Twenty
“
History is a serpent of flame. It cycles and twists and ultimately connects back to itself, but with the passing of time everything in its grip collapses and burns away.”
Argus mused on Zaroth’s teachings as he made his way through Kai-Ren Thoth, which was unusually busy that night due to preparations being made to entertain visiting merchant families from all over Jlantria. Their power wasn’t as great as it had been prior to the Rift War, but clans like the Thorns, the Ozydians and the Bloodlarks still controlled the silk and spice empires, and they brutally defended their wares and trade routes with private armies and mercenary Veilwardens. Although each visiting family was afforded its own wing of the palace for use during their stay, the main hall on the upper floor was the thoroughfare through which their retainers needed to travel in order to get anywhere useful, and as a result the corridors bustled with activity and noise.
A grand feast was scheduled to take place in just a few hours. Private servants scurried about, bound for the kitchens with special instructions on what their Lords or Ladies could or would not eat or else desperately racing to secure private meetings between their families and any of the various ambassadors, influential mages or members of The Thirteen. The more enumerate palace staff attended to the guests, as well, ensuring the near-royal accommodations were suitable. Everything was done under the supervision of the White Dragon Guard, who in turn were forced to deal with the personal bodyguards and sellswords brought to defend their excessively paranoid employers.
Argus wove his way through the barrage of Squires and handmaidens without really seeing or hearing them. His mind was on other matters...dark matters he had to discuss with the Empress while there was still time.
I just hope she remembers not to kill the messenger.
He ascended the spiral steps to the Empress’s ice-white tower. The staircase was concealed from normal sight by powerful enchantments, and at every moment he felt the chill of the Veil rub raw against his skin. His mood was as dark as his cloak, and his insides were twisted with worry. Argus felt he’d never been particularly good at dealing with stressful situations, and it struck him as mildly ironic that he so often garnered praise for how calm and collected he conducted himself under pressure.
The trip to the Empress’s tower had never felt so long. The dreadful chill in the air made his breaths come hard, and his temples pulsed with pain. The cold night beyond the narrow windows was curiously devoid of stars. Argus’ head buzzed with random worries, like the fact that he’d run out of spiced black tea and had forgotten to give his approval on that part of the next semester’s final curriculum which House Blue was responsible for.
Steel yourself
, he thought.
Stop acting like a schoolgirl. The heads of the other Houses only allowed a Veilwarden as young as you to step into power because they thought they could take advantage of you, saddling you with
their
duties while the Empress still expected you to give her research and results. It’s time to show them what you’re made of.
Argus came to the cold stone door at the top of the steps, and the Veilcrafted wards recognized his presence and opened as he approached. He stepped into a cold flagstone hall lined with white curtains; a door of mirrored steel waited at the far end. Two Knights of the Grail Order stood to either side, their golden helms glimmering in the torchlight. Argus saw himself in the door’s reflection as he approached, young and pale, his thick dark hair as disheveled now as it had been the day he’d enrolled in the Academy. His cloak was so black he looked like a raven.
The Knight’s eyes were unmoving even as Argus stepped up between them.
“
I need to speak to the Empress,” he said.
“
The Empress is indisposed,” one of the Knights said.
“
I need to speak with her,” Argus repeated. “Now.”
“
You heard me,” the Knight said.
“
And you heard
me
. Let me pass.” He stared into the Knight’s eyes, suddenly feeling bold. He was tired of being pushed around and underestimated, even if his heart
was
hammering so hard he thought it would crack through his breastbone. He took slow and even breaths to calm himself and held the Veil at the edge of his grip. Its chill presence coated his skin with an invisible layer of frigid power.
Argus tried not to show his surprise when one of the Knights abruptly moved to open the mirrored door. The air inside the next room was much warmer than that in the hall, and the stark chamber was lined with dark iron. Frosted windows granted view of the eerily blank sky.
Empress Azaean sat in a regal chair of lacquered oak with a thin black book in her perfectly manicured hands. She wore a resplendent robe of cold blue and golden silk, and her dark hair had been curled and teased up in a bun, with two perfectly twisted locks falling to either side of her smooth, pale face. Her lips were the red of rubies and blood.
Azaean’s diamond-hard eyes pierced to Argus’ core as he entered the chamber. The door sealed shut behind him.
The Empress wore sandals encrusted with sapphires, and emeralds dotted her rings and necklace. A small silver tiara sat upon her brow. Raw Veilcraft pulsed around her, darkening the chamber and weighting the air with cold and silence.
She didn’t speak to him for long, awkward moments, but returned to reading her small book with a sour expression on her face. Argus stood waiting. He’d emboldened himself enough for one day – she knew he wouldn’t come to see her if the need wasn’t pressing.
“In a short time I’ll be attending a feast,” she said. “No doubt by now the mummers and bards have already started to entertain our esteemed guests, people like Lord Thorn and Lady Castleberry, the wealthy Rorrick Waters and the dour Erik Ozydian. They’ll eat my food and pretend to laugh at each other’s jokes, make me all sorts of promises they can’t keep and ask for things they know I can’t give. They’ll make subtle complaints about one another while we dine, then more directed complaints when they meet with me later in private.” She marked her page with a thin piece of silk and closed her book, which vanished without a trace. “This vows to be a very,
very
long knight, Argus,” she said. “So I thought I’d take a few moments and enjoy some quiet…much as I understand you yourself do every morning.”
“
I am terribly sorry to disturb your moment of tranquility, My Dragon,” he said with a bow. “I would not disturb you…”
“…
if it were not of the utmost importance, I know,” she finished. “I like that about you, Argus. You’re not stupid...but you
are
a tad predictable.” She stood up. Argus watched as the Veil straightened her robe. “So, what news?”
“
I just communicated with Toran Gess,” he said.
“
And?”
“
He identified the man accompanying Ijanna: a young Ebonmark soldier named Kath Cardrezhej. Kath was a member of the old City Watch who was later recruited into Colonel Blackhall’s forces, but now he’s considered a deserter. A few nights after he and Ijanna vanished from Ebonmark his family was found brutally murdered in their home. They’d been tortured, raped and cannibalized.”
“
I have yet to eat, Argus,” Azaean said. “Is there a point to this report?”
“
We have reason to believe they were killed by members of the Chul. Gess believes they’ve been tracking Ijanna for some time.”
Azaean watched him intently. He knew he’d piqued her interest.
“Go on,” she said.
“
It seems Ijanna believes the third Skullborn is none other than the leader of the Chul, a woman they call the Witch Mother. Her real name is unknown, and no amount of magical research has been able to reveal it, which lends some credence to the notion that she’s as powerful as Kala and Ijanna. The Black Eagles
were
able to get her description, and using the Veil I’ve confirmed she is indeed Colonel Bloodwine’s long-lost bastard daughter.”
Azaean watched him like a hunter cat gazing upon its prey. He couldn’t help but shift beneath her scrutiny.
“So you were right,” she said. “I’m impressed. What do we know about these Chul?”
“
Not much, sadly,” Argus said nervously. “They’re a cult of fanatics who believe that seizing control of Chul Gaerog will allow them to bring about the end of the world. I’ve asked the Black Eagles in Ebonmark to investigate an abandoned manor rumored to have served as one of their lairs.” He swallowed, but went on. “There’s more. Last night Gess pinpointed the location of the
thar’koon,
just south of Kaldrak Iyres, but when he tried to locate it again tonight he came up empty.”
“
What?!” The air rippled so hard around Azaean’s body it nearly threw Argus back. “What happened?”
“
Gess thinks the
thar’koon
were damaged. We’re going to send our team to her last known location.” He took a deep breath. The ache in his chest returned. “My Dragon, I’d like to volunteer to lead the team myself.”
Azaean’s look told him she was surprised. She hesitated, and after a moment shook her head.
“No. Out of the question.”
“
We have no choice, Empress,” Argus said cautiously. “Gess and I keyed and set the Veil resonance used to modify the
thar’koon.
I don’t need to tell you how complicated or dangerous it is to alter existing Veilcraft, especially when it was used to affect artifacts as powerful as those blades. Only Toran and myself are attuned to the magic, and only we two can trace it with any accuracy.” He forced himself to look her in the eyes, and he saw disapproval...and maybe a trace of concern. “Gess is in no condition for this, My Dragon,” Argus said. “He wouldn’t last a day in the Bonelands.”
Azaean nodded. She understood how trying the task would be. The mission would not be a simple matter of tracking Ijanna – she was too far into the Bonelands for any overland pursuit to be practical, so they’d have to use
cutgates
to reach her, just as Argus needed
cutgates
to collect the members of the team from all over the southern Empire. Opening a portal was no simple matter: using the Veil to slice a hole through time and space was dangerous, and in spite of their typically superior skills with transmutation and conjuration Veilwardens were generally not as adept at teleportation as Bloodspeakers were. Argus would have to do it not once but several times, and even with implement foci to help him it would still be an arduous task.
“
Are you sure you’re ready for this, Argus?” the Empress asked. It was easy to forget how tall she was; even if he weren’t practically cowing before her she still had at least two inches on him. “You’re a fine Veilwarden, my friend, but you’re…unaccustomed to confrontations.”
“
I’m ready,” he said, trying to conceal the fear in his voice. They had no other options. It had been foolish of them to attune the
thar’koon
to only Gess and himself, but neither of them had anticipated Toran’s injury, and the need for secrecy had superseded their desire to ask for help from other Veilwardens of House Blue.
He had no choice. Failure meant more than just incurring Azaean’s anger.
It could mean the end of the Empire,
he thought, and the reality of the burden he’d just taken on hit him like a stab to the gut.
It falls to me.
“
Is your team ready?” she asked.
“
Ready, but not assembled,” he said. “I’ll have them gathered in a few hours.”
“
Then do it,” she said quietly. “I’ll have Janner follow up this business regarding Corgan Bloodwine’s daughter, and we’ll see if we can’t put an end to her madness.” She spoke quietly. “We have to stop them, Argus. The Chul, the Dream Witch,
and
my traitor daughter.”
Cold fire burned behind her eyes. The fires of hell.
Goddess, what have I gotten myself into?
“
By your leave, My Dragon,” he bowed.
“
May the Goddess protect you, Argus Saam’siir,” she said. “May she protect us all.”
Within a short time Argus had his pack ready. He felt he was forgetting something, probably
many
things, but he tried not to worry about it. The rest of the team would have ample supplies, and if he could master the
cutgates
they’d have easy access to almost any location in the world, in which case acquiring additional equipment wouldn’t be an issue. Part of him regretted even thinking like that –
cutgates
were serious displays of power, and every use drained the Veil to a greater extent than most war magic – but if he was going to survive this ordeal he needed to start thinking differently.
If we can’t stop Kala, what I do with the
cutgates
won’t matter one bit.