s lunch of a hearty mutton and cabbage stew. And Lisze’s afternoon duties were gentle clerical work. She spent the hours reading incoming letters, filing them or disposing of them or directing them as was needed. The words flowed past, each noticed correctly and handled appropriately, but then dutifully forgotten once the document was dealt with. By the time she was reading the next letter, she couldn’t remember anything of the previous one’s content.
So it went until Nightfall Circle. Lisze stood barefoot in the cool grass, hand in hand with her siblings, eyes closed, head empty, feeling and experiencing and being all of them, and they were all part of her…
Bliss.
Tonight brought a last duty rather than the usual exercise and rest time. The time was right: along with Nethe and Carri, Lisze had been selected for the wonderful responsibility of bearing another child for the circle. This would be her seventh, how wonderful! And…yes, tonight was surely the right time. And the Speaker knew it of course. So, when she and her sisters closed the door behind them and their dutiful brothers rose to welcome them, Lisze was the first to unfasten her robes and let them drop so she could, once again, make herself useful.
The tiny ghost of a memory briefly pricked her that, once upon a time, she would have fought tooth and nail to insist on being more than just a breeding mare to reward hard-working men. Somewhere deep inside her soul, the flickering ember of her dignity stubbornly refused to die...
But it was forgotten just as quickly as it was remembered.
She joined this last, smallest and most intimate of the day’s Circles, and was happier than she had ever dreamed possible.
----------------------------------------
> Power can never be granted; it can only be seized. But once seized, will you shoulder its burden alone? Rare is the man who can carry such weight, and happier is the man who shares the load.
>
> —Nils Civorage, The Circle
SAYF’S FORUM
The Oasis, Alhulw Earthmote 09.06.03.09.13
“Ladies and gentlemen, beloved Heralds, dearest of friends and darling wives…”
Sayf paused, smiled slightly at the pomposity of his opening, and looked around them. “The importance of this moment cannot be overstated. Two of the Words of Creation have now been unburied and spoken, and where they lead, my fellows and I believe the others will follow. This is a moment both long-awaited and premature. Their release was always a part of our grand design…but it has come before we are ready for them.”
His gaze swept the gathered motley. “The first man to claim this power has abused it terribly. Be assured, he will not be the last. It is the nature of power that those who are most adept at seizing it can least be trusted with it. And yet, gathered here are people who, by our will and desire, will be entrusted with the task of seizing this power.”
He looked each of them in the eye. “If there is any of you here who thinks, in your heart, that you are deserving of this privilege…leave now, for you are not. This is no privilege but a duty, and that makes it a job for the humble, the loyal, the self-doubting and the contrite. If you do not fear what you yourself could become should you gain the power of a Word yourself, then you are unworthy of them.”
For a moment, his gaze was stern as he swept it around the forum, then it softened. “But of course, if you were such a person, you would never have come to be here in the first place. Some of you are thieves. Others of you…” he looked at Ekve and Sinikka in particular “…are much worse. Your pasts matter, of course…but the future is unwritten. The only thing that is certain of this is that we Crowns have done as much as we dare.”
He spread his hands, and the blue flames in the lotus brazier danced up, forming shapes of light and ember. “If you will indulge me a small history lesson…”
The lights resolved into an image of the worlds, but not as they were now. The earthmotes all fit together neatly like a jigsaw puzzle, forming a single unbroken shell around the sun. With a gesture, the view pulled back and the world shrank as figures came into view. At least three dozen, that Jerl could see, and many were only vaguely human-shaped. Their arms were raised toward the great work, and power flowed from them, pouring itself into the creation.
“We were once many more than four,” Sayf revealed. “Before we embarked on this great project, we numbered more than ten times as many…but even with so many of us, even after aeons of long and meticulous planning, the act of creation was very nearly beyond us.”
As he spoke, the world-shell cracked, splintered, and broke apart. Jerl watched the jagged lines of shattering stone described the shape of Garanhir, which tore itself free from the Unbroken Mote to spin wildly through space. One of the figures reached out and pushed it back into place…but as she did so, her form blazed brilliantly, and vanished.
“To be what we are is to straddle the threshold between mortal existence and the transcendent…and to use the power of the Words is to push against that threshold, to put a little more weight on a foot that is already set on the crumbling edge,” Sayf recalled, watching the creation unfold as the gathered beings fought to restrain and stabilize their work. “Lean too heavily…”
One by one they blazed and departed. But as they did so, the dreadful tumult calmed, the world settled into its familiar four spheres, and the earthmotes began to revolve along their courses.
By the time it was stable, only four remained. Jerl watched Sayf’s expression, keenly aware that the Crown was showing him a cruel parting from friends he’d known for infinitely longer than the Nested Worlds had existed. Profound sadness settled on the forum now, darkening its shadows, cooling the sunlight that washed across its flagstones, and deadening the sweet scents of the nearby grove. All around him, the only sound was rapt silence.
“The effort of making this world tipped all but four of us past the point of no return. Only King Eärrach has the inner strength to fully anchor himself to this universe, because he is its appointed avatar of power. The rest of us…well, we Crowns were closest to him, in the deepest meaning.”
Above their heads, the miracle of creation became still and serene. The remaining four dropped their hands and came together, not to celebrate, but to comfort each other. Sayf still did not lower his hands, but now the turning of the worlds accelerated, became a shocking blur, then slowed. The view pulled inwards, and inwards, and inwards, toward a single nondescript mote, shell-shaped, lurking high in the innermost sphere.
“When the time is right, our plan is to follow where our friends have gone, and finally embark on that last great adventure into the Unknowable. But…not yet. We are not ready, and neither are you. It was an age before King Eärrach was ready to begin through us the second, much more difficult act of creation—all of you.”
They witnessed the First Day, when life flourished over the earthmotes. They witnessed the lakes and inland seas fill with fish, the forests flourish and put out leaves, the meadows bloom. Deer shook their heads and ran startled at the surprise of coming into existence: horses reared and ran, wolves sniffed the breeze…
And in a natural amphitheatre upon that first sacred mote, a million elves and a million humans stood naked before their creators, and gazed in wonder as they were granted knowledge.
Sayf lowered his hands, and the vision dissipated. “There is…very much I am not telling you, but I will give you an important hint: it was not merely the King’s power which made you. It took all we had and vastly, hugely, incomprehensibly more…and so, now: all of us Crowns are at our limit. This matter of Words and their use is not for us to touch. We stand too near the precipice, and took already too great a risk merely in consulting Time. Because if we push any more against the threshold of transcendence, if we lean just a little further beyond the cliff’s edge, then we too shall cross that point of no return. Our King has it in himself to stay as long as he pleases…”
“But will he, without you?” Ellaenie asked, the first voice other than his to speak up in many minutes.
“For your sake, he would. But the three of us would never put that burden on him. He…power such as his isn’t for himself. He needs to give it for the sake of others. He needs communion with those he loves, and that communion extends to levels of being you cannot begin to comprehend. What then if we cross over? Who else can flourish in the inferno of his love? It is far too much for anyone to bear for long, as one here knows especially well.” At this he glanced to Rheannach, who held his gaze a moment before blinking and looking down and away.
“What happens if he leaves?” somebody asked. Jerl only realized it was himself when Sayf looked at him.
“He is the binding power of this world. If he leaves without passing the baton to a capable successor—if indeed there can ever be such a thing—then the will and discipline by which these worlds are maintained will fail, and all life, Fey and Human, flora and fauna, will perish as our great work comes apart and disintegrates into the void. And that will at last be the final moment in this Creation. Over before its time.”
And now, Sayf’s expression was one Jerl would never have imagined to see on his smiling, broad face: he looked haggard, drained, even old. So much so that Ellaenie rose to her feet and touched his arm, clearly concerned.
Her touch seemed to rejuvenate him. Sayf took a deep breath, looked in her eyes, stooped to kiss her, and seemed young and glad again. But Jerl was never going to forget that just for a second he had seen all the Crown’s uncountable years written in his face and posture, and doubted anyone else would either.
Sayf gave his wife a grateful squeeze, then took a step back. “And so I must take my leave,” he said. “You now understand somewhat more of the situation. How you proceed, I must entrust to your own will and good sense. For your own benefit, I must decline to speak any further of the Words or answer your questions about them. I could tell you much, of course…but in doing so, I would rob you of a transformative mystery. You will, I hope, see what I mean and why in the fullness of time.”
He stepped back toward the edge of the circle, smiled, and bowed to them. “Bless you all: may your coming voyage exceed your every dream.”
And then he turned and was gone, like a song between the trees. The gathered mortals and heralds stood and sat in silence for a long moment, each grappling with their own thoughts.
Dragon broke the silence. She stepped into the middle of the circle and looked around. “Most of you know each others’ stories, at least as much as is necessary. What you may know less of is the events outside of your own adventures. To me, these last ten years, has fallen the task of keeping a close watch on Civorage and the spread of his influence. He has been…industrious.”
She nodded toward Jerl. “Ten years ago, of course, he made his first move and bought out the Clear Skies Trade Guild, becoming its sole owner. From what I can tell he was still relatively timid in the use of his powers then, using them to influence the other owners into selling for an absurdly low price. Had he been bolder, he could have just commanded them to hand him everything they owned.”
Grim nods around the forum said they all knew just how much bolder their enemy had become since then.
“With the guild solely under his control, he turned his sights to Enerlend, knowing that if he could achieve a triumph at the Dukesmoot, he would have all of Garanhir to work with, unimpeded,” Dragon continued. “This, he achieved…though it was also the site of his first major setback. Raksuul?”
Rheannach nodded. “The curse laid on him by Saoirse Crow-Sight was a work of witchcraft unrivalled in all the ages of the world. I…even though I mentored her in the Craft, she still shocked me in that moment. She’s laid a doom on him I didn’t even think was possible: ‘May thy victories be sullied, may thy worst foes escape your wrath, may ye ever snatch defeat frae the jaws o’ victory.’ Nobody has ever laid a curse like it, nor sacrificed so completely in doing so.”
“And so it has proved ever since,” Dragon reported. “His next target was the Yunei Empire, but just as he was about to set his plan into motion, the Emperor issued a new decree isolating the Empire and forbidding all foreign ships from making port, on pain of being shot down as they approach. The other guilds have been warned about him and been careful not to expose themselves to him. Although his conquests of Garanhir and Aalakbir were swift, elsewhere he’s struggled to make real progress. The Craenen and Eni-Ilẹyedu in particular have rebuffed him several times, just through their lack of unity. He has made good progress in Arthenun Ilẹyeda, but he has not yet visited in person, and Lady Pal’s agents in that city have been quite successful in containing his own men.”
“We think he is likely to attend in person, soon,” Pal pointed out.
“Indeed I think he would have already, if not for…” Dragon gestured, with a frown of effort, to Mouse. “—the theft of the Word itself from his keeping.”
“It drove him mad,” Rheannach agreed. “After you stole it, he recalled his fleet to Long Drop, and immediately set sail. Most of his ships he set to hunting the Cavalier Queen, but he also took the Ring of Eternity and Make Your Own Fortune and set out at speed. We didn’t know his destination until eight days ago…when he attacked the Observatory.”
Amir and Imdura both sat up straight and wide-eyed. “Attacked it?” Imdura burst.
Dragon nodded solemnly. “He landed a company of marines, we know that much. He remained for four days, before boarding the Ring again and setting sail.”
“How do we know this?” Whisker asked, curiously.
“I have had one of my sons trailing the Ring of Eternity since she was launched,” Dragon explained. “Josurvon’s particular talent is remaining unseen, especially in the sky. He’s quite invisible amongst cloud and mist.”
Eyebrows raised and there was some impressed muttering among the gathered mortals. Dragon was known to occasionally wed a mortal husband, and from these unions were born her children, the drakes. Each was a reflection of their mother’s splendor, perhaps not quite as powerful but still occasionally glimpsed on the wing now and again, soaring from earthmote to earthmote on their own business.
“But why?” Jerl mused. “The navigators are learned of course, but…”
“He’s looking for the other Words,” Amir said.
All eyes turned to him, including Dragon’s striking golden ones. Her brow furrowed slightly in increasingly troubled thought. “How do you arrive at that deduction?” she asked.
“The navigators hold no political power, beyond whatever we can barter out of the fact we save ship owners a good deal of money by plotting efficient courses for them,” Amir said. “But the Observatory is home to the Grand Orrery, which is simultaneously the largest and most accurate map of the nested worlds in existence and the most powerful creation of the Art known to man. I worked on it for three years, channeling constant magical energy into it to keep it running, and among its many powers is the ability to find points of interests and chart routes between them.”
Imdura was nodding now, grimly. “The ritual could be adapted to finding an object of sufficient arcane power,” he said.
“Like a Word-vault,” Amir agreed. “It wouldn’t be a small or easy adaptation, but I can already think of a few ways I’d begin going about it.”
Dragon was scowling now. She turned to Jerl. “Timespeaker…have you any premonition about this?”
Jerl hesitated, then turned his thoughts inward to find the Word and…well, it felt rather like pulling on a rope. There was that moment where, if he pulled steadily and well, the turn of the boom would grab hold and he’d be steadying rather than heaving on it.
This time, though, Time stubbornly refused to budge. No insight came to him, no vision or memory of places he’d not yet been or things he’d never yet done.
Or…no. No, there was one thing. “I don’t…I don’t think he’s searching for other Words, yet. At least, I don’t foresee the danger of him gaining one. And I think I would.”
“Perhaps he was trying to reclaim Mind,” Mouse suggested. “He’s got that sort of personality, he doesn’t really understand the idea of giving up power for the greater good. He would assume, if he tracked Mind, he’d find us…”
“…What would happen if the Orrery tried to track an object that was in the Void?” Jerl asked Amir.
“Valkyr knows! I…it might yield nothing, or it might yield a false location, depending on…well. It depends.”
“So it’s possible he’s off chasing a false hope right now?” Derghan perked up.
“We can’t trust to that,” Jerl declared. “We need a definite plan based on what we know, not on what we hope for.”
He saw Harad nodding, where he stood silent in the back against a tree. Good.
“So what’s the plan, skipper?” Derghan asked.
“I say we do what Civorage has done: we go to the navigators and use the Grand Orrery to track some more of the Words.”
There were a number of nods, but Mouse frowned and shook his head. “I’m…weaker, now I don’t have the Word to draw on directly. Probably he is too, but he’s had this power for far longer. I’m not so sure I can break his control over a thrall…”
“I believe I can help, there,” said Ellaenie.
All eyes turned to her. She smiled at Mouse then looked around the gathered people. “I’ve spent much time and effort these past eight years working on ways to break Civorage’s control over the enthralled, and shield ourselves from his influence. And I believe I have the solution…quite literally!”
She produced a small glass bottle and held it up. “Alchemy is one of the disciplines of the Craft. We use magic to alter the properties of an infusion or tonic as it is brewed. Some of you will have heard that witches drink strange potions…well, this is one of them. It’s my masterpiece, a tonic designed to alter the drinker’s state of mind enough to thwart an invasive will, without intoxicating.”
“How do you know it works?” Amir asked.
“Well…I drank it just a few minutes ago,” Ellaenie revealed. “I feel perfectly sober. But…”
She turned her eyes to Mouse and smiled at him. “Perhaps you would care to help me test it?”
“What—?” Mouse blinked at her and stood up. “Oh. Okay. Let’s see now…”
“Yup. Give me your best…your…” Ellaenie trailed off. “I…Hmm. Wow. Okay.”
“Something’s….I feel like….what were we talking about?” Amir asked.
“Her grace’s masterpiece,” Jerl offered, watching their faces with interest. The way their eyes just refused to linger on Mouse and would skip right past him. When Mouse poked Derghan in the arm, Derghan rubbed the spot absently, as though he hadn’t really noticed it.
“Yes…” Ellaenie was staring directly at Mouse, though her face was pinched with concentration. “It works. I can…I see you. Sort of.”
There was a a moment’s awkward, confused silence. Jerl watched them with growing amusement: he’d felt Mouse’s will push hard against his, but there was still that feeling like something thick and impenetrable was coccooning his mind, allowing him to feel and experience the force of Mouse’s power, but sufficiently dampened for him to hold on and withstand it, if he concentrated.
“Uh…who are you talking to, duchess?” Derghan asked, looking left and right and straight through Mouse.
“Not perfectly effective, then,” Mouse observed, releasing his grip on them.
Several people jumped or gasped. Derghan made a strained noise and shook his head as though dislodging something. “Urgh, Winter’s tits*.* That’s fuckin’ weird, every time…Ow.” He frowned down at his arm, and rubbed it again.
Ellaenie, by contrast, relaxed. “Not perfectly,” she agreed. “But good enough. I could…I couldn’t see you, as such. Or at least, I couldn’t have described what you looked like. But I remembered you were there, even if the details went fuzzy.” She cleared her throat and rallied. “The point is…we have a weapon. One with which we can start reducing Civorage’s power base. Up until now, every territory or institution he has seized has been lost, and we have had no hope of reclaiming it. Now, with this…” she waggled the bottle, “Now we can. We can rescue his slaves, give them their own minds back.”
“A noble intent,” Harad commented, speaking up from his spot against a tree. “And no doubt useful at the Observatory. But after that, what then? Will we just sail around on the Cavalier Queen gathering Words? To what end? What is the step after that?”
“You can’t plan out the endgame while you’re still in the opening,” Jerl replied. “But you’re right, we do need to think further than the next move. So, my next proposal: Whisker. You were talking about setting up a base of operations and re-establishing some of your old contacts on a Wandering Isle. Could you do it here instead?”
“Here would be even better,” Whisker said, He coughed twice, patted his chest, and cleared his throat. “If Prince Sayf is willing to let me remain, of course.”
“I’m sure he is,” Ellaenie said.
“And yours would not be the first or only spy network based here,” Pal pointed out. “Both Ellaenie and I have our own networks of contacts, agents, friends…”
“You’re proposing we merge our operations?” Whisker asked.
Pal and Ellaenie nodded at each other, then turned to Dragon. “My lady?”
“My husband has maintained a resistance network on Garanhir,” Dragon explained to Whisker, with a small proud smile. “He gives apologies that he cannot be here today, but it is risky for him to travel. He has only a few agents, but thus far we have managed to stay a step ahead of the Oneists. The assistance of the Street Rats would be exactly what we need to go from merely observing, to taking action. With appropriate compartmentalization and care, of course.”
“Those kinds of connections and opportunities take work,” Whisker pointed out. “We can’t do it all by correspondence. There need to be meetings, talks, hands need shaking. One of my own people would need to represent us out there. Ju-Wi? You up for it?”
“Me, in Enerlend?” Ju-Wi asked. “I’d stick out like I was lotus pink, wouldn’t I?”
“Auldenheigh has the largest Yunei population outside of the Empire itself,” Ellaenie pointed out. “Nearly thirty thousand, mostly in the districts of Heighbank and Stone Circles. I assure you, you won’t be as noticeable as you think.”
“Then I’m in. Better use for my talents than galley work!” Ju-Wi cackled and flashed a gappy grin at Jerl. “You’re gonna miss my cooking though, aren’tcha?”
“Life aboard ship’s been almost too comfortable, lately. Your absence will do my waistline some good,” Jerl retorted, prompting some chuckles.
“Aww, ‘yer a sweetheart!”
Jerl chuckled and looked around, weighing up the people about him. His loyal and driven crew, a whole elfish Set’s worth of warriors, two Heralds, two crownspouses, the leaders of a crime syndicate itching for a chance to rebuild…
And one other.
“Alright. You said you had insights into CIvorage’s way of thinking,” he said, turning to Ekve. “Let’s hear it.”
Ekve had straight, slim eyebrows angled inwards like a shallow V. Now, as he frowned in thought, they met in the middle. “He does not act like a brute warlord,” he observed. “You treat him like charging bull, but remember the…the vathelan ordencordd, the, uh…Duke’s Moot in Old-On-High. He planned long ahead, there. First he tested, then he listened. Like a game of strategy, he learned about his opponent with the first move, then when he learns she is aggressive, he strikes decisively rather than risk a longer game. That is not the play of a charging bull.”
“True,” Ellaenie conceded.
“Mm. It’s true, we can’t plan the endgame right from the opening move. Civorage will have his say as well. But our plans must be more than two moves long. We will claim the Words? Then we need to plan who gets which ones. Do all go to the Timespeaker?”
“Absolutely not!” Jerl threw his hands up reflexively. The very idea filled him with cold dread.
“Then we must know more about them. There are Time and *Mind…*what others? How many? What dangers come with them? If the Crowns will tell us no more about them, then who can?”
“Yngmir,” Amir declared, promptly. “I first read about the Words in the Thundering Hall’s library. I…hmm.” He closed his eyes and tilted his head, searching his memory. “There are…orders to them. Each of the lower-order words is a facet of the higher order…beyond that, I don’t know. I never studied that lore very closely.”
Ekve twisted aa pinch of his beard as he listened, nodding. “Then it seems to me that before we can make use of the Observatory to find the Words, we must go to Yngmir’s hall to learn more of them,” he said.
“I agree.”
“When I went there through my first loop, Civorage attacked and burned the Thundering Hall,” Jerl pointed out. “We’ll want to avoid that, this time.”
“We could change the Queen’s livery a bit,” Derghan suggested. “Swap out the bagcloth, give ‘er a lick of paint. She’ll not be so quickly recognized.”
“She’s due a new bag anyway,” Marren added. “It’s more patch than cloth, now.”
“We can provide, of course,” Lady Pal offered.
“Thank you,” Jerl nodded. “So…to summarize the plan so far, we intend to pretty up the Queen a bit so we can hopefully fly unmolested. After that, we’ll visit the Thundering Hall to learn what Yngmir knows of the Words of Creation. Thus armed, we’ll then liberate the Observatory and use the Grand Orrery to track down the other vaults. Armed with the Words, we’ll be able to begin dismantling Civorage’s empire, beginning…where?”
Pal and Ellaenie exchanged a look, then Ellaenie sighed. “Arthenun Ilẹyeda,” she said. “Much as I’d like to begin in Enerlend, we need to stop his expansion first.”
“He is less established in Arthenun, too,” Pal pointed out. “You need to test your tools and skills before confronting him in his strongholds.”
“Agreed,” Amir muttered.
“Alright,” Jerl nodded. “That’s what the Queen is doing. Meanwhile, the Rats, Lady Pal and Lady Dragon will establish their network of agents…what about you, your grace?”
Ellaenie sighed. “Much as part of me wishes I could come with you…my daughter needs me. And it’s best not to advance one’s king out into the center, anyway. You send out your queen instead.”
“Or my Queen,” Jerl chuckled.
She smiled. “Exactly. Besides…” Ellaenie glanced at Rheannach. “…there is witchcraft to perform. We have our own ways of moving around unseen, don’t you worry.”
“Alright. Well then, unless anyone else has any revelations to make, I think we have our opening moves.”
Harad cleared his throat, loudly. “You’ve said nothing of who among us will have the duty of bearing the Words and their power,” he pointed out.
“Because that’s not for us to decide,” Jerl told him. “Weren’t you listening to Prince Sayf? The Words have a will and agenda of their own, beyond even the Crowns’ desires. We’ll let them pick their own speakers, as circumstances permit. You can’t plan everything, Hakatin.”
“Hrrm.” Harad grunted, “You’re assuming their agenda is benign. If you’re correct, they inflicted Civorage on us in the first place.”
“We’ll see, won’t we?” Jerl replied. Harad shrugged, and remained silent. “Is there anything else? Anything at all that anybody here wishes to add?”
Silence.
“…In that case, we all know our roles. We’ll begin our preparations.” Jerl stood, then looked around. A slow grin spread across his face. “But first…we’re on the Oasis. The court of the Crown of fun and beauty! That’s an opportunity I’m going to take. A night of fun! We drink, we dance, we feast, we live. And then we get to work in the morning.”
“Hear, hear!” Pal agreed, a split-second ahead of Derghan, and that was the start of a rousing cheer from several quarters. Jerl grinned as their meeting, their war council, whatever it was broke up in suitably anarchic fashion. Sayf or Pal or somebody must have foreseen this, because there were servants and musicians among them before the roar of approval had even faded away. Somebody struck up a dancing tune, somebody else handed Jerl a cup of wine.
It felt like slipping on a ladder and thumping down it only to land nimbly on his feet. And who was he to refuse what he had himself only just proposed?
He grinned, took a second cup of wine, handed it to Mouse, toasted…
And, while the time was available to them, they lived.