The Path of Dreams (The Tome of Law Book 2)

by Matthew W. Harrill

  “By all means,” Zya replied, “but mention this to nobody. It will not happen for a while, and I need those that I can trust at my back.”

  Bethen actually bowed to her, before leaving. The thought would have been laughable but for the severity of the situation. Bethen would probably be even closer to her now that her masters would realise that she apparently had a hold over her, but that did not matter. Zya was too keen to escape the rapidly closing trap with her life, and the jaws would close on the night of the Feast of Growth. Maybe she could still make a difference.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Abad Santos was excited. He rarely got so in his position. A minor member of the order of light, a fractious little group that had once worshipped both Matsandrau and Ondulyn but now tended towards the Sun God, he rarely got involved in anything that did not include a healthy bribe of some sort. That had changed with the appearance of the stranger, a wiry little man that had spoken in prophetic tones about 'the time that would soon be here', the uprising when only the strong guilds would remain. That the man had come to him in particular marked him out for special treatment in his own mind, and so it had gone with his guild. He had spoken in dark corners, whisperings of what was to come, and unbelievably people had begun to listen. It seemed that the thirst for power and riches was not his alone and that it was a drink many were willing to sell themselves out for. The city of Bay's Point was not a poor one, far from it. But it was a rabble of paupers compared to the great southern coastal cities. Still, such opportunities arose rarely and he was going to take full advantage of this one. He had consulted most of the order. Of the score that inhabited the guild house, the only dissent came from the top two ranking wizards. Everybody else saw opportunity in the chaos ahead. The order would unite, he had said, and it would unite behind him. He was the man with the means to seek out answers amidst the apparent serenity of the guild, and his peers respected that. A man of middle age, he approached the sleeping chamber of his master on silent feet. The knife with which he intended to end the guild master's life tucked up one sleeve. It was cumbersome and very heavy, but the ceremonial knife that once had hung in a place of honour in the shrine of Matsandrau was still a weapon, and one with significant meaning at that. It was the weapon of their God, which he would sanctify once more with the blood of his highest-ranked worshipper. The shrine would be born anew as a temple dedicated to more than just their God. It would be dedicated to him. He, Abad Santos, would extend his reach beyond the small guild house that occupied a dusty corner of the guild quarter. He would take one of the bigger guilds, for he was assured many would fall. Perhaps he would take the Earth guild, or the guild of those pathetic wind wizards who spent all their time imagining that Yogingi was sitting by them. He would make the first move, and others would follow his lead. He would be the man in charge of the city when the Duke succumbed to whatever mysterious fate had been ordained for him, he would make sure of that. Waiting outside the door for a long, silent moment he ensured that there was nobody near him by way of a miniscule searching focus. His stone carefully concealed, he lurked in the shadows as the tracer searched for others. When it fizzled out without streaking down the corridors, he knew his chance had come. He was still nervous, his hands slick with excitement. It was not enough to do this act alone. He must ensure that he was unseen. Though respect might come from his act, they would just as well turn him into the authorities for murder. Power came from acts of strength, and if they knew he would do this they knew he could do it to anybody. He opened the door as slowly as he could, taking every precaution to make no noise. Slipping inside, he closed the door, and then considered opening it once more as the rank smell of stale breath almost overpowered him. The guild master was fond of spicy foods, and it left him with the worst case of dog breath Abad had ever witnessed. It was almost too much for him to approach the man, who lay snoring with his mouth open, a trail of saliva dribbling down from one corner of his mouth to the coverlet beneath. Abad could imagine a green vapour arising from his nearly former master. He stood for a while over the man, leering at him and imagining the robes of leadership about his own treacherous shoulders. Removing the blade from the sleeve of his own robe, he carefully put the garment on a nearby chair. There would be no way that his own robes would suffer the touch of blood this night. He looked around the room, eyeing with distaste the lack of furnishings. That would change with this singular act. Resplendent in his dark hose and jerkin, Abad glared down at his victim as he raised the blade. He could not help it. He had to intone a ritual, as often he did at any gathering. It had earned him ridicule, but he persisted.

  “Great Matsandrau, I beseech thee. Bless your blade as I sanctify this chamber with the blood of a holy man. Grant us the wisdom to see the path through the difficult days to come, and see us through to the glory that awaits.”

  “What do you think you are doing in here?” Asked a voice from beneath him. He opened his eyes and saw the face of his master awake and trying to focus on what he held above him. “How dare you disturb me?”

  “I dare because you do not. Now is the time of the new order, and you are not part of it.”

  So saying, Abad drove the massive blade of his God through the chest of his former master, and into the mattress beneath him. He clamped one hand over the mouth of the struggling man, and used the other to keep a blanket secure around the wound that was spewing blood. He wanted to sanctify the blade, but he did not want to cover himself in the lifeblood of this filthy man. The struggling subsided as the man quickly weakened. Blood began to seep through the blanket and Abad moved away. A gurgling was the only noise being made by the near-corpse.

  “Well at least I didn't use a stake!” Abad said to the body, his lips drawn back in a leer. Re-robing himself, he exited the room as quietly as he entered it, triumphant in the knowledge that when everybody awoke they would do so to a new style of Guild. One that was going to war.

  * * *

  “I, Joachimedes have called you all here to discuss the conflicting views we have been presented by our far-seers. To get straight to the point, we have been offered a part in the 'new order', so to speak, and a part in the defence against it. Tonight we shall discuss these options, and shall not leave until we have reached a decision that can only be seen as momentous.” The high priest of the Order of Weavers walked past the members of his order, and locked the door shut using a focus of air that was the sole providence of the high priest to seal them in. The weavers were followers of Yogingi, the God of air. They sat on seats or floated on simple cushions of air, as was their wont. An immense grey stone flecked with many different colours dominated the debating chamber, around which it was said Yogingi himself had woven clasps of air that he could watch his worshippers. It was this that led so many to create the cushions of air that so easily sapped their energy; they wanted their God to notice them, and they so rarely got the chance. Joachimedes preferred to think upon his feet, and although he could feel the focuses all around him and identify every strand of air that had been woven in the guild house he remained apart from the shows of ostentation. He had risen through the ranks as a result of dedicated study, not by showing off. It was naturally one of the younger members of the order that flipped a focus into the air, indicating her wish to begin the deliberations. Impetuous to a fault, every one of them challenged the old ways. How they had ever been drawn from so far to the city of Nejait was beyond him, but he was thankful for it. His order had found continuation. He did the young lady the courtesy of addressing her directly.

  “Before you start Rozmin, let every member of the order here present bear witness to the fact that we will not act rashly upon any single opinion. What we decide is not just for our personal glory, but could very well affect the fate of all who dwell on this world. As our God touches every living being outside the province of Panishwa, so does our decision affect them. Perhaps only indirectly, but in the end if we chose poorly it will be to our own detriment, and the detriment of those around u
s.”

  As if to emphasise the point, cloud whipped over the opening that granted them closer access to the flows created by their god. Power kept the rain out, but streaks of grey mingled with white as the storm clouds hurtled past. Nobody was in any doubt that this was as important an occasion as the ordaining of any high priest. Their God would judge them on what they did this day.

  “I thank the high priest for his words of wisdom, and echo that we should all caution ourselves before this goes too far.” Rozmin stood, her guild robes of light blue and white falling gracefully beneath her long brown hair as she bowed formally to her master. He was pleased that she would get in the first words, for she was a magnificent orator and more clever by half than many of the lesser wizards that inhabited his halls. What made her stand out especially was the fact that her eyes were completely white, filmed over with cataracts. Despite this, she moved with the grace of a dancer, all due to the air weaved about her. She had discovered a means by which she could see just by the touch of air, viewing the world around her differently but more than effectively. If a blind girl could see, then it showed more than adequately that miracles were possible. She was an example of them all, and proved herself again. “I would like to begin with a brief recounting of how we heard of the two offers, just to that we all know for good or ill. On the one hand we have the word of a mercenary dressed in leathers and armed for battle, come to the door of our halls and demand entrance. He tells those within earshot of a pact with Raessa, in order to release us all from the disharmony that has stood between the two mountain ranges for so long. He warns that we have the chance to become part of a new way of life, and have a say in how things are run when the other guilds fall.” There was a slight murmur of disagreement, with one or two mumbling phrases along the lines of 'lies', and 'false witness'. Rozmin picked up on this. “False witness? I beg to differ. I was at the gate when the mercenary came to the guild. I listened to what he had to say, and Wisam and Walid can testify to that.” Rozmin approached the twin weavers who were inseparable since birth, and sat side by side with equal expressions of dismay at being the centre of such attention.

  Walid stood up, towering over Rozmin. Joachimedes knew that Walid was the lynch pin in Romzin's testimony to the guild, and despite his natural shyness, he did not disappoint her. “We can confirm that Rozmin was with us at the gate, for we all shared duty that day.” That did enough to quieten all of the dissent in the room.

  Rozmin looked around the chamber, eyeing up those who would most likely be her opposition today. She spoke now in a hushed voice, so that everybody would be forced to listen hard and hang upon her every word. “The other message we received was from two sources. Firstly a message given directly to our high wizard himself by somebody called Obrett Pedern, of the now defunct Law Guild in Eskenberg, telling us of how the Witch finder is planning war. War! Against our kind, against people who are being drawn even now into a focus that radiates out from his city like a deadly spider's web. We know exactly what this pertains to, for we ourselves have lost brothers and sisters to that place. Where this man is we do not know, for he would not reveal his location. What we do know is that he was held hostage in Raessa, and escaped amidst confusion he created. One thing more this man claimed: That Raessa has found a way to utilise emotive magic, one that has long been unused.”

  “Rubbish! You are talking rubbish!” One older man with a distinct lack of hair anywhere on his face called out from his nest of air.

  “Am I, Olmsted?” Rozmin stared straight back at the man, undaunted by his place in the guild, or his own personal attempt at interrupting proceedings. “If I am talking rubbish, then why do we have the same message but from two other sources? Sources that are completely different.” A rumble of interest mingled with not a little surprise reverberated about the room. Nobody had had a chance to learn of this, so preoccupied had they been with preparing themselves for the gathering. “We have had messages from both the Order of Life and the Order of Water, saying exactly the same thing. They both believe that there is trouble brewing across the plains, and that we would be wise to oppose it. Not for our own personal glory, but because in the western Duchies innocent people are being slaughtered in order to increase the use of emotive magic by Garias Gibden. They have both forewarned that should one of us receive a message in unusual circumstance, we should pay a great deal of attention to it.”

  “That in itself implies that they have reason to be behind the messages,” called an elderly lady from her place near the back of the hall.

  Romzin bowed in acknowledgement; She was nothing if not polite and courteous. “That is exactly my point, elder Keturah. Two different sources giving the same message. But yes, in answer to your point the guilds are related in this matter. High priest?”

  Joachimedes stepped down, a smile suppressed. He was very impressed by the youngster, and her control of the debate was solid. “Your supposition is indeed correct, Romzin.” He addressed the rest of the gathered guild. “It was mentioned to me by Obrett Pedern that he was with two other wizards, both of different guilds. Their names are Ispen Demuth, and Jacob Manh. They were going to contact their own orders and spread the word.”

  Romzin looked around as she thought about something. “If I am not mistaken, those two names are affiliated with the Water and Life guilds, being prominent members are they not?” A few people nodded their heads, but most remained silent. “Your reticence brings up a good point. We are too secular by half. I propose that not only do we support this, but we also spread the word, and try our best to get other guilds on board.”

  “I propose that we do no such thing,” shouted a voice from amidst the crowd. It was a dark-haired wizard by the simple name of Fleck. He was outspoken in his opinions, and never shy of trying to enforce his will upon others. He was as good a speaker as Romzin, and from the look of determination on his face he intended to prove it. He rose and walked to the centre of the floor, where there were no people and everybody could see him. He literally drew the guild member's gaze towards himself with his posture, one of supreme confidence. “I propose as an alternative that we consider peace with Raessa, rather than stirring up what is already a volatile pot.” At his suggestion, the gathered wizards clucked and muttered in anger. It was clear that many had already made up their minds. Fleck pressed on. “We are talking about the survival of the guild here!” He boomed, and the animation subsided. “Whereas we may go into a war that we may or may not win against a foe with who knows what on his side, we also have the chance for peace. Peace!” He looked around the room, seemingly catching the eye of every single person therein. “I tell you, is that not worth consideration? Is that not worth choosing for the preservation of the Old Law, the very premise we strive to keep alive and find so difficult to do? Surely you all can see the sense of it. We are obligated to give peace every possible chance.”

  “Peace is an interesting term when applied to the treacherous master of Raessa, do you not think Fleck?” Romzin approached the part of the room Fleck had seemingly marked out as his own personal territory, and stood beside him. The Old Law has many facets, but above it all stands the notion of intent. Do you for a moment believe that if we willingly stand with the Witch Finder, we will have a moment's peace? Of all the outcomes that are possible, do you actually think that Raessa will honour any that mean we just sit by and do nothing? That is the worst course of action, for it means that other orders will falter and the people will suffer even more. You cannot fail to have read the reports that come in daily about the depopulation of the headwater regions East of Raessa. It has long been a fact that he is using a focus to draw people in, especially those that have the focussing ability. Do you think that there are any guarantees that this will stop should we side with them? Do you take the word of a mercenary armed for war above that of three wizards who have been to Raessa and escaped with their lives?”

  “Here indeed is a point for everybody to consider, “Fleck interrupted Romzin, causing no
end of irritation to the gathered crowd, “where are these wizards? How do we know that they are not already working for Raessa? We receive words of warning, but who can say where these words originate?”

  “Fleck, that is really a rather stupid thing to say.” Romzin stopped him in his tracks. “If they were working for Raessa, why would they warn us against the Witch Finder and his allies? What could they gain by asking us to stand against them?”

  “They would ask us to do such a thing in order to draw us out of Nejait and toward Raessa, where they could take us.” Fleck was already on the defensive.

  Romzin was like a bird of prey in flight, swooping in elusive circles while her prey appeared to run blindly in panic. Fleck was in no way evil by any means of the word. He was just contrary to the point of fussiness. “That is exactly what we do not need to do, my friend. The countryside is massive, and Raessa is but a little part of it. There are countless villages and towns that we can help with that lie nowhere near the source of the focus. Do you believe that the Witch Finder would be in any way satisfied with keeping people within his own boundaries? That man is looking to expand until Raessa is the one authority under which the Nine Duchies exists. We cannot let that happen. Nor can we stand around and watch it happen from afar. We need to get out there and spread Yogingi's word, and preserve the Old Law. If you pause to consider it for but a moment, you will realise that defending the people and the country is the most honourable course of action in this event. Intent is everything. If we intend to sit by and watch Gibden and his cronies unleash war on the innocent people of this land, then the intent is just as bad as siding with him. The only way that we can save our souls is by taking an active stance against all of this. I tell you now, as you believe war advances towards us, by this method I assure you peace is closer. High priest Joachimedes, I have nothing more to say.”