The Gods of Amyrantha (11 page)

'Plans for what?'

The consort shrugged, her attention once more fixed on the buffet. 'That we'll never know, I suppose. Some think he was planning to challenge Syrolee and Engarhod. Others thought he was still looking for a way to get even with Tryan for destroying his homeland and planned to use Fliss to do it. Then there's the chance Lukys had something to do with it. He always seems to be lurking in the background whenever something catastrophic happens.'

As she listened to Chintara, Arkady was struck by an odd feeling that she'd heard all this before. It

wasn't so much
what
Chintara was telling her, but the
way
in which she told it. The familiarity, the assurance with which she spoke, was hauntingly reminiscent of the way Cayal spoke when he was telling his story ...

In fact, not since the Immortal Prince had Arkady met anyone who spoke with such confidence about the Tide Lords and their motives.

And then something else occurred to her that left Arkady breathless. 'My lady, you talk of Cayal flooding Glaeba's Great Rift Valley over the death of a child named Fliss.'

The consort leaned back against her couch, tucking her legs underneath her. 'So?'

'The Tarot mentions nothing about a child. According to the Tarot, the Immortal Prince flooded Glaeba with his tears over the death of his one true love, Amaleta.'

The Imperator's Consort barely even hesitated before offering an explanation. 'We are much better educated, here in Torlenia, than those in other countries who rely on a charlatan's tool for their information, Arkady. As a historian, surely you understand that.'

'Yes, my lady, of course I do. It's just you seem so ...' Arkady hesitated, searching for the right words. 'So ... well informed ...'

Chintara smiled. 'Do you think Glaeba is the only place where a woman might gain an education?'

'Of course not.'

'Then don't look so surprised, Arkady. Some of us know the history of the Tide Lords quite intimately.'

'You must have studied them extensively, my lady,' she said, wondering if this woman could be recruited to Declan's Cabal. Someone with such in-depth knowledge would be a great asset to those looking to find a way to protect Amyrantha from the Tide Lords' return.

'You have no idea,' the consort agreed with a smile. 'More wine?'

'Thank you,' Arkady replied, wishing she was brave enough to pursue the matter further. But Stellan's position in Ramahn was still too tenuous and for all her outward appearance of friendliness, Arkady didn't know Chintara well enough to know if she could risk mentioning the Cabal of the Tarot.

One thing was certain, though, she decided as Chintara rang the bell for a slave. As soon as she returned to the embassy, Arkady was going to send a message to Declan Hawkes in Glaeba.

Perhaps the King's Spymaster knew whether or not the Torlenian Imperator's Consort could be trusted.

CHAPTER 10

Hidden Valley proved to be everything Warlock had hoped for, while being nothing like he expected. Nestled in a small valley some eight miles from the main manor house of the Summerton estate, it was a place of fertile soil, abundant game and several hundred Crash of every species Warlock had ever heard of.

Aleki Ponting had delivered Warlock and Boots into the care of a large canine named William Phydeau. He ran the camp and was responsible for training the Scards who'd found a home there, not as fighters, as Warlock had assumed, but as spies. The Cabal of the Tarot needed Crash who could slip in and out of the halls of power for one very simple reason — if you were looking for a Tide Lord, once the Tide was on the turn, the halls of power were the best places to look for them.

Warlock had few complaints about the camp. He and Boots were allocated a bunk in a small hut on the canine side of the valley and welcomed with surprisingly little fuss by the other occupants. The food was plain but plentiful and there was always something new to learn, either about the Tide Lords or ways to deal with them. They were instructed on the secrets to appearing servile when you were anything but, how to get messages out secretly, how to write and read simple codes and phrases that would identify other Scards, trained by and working for the Cabal.

The weather was warm, the other Crasii didn't care that he was an ex-convict and Boots treated him like a

friend, which — given their previous intimacy — was more than he expected. Female canines were notorious for their fickle natures, and he wasn't sure what had brought about this change in her until she'd informed him, quite matter-of-factly over dinner one evening, that she was pregnant.

Since then, despite the fact she acted more as if she was resigned to the idea of impending motherhood, rather than excited by it, she had been not just friendly, but almost affectionate. Like it or not, she was his mate now. Warlock was still adjusting to the notion that he had one, let alone the news that in a few months time, he was going to be a father.

Warlock had only one complaint, really. On his arrival in Hidden Valley, Phydeau announced that he would have to change his name.

'I am Warlock,' he'd announced. 'Out of Bella, by Segura. I have no need of another name.'

'Your name brands you as less than human,' Phydeau had said. He was a large, shaggy canine with a dark-brown pelt covered in nicks and scars indicating he'd not found Hidden Valley without a fight. He'd been a tracker once — according to the other Scards in their hut — who'd murdered his master when ordered to tear apart another Crash who'd displeased the man by letting their quarry get away from them on a weekend hunt. Whether he was a true Scard — one who could defy an immortal — was unknown. Like many of the creatures here in Hidden Valley, their rebellious natures had brought them to the Cabal's attention, but until they'd confronted and defied an immortal, as both Warlock and Boots had done, nobody was really sure who were the true Scards and who were the hopefuls. It was a sobering thought, and made their predicament all the more dangerous. The Cabal was building up a secret army of Scards with no guarantee they wouldn't change sides and

betray them all, the first time an immortal commanded them to do so.

'But I'm
not
human,' Warlock replied. 'I am Crasii.'

'And an animal, according to the vast majority of humans,' Phydeau reminded him.

'My master always treated me with respect.'

'Respect?
Tides, lad! Why do you think they name us like household pets? Out of consideration for our feelings?'

'I never really gave the issue any thought.'

'Well, you should,' Phydeau suggested. 'Have you ever heard a human announce their pedigree the way you so proudly announce yours?'

'Warlock is who I am,' he maintained stubbornly. 'I cannot change that. Nor do I wish to change it.'

Phydeau shook his head. 'You are no longer called Warlock. Warlock is a name one gives a pet dog. You are Cecil Segura. Cecil will be your first name, and Segura, because that's your father's name. From now on, that's how you'll be called.'

'I wish to be called Warlock.'

The old Crasii had smiled, clapping Warlock on the shoulder. 'It's a good name, Cecil. You'll get used to it.' 'I am Warlock,' he insisted.

'Your mate didn't have a problem with her new name.'

For a moment, he didn't understand who Phydeau was referring to, the idea of having a mate was still so new to him. When he did, Warlock was shocked. 'You gave Boots another name, too?'

The camp commander nodded. 'From now on, she will be known as Tabitha Belle.'

Warlock had frowned, trying to imagine calling Boots by anything but her given name, but he couldn't do it. Boots was tough and cheeky and resilient. The dam of his cubs wasn't a
Tabitha
Belle.

'She didn't object?'

Phydeau shook his large, shaggy head. 'Why would

she object, Cecil? She was named after a type of human footwear. What dignity is there in that?'

What dignity indeed,
Warlock thought, as he helped carry water back to their hut on the slope, overlooking the thatched common-house where the Scards gathered for meetings and any business that involved all of them. It was cleaning day in Hidden Valley. William Phydeau ran a tight camp and every Crash in it was expected to pull their weight and help maintain the camp in good order.

Dignity, be damned.
There wasn't a lot of dignity in being named Cecil that Warlock could see.

'Hey! Farm Dog! Wait up!'

Warlock stopped and turned to find Boots hurrying up the path behind him, rather disturbed to realise that he actually preferred 'Farm Dog' to 'Cecil'. She had shed her linen shift now she was living among her own kind with no humans to please or offend. Her pelt was brushed to a shine, her bushy tail pert and enticing. She looked fabulous, Warlock thought, eyeing her swelling belly. It was almost three months since their mating and there was no longer any chance of hiding her pregnancy. Now he'd gotten used to the idea, Warlock was secretly bursting with delight that he was to become a father, although Boots seemed a little more pragmatic about impending motherhood.

'Hello, Boots.'

'My name is Tabitha,' she reminded him, falling into step beside him. Then she grinned and nudged him with her elbow.
'Cecil'

Warlock was not amused. 'I am Warlock.'

'You're an obstinate fool,' she corrected as they resumed walking up the steep path to the hut. 'Why don't you just give in and accept it? Everyone else here has a proper name.'

'Giving us human names doesn't make us human. We are Crash.'

'Actually, we're Scards,' she pointed out. 'Even the Crasii don't accept us.'

'Then I am a Scard and proud of it. I don't need a different name to remind me of the fact.'

Boots shook her head at his stubbornness, but said nothing further on the matter and they walked the rest of the way up to the hut in silence, squinting into the rising sun. Warlock wished he knew how to explain what he felt; how much a part of his identity his pedigree was. He wanted Boots to understand.

Tides, he wanted Phydeau and every Scard in Hidden Valley to understand.

I am Warlock. It's who I am.

'Cecil! Cecil!'

Boots turned before Warlock at the cry. When it did register that he was the one being hailed, he looked over his shoulder to find a young feline named Marianne running up the path behind them.

It was rare to see a feline on this side of the valley, so Marianne's visit could only mean something out of the ordinary. Phydeau preferred the two most populous subspecies to stay apart. Although they shared a common purpose, and trained together during the day, it was hard to overcome their natural instincts regarding the other Crasii species, and their commander preferred to avoid incidents rather than deal with them after the fact. Life was peaceful, here in Hidden Valley, but it was an enforced peace and one endangered it at their peril.

Marianne was a kitten bred here in the valley, the offspring of two known Scards and therefore guaranteed a Scard herself. She had an older sister, she'd told Boots, who was already off working for the Cabal and she couldn't wait to be old enough to do the same. Warlock was fairly certain her enthusiasm was only because she had never known slavery or even human company that wasn't friendly to her kind. He wondered how she would fare in the world outside Hidden Valley when it came time for her to leave.

'What's wrong?'

'Captain Phydeau wants you.'

'Did he say why?'

The young feline nodded. 'Tiji's back.' 'Who's Tiji?' Boots asked.

'She's one of us,' Marianne explained unhelpfully. 'You'd best hurry. The captain wasn't actually asking, you know.'

Boots took the water bucket from Warlock before he could respond. 'You'd better get down there. I'll finish off your chores.'

'Are you sure you should be carrying anything heavy?'

'Don't be ridiculous,' she replied. 'Anyway, I'd rather do your chores than have Phydeau growling at me.'

Warlock nodded, and turned to the feline. 'Take me to him.'

Warlock had never seen a chameleon Crasii before. Apparently they were common once, bred by the immortals primarily to spy on each other. But they were difficult to breed and because of their ability to blend with their surroundings, they became as much a nuisance to their creators as an asset. The Tide Lords had obliterated most of them before the last Cataclysm. The few who'd escaped the purge were the descendants of the Scards who'd run away in the years before the immortals had determined to be rid of their reptilian creations. As a consequence, there were few chameleons who weren't genuine Scards, although that was something not generally known among humans, or even most ordinary Crasii.

The silver-skinned female was sitting cross-legged on the end of the long wooden table in the room they used as a communal meeting hall on the few occasions all the residents of Hidden Valley were required to gather en masse. The chameleon was dressed in a plain linen shift,

speaking in a low voice to Phydeau and Aleki Ponting. Warlock was surprised to see the Lord of Summerton here. In the month he'd been in Hidden Valley, this was the first time he'd laid eyes on their human benefactor.