Phoenix Rising (14 page)

“Main temple of Terian? That’s a big building. Pretty, too. Liked that big statue, but that fuzzy light around the head makes your god hard to see.”

Tobimar laughed. “You’re not
supposed
to be able to see his face, silly Toad. Anyway, I prayed and then asked the Lurali there for guidance. She meditated and then said that my path could not be guided, for I must make the path my own.”

“Oh, ouch, that was useless.”

“Not actually.” He grinned as he saw Poplock squint one eye shut and warp his face in an expression of incomprehension. “It took a little bit, but I looked at it again from Khoros’ point of view. I had to make the path my own. That meant
not
following the same path the others took.”

“But,” the little Toad said, still puzzled, “they took all
kinds
of paths, from what you said.”

“Right. So that meant I had to figure out what they all had in common. What were they
all
doing at the same time?

“So I went out for a walk, to clear my head, after a while—and as soon as I got ten steps out the door, it struck me like the very light of dawn:
that was the answer
.”

Poplock gazed at him with a dour expression for a moment. “
What
was the answer?”

“They were all
looking
. They were all
searching
. Trying to find something on this huge world by chasing around after it.”

The Toad blinked, then bounced suddenly. “Oh! Oh! So you had to
start
your search by
stopping
the search!”

“Exactly! Just like when you’re trying to think of the answer to something, and it’s
almost
there but you just can’t quite get it, so you
stop
thinking about it . . . and then suddenly it comes.”

Poplock grabbed a fried beetle-grub from his own miniature plate and chewed on it thoughtfully. “Still, you couldn’t just sit down and wait for the answers; the truth of your people’s origins never came to your country, and Skysand hasn’t been moving much.”

“Right.” Tobimar leaned back. “So the question was . . . how could I work the angles of Khoros’ advice? How could I not seek, yet also make sure I was still seeking?” He looked at Poplock to see what he might come up with.

The Toad sat still for a few moments, still chewing. Then he bobbed slowly. “By doing some kind of job that would keep you on the edges of everything strange and dangerous, yet make you respected enough to get access to records that aren’t easy for ordinary people to reach.”

“And that job would be . . . ?”

Now the Toad grinned. “You followed those hints of justice and vengeance. Bounty hunter with a code, of course. Adjudicator in training, or adventurer looking for steady work in a city. And I guess that brought you to that
mazakh
stronghold.”

“You’ve seen it clearly, Poplock. There aren’t all that many Lords Adjudicator, and with the law in the State being mostly composed of ‘Don’t cause trouble’ in different ways, people usually try to settle problems more directly. Oh, anyone can go in and see the King himself, but the cost could be high, depending on what the King decides must be done. There’s always a market for a trustworthy independent investigator who’s good with blades and able to deal with magic too.”

“Oh, no doubt, no doubt,” the Toad agreed, with a comically raised eye-ridge, “but how exactly do you convince people you’re trustworthy to begin with? That’s how any good faceturner makes his living, you know—looking trustworthy. But anyone with the money and resources to hire a good Adventurer or investigator usually isn’t going to be that easy to run the turn on.” He spoke with the air of someone who—having spent the last couple of years unseen and underfoot throughout the City—had come by this knowledge with experience.

Tobimar grinned, pushing an errant strand of his black hair back into place. “True, but most of them won’t put a Starheart on deposit with the
Nomdas
of Terian, or offer to pay for a truthsaying with anyone the client names. I will.”

Poplock blinked in surprise. “No . . . no, I don’t suppose many others would. Especially not that last bit about the
client
getting to name the truthsayer. So what about the
mazakh
?”

Tobimar shook his head. “That one was supposed to be pretty simple. One of the
khallit
—Maridras is her name—came to me and asked me to find her eggs; two had been stolen and she and her mate had a clutch of only three. I really only had to
find
them and, if they were still viable, they’d take care of the rest. If the eggs were . . . unrecoverable, well, they might have had some more work for me, or maybe they’d just have gone straight to the real Adjudicators then.

“Well, even in the First City there’s friction between all types; out-and-out prejudice and so on is forbidden, but behind-the-scenes infighting, that kind of thing, goes on all the time. And there’s at least two of the races I know of that have a real taste for
mazakh
eggs.”

“Ooo! Ooo! I know those too. The Iriistik and the . . . oh, what do they call them . . . the
Rohila
, the Artan-that-aren’t-Artan?”

“The White Elves?” Tobimar blinked at that. “I hadn’t heard
that
one. No, I was talking about
bilarel
.”

“Ogres or trolls . . . yeah, heard that. But the White Elves do too.”

“I’ll have to remember that. Anyway, I thought I had a strong lead; there’s a small Iriistik nest here that’s a colony for the Gold Mother up north, and I picked up some rumors they’d been asking around for eggs. Some
mazakh
will sell their eggs if they’re not fertilized, or even if they are and more hatchlings would be a problem, though you almost never see that with the
khallit
—there’s too few of them to afford to shrink the population much. I narrowed it down to a Gray Warrior who was seen in the area, and I cornered him last week and after I proved I could probably beat him, he recognized his nest-value lay in survival, not in maintaining secrets.

“So you can imagine how puzzled I was when he said he’d arranged to steal the eggs, but not for him. For some other
mazakh.
”

Poplock shook his head slightly. “Right, that makes no sense.
Khallit
stick together, and the True People—the regular
mazakh
—wouldn’t keep eggs of
khallit
at all, they’d destroy them on the spot. Figure they’re cursed or something.”

“That’s what I thought. But the Gray was very certain of what he said, so I started some really careful investigations of the local
mazakh
, and sure enough I found a couple people who remembered hearing something about
mazakh
seeking
khallit
eggs.”

Poplock finished his drink and used his rear foot to scratch behind his head. “Hmmmm. Well, you know, there were some pretty nasty necromancers securing that place, and unborn souls . . .”

“Exactly what I began to guess after a while, especially after I talked to people in the area and managed to find a common thread in the whole affair. The queries and contacts all started with one particular
mazakh
and I was able to pinpoint which one when this old Dwarf—”

“Better not let Odin’s Children hear you use that word!”

“I’ve heard what they call us. They can handle the word ‘Dwarf.’ Anyway, this old graybeard fighter had seen ‘that sneaky hissing lizard,’ as he put it, and remembered a mark on his upper arm, three very thin lines like scars. With that hint, I managed to track that
mazakh
down, found out that he was acting as a sort of fixer or arranger for his group, tracked
them
down, and . . . well, that’s how I got into that mess.”

Poplock looked thoughtful, almost as though he was trying to think of something. “Something about that . . . well, it’ll come back. Anyway, now what are you going to do, Prince Tobimar?”

Tobimar gave a slight smile. “First I’m going to have to go to my clients and tell them what I’ve found out. I don’t have too much hope their eggs are still viable; if they’re using them for what I’d guess, they probably would use them right away. Then . . .” He looked at Poplock. “We need to do something about your problem, actually. That’s more important than my quest. After all, mine’s been waiting twelve thousand years.”

“With that logic, you’ll never finish it,” Poplock pointed out with a mocking bounce. “But you’re probably right. I’m really feeling uneasy about that old demon; he’s had a lot of time. But what can we do? No one listens to me.”

Tobimar Silverun sat up a little straighter. “Maybe not, Poplock. But I’ve made quite a few important connections since I’ve been here. If we take them the results of this investigation, combined with the importance of what you’ve got to tell them . . . I think it just might get us in to see Adjudicator T’Oroning himself, and I’ve been wanting to talk to him ever since I got here!”

“Well, in
that
case,” the little Toad said, “Let’s finish up with this meal and get moving!”

13

Once more the gold-silver scroll was set on the desk in the shadowed room, and reflected in the central panel was something far away and terrible to behold. The man seated at the desk, however, found that more exhilarating than frightening, for the fact he was present at these councils—even mostly to observe—meant he was close to the heart of mighty doings indeed.

The glowing-dark figure of the King of the Black City gazed once more out of the central mirror-like surface of the three viewing mirrors before him; the one to his left showed his enigmatic patron, while the right, this time, was but pure, unmarred silver. The King spoke. “All is nearly ready?”

“A few final . . . adjustments, Majesty,” the man’s patron answered, casually toying with a deck of cards barely visible in one corner of the mirror. “Credit where it is due; Voorith has worked wonders in the last few years. If anything, he has greater resources now for his part than he would have had without the interference of the Golden-Eyed.”

“Have you traced that agent?”

It shook its head. “Not an agent. As is so often the case, a would-be adventurer who proved to have the talent. Which as you know makes him rather difficult to trace; he has the favor of Blackwart upon him, yet none of the power of the gods.”

“You are
certain
?”

Ah, the common mistrust and concern of all at such a time
. The patron’s smile was open and cheerful, yet the room seemed somehow to dim, as though the brightness of the smile drew in all light. “Certainty is for fools, Majesty . . . as I believe you know well. But I even risked the Cards for a hint.”

The glowing eyes widened and then the ebony-glowing head bowed in acknowledgement. “Well enough done, then.”

The man was surprised; his patron had shown him those Cards (which it was now idly fiddling with) once, and once only. According to his patron, they made no errors, showed the truth, but if used beyond a very, very limited amount, would give increasingly misleading answers which required ever more caution and cleverness to interpret properly.

When he had expressed surprise that a divination tool would be so perverse, the creature had laughed. “Unsurprising, in truth, as they were meant to serve higher and brighter destinies, and resent being turned against their own.” It had smiled with a nostalgic look upon its face that, somehow, made even
him
shiver. “Capturing those Cards . . . that was one of my greatest triumphs, actually.”

But the King of All Hells was continuing: “And did the Cards offer any other insight?”

“The little Toad may well prove an impediment in the future, but not immediately. Alas, my friend, our true opponent is the same as always, and he has set more than one set of plans into motion. More than that I dared not attempt to see, not now.”

The hiss of tormented air was the only sound for several minutes, air that shimmered with the same terrible blue-white radiance as Kerlamion’s eyes, and then vanished within the blackness that surrounded him. “What of the other components of the plan?”

“All appears nearly ready.” His patron’s blue eyes met the man’s for a split second, as if to say,
Let me handle this
. He was more than happy to stay silent as it continued speaking to Kerlamion, “. . . and yours?”

The smile of Kerlamion
did
take the light from the room, leaving only the glow of his monstrous eyes and the blacker-than-black half-circle of soulless mirth. “Very soon. Months only.”

“Then—”

There was a knock on the door of his room, a door almost never approached by any other than himself, one never to
be
approached save in true emergency. He raised an eyebrow
. This is unexpected.
“Majesty . . . I must go.”

No questions were asked; the King of Demons knew he would not leave so abruptly without reason, and his patron understood even more. The mirror went blank, to ironic silver reflecting only the one seated at the desk. He turned, then. “Enter.”

The man who entered was tall, in shining armor of silver edged with black and red. He bowed deeply, dropping to one knee. “Forgive me for the intrusion.”

“Forgiveness depends upon reason, my friend. No need to kneel. If your mission is urgent enough, then forgiveness is inevitable. Tell me of the urgency.”

“We . . . have a problem with Silver Eagle.”

“A problem?” He frowned. This was
not
the time for problems with the Justiciars.
Only a few months!
“Be more specific.”

“He has begun . . . asking questions. Questions about the past. Nothing too obvious—he is a clever man, sir, very clever—but it is clear that he suspects all is not as it appeared on the outside.”

“Aran,” he said softly, and Condor shrank back at the use of that name, so familiar and thus so very dangerous, “Aran, my friend, this seems to me far too swift. We have procedures, requirements in place for how you all must conduct yourselves, how the adoption of a new Justiciar is to proceed, how to guide them slowly but surely into acceptance of their new position. More, we have not
had
to perform any questionable acts since his induction. We have been given time, and while it has been clear that he is unfortunately upright and honest, possibly too difficult to turn to our cause, we have all been conducting ourselves as true Justiciars.” He looked coldly at Condor. “Have we not?”