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

by Matthew W. Harrill

  “The poison will work,” O'Bellah replied, as a hand moved around the clothes of the Duchess. “The Duke will feel so good later tonight, he won't care that his blood will begin to boil. He will be in the throes of passion, at least within his mind.” O'Bellah laughed at this, the thought of someone in agonising pain obviously amusing to him.

  “Who are you going to get to administer it?” The Duchess was a nosy type, as Ju had often seen with his dealings in her former career and it was clear that her penchant for asking questions had not diminished. She had no idea what sort of person she was dealing, or in fact dallying with.

  “Why who better to administer the poison than somebody unexpected, somebody trusted, somebody undeniably close to the Duke?”

  Ju caught the look on her face as the blood drained with the realisation that it was meant to be her. The amusement in O'Bellah's eyes caused them to twinkle viciously.

  “Surely you don't mean?”

  “Absolutely, dearest Deborah. That is exactly what I mean. We had considered using another, in fact we still might. Depends on how you do. And now I think that we should head on up to the feast before you truly are missed, or before you miss your opportunity.”

  The Duchess, now clearly less excited about the night's work ahead of her did not make a move, but O'Bellah grabbed her by the arm, squeezing cruelly. “How dare you handle me so? I am a Duchess!”

  “You are a snivelling whore who got a lucky break. Well guess what, your luck has taken a considerable turn and is on a knife-edge. Falter just a bit, and I think that you will find out just how little I care for your station. Do as I say, and the city and perhaps the entire Duchy will be yours.” The Duchess still looked scared out of her wits, but the greedy aspect had returned to her face. She moved a little more easily with the thought of untold riches. The two of them walked a little way down the tunnel and then disappeared through what must have been a side tunnel, so sudden was their departure. Ju waited for a short while, and then crept up the tunnel in their footsteps. The side-tunnel was no bigger than a crevice and Ju was amazed that the Duchess could fit in there, let alone the hulking O'Bellah. He stepped forward to the side and realised that the crevice was actually an angled tunnel designed to stay hidden. A noise in the distance disturbed him, and he looked back down the tunnel. He stepped quietly back towards the corner and peered around. The blank-faced mercenaries were no more than a dozen paces back down the tunnel, striding slowly towards him. He did not know if they saw or heard him, nor did he care. He bolted for the side tunnel, missing it momentarily as his wits escaped him. It was only by looking back that he saw it and as he ran into the darkness, he saw the flash of metal in the torchlight. He heard rather than felt a sword deflect off of his bow, but by then he was running and did not care. This tunnel was much smaller, and he nearly ran into several walls as the passage twisted and dodged. It also sloped rapidly uphill, and Ju prayed that there was going to be a favourable reception for him at the top. It was certainly preferable to the sharp and painful ending behind him. He jumped up steps still full of energy from his fright, not looking behind him for the fear that the mercenaries had caught him despite his lucky escape, and cursing himself repeatedly for taking so long. In a flash of clarity he realised that he was probably trapped anyway as he was running from death straight into the hands of something worse. It had not been that long since O'Bellah and the Duchess had gone ahead of him, and they surely could not move as fast as he. They must have taken a different route. In a panic he began to look about him, but saw nothing. He swallowed down the fear that arose from the thought that they had taken the proper route and him the wrong one, and carried on running upstairs. The path evened out and the temperature warmed, the air becoming drier. The walls became cleaner, in fact markedly so. Ju burst out of the passageway and into a huge cellar. Looking behind him, he saw that a thick wooden door that had been reinforced with metal could seal the passageway. Pushing on the door with all the strength he possessed, he gradually closed the passageway. As soon as the door closed, he threw the huge iron bolt with an audible 'thunk'. For the first time in a long while, he felt a tiny bit safer. Turning around he began to explore the cellar into which he had entered, and found it to be stocked from floor to ceiling with glass bottles. He had found his way into a wine cellar, one that was obviously cared for judging by the lack of the usual dust on the glass. If it had been any other time he would have stayed and looked around the room, but he knew that the pirates would be sailing by now and would only wait for so long to minimise the risk of discovery. He had to get out of the cellars, into the main palace, find Zya and get her out of there and all within the space of one or two watches. As luck would have it, the opportunity presented itself to him there and then. Ju found himself with nowhere to hide as a door creaked open in the next room. The racks of bottles were up against the walls and so there was only one way back out. He was not going to risk the gauntlet of the mercenaries, and so he tried the bolder approach.

  “What have we been told to get?” One voice asked, simple in its tones.

  “We have to get some of the Duke's special brew, the one only him and his wives drink. He wants a couple of bottles to celebrate the end of the night's festivities.”

  “Where is it?” The first voice asked.

  “Through in the second cellar, but not near the doorway.” Replied the first. “Be sure to pick the bottles three rows up as we have already taken care of the other bottles below that.”

  A shadow loomed across the doorway and without a moment's hesitation Ju reached over and picked up two bottles of wine from exactly the place specified.

  “Ere, what're you doing down here, boy?” The voice asked slowly. The man who looked down at him was almost a giant, and built like a fortress to match his granite tones.

  “Why, I was told to come down here and fetch two bottles of the special vintage for my Lord Duke.” Ju replied without missing a beat.

  “Oh yeah?” The hulking man replied after giving his reply some thought. “And who was it as sent you down 'ere?”

  Ju did not have a chance to answer before the other man popped his head through the gap. “He was sent down by the Duke, being one of his page boys weren't you lad?”

  Something told Ju that contradicting the man was not a good idea. “Yes, that is right. I was told to hurry down and get two bottles. Who told you to get them?”

  “Nobody, lad. We were thinking on our feet. Still, now that you are here we do not need to think on our feet, and can think on our backsides. But you had best get up there with the wine, had you not boy. And you had best be forgetting you ever saw us, because we would not want the guards to find the Duke's special wine turning up in his page's quarters would we?”

  “Umm, no sir we would not. I had best be on my way now.” Ju hurried past the two men, who even now were in the process of uncorking a couple of bottles of the special vintage.

  “Make sure you forget this boy. There will be wine enough there come tomorrow. Just never take any lower than three rows up, else you might be in for a nasty surprise.” The smaller man grabbed his arm just as he passed through the doorway. “You ain't seen us, right?”

  “Seen who, sir? I was alone down here fetching wine.”

  The man chuckled. “Clever lad. We might meet up for a bottle or two yet.”

  Ju nodded and hurried through into the next cellar, which was twice as big, and much more used. He did not stop, for he knew how close to peril he still was. He had to restrain himself from breaking into a run when he heard the distant comments of the smaller of the two men.

  “Open that cellar door, and let the breeze through here. I hate the musty stink of these cellars. Make for bad drinkin' time.”

  Ju carried on up through the passageways, certain that he had but to follow the press of people to make his way towards the main feast and consequently the Duke. The halls he passed through he barely noticed, for he felt safe in his anonymity. The mercenaries would never find hi
m now. Following the crowds through the passages he was a lost soul, an invisible being, another small servant beneath everybody's important eyes. But he carried something that would gain him access to the most important man in the city, and possibly save his life. The bustle increased, and he felt as if he was almost swept along with it until he reached a passageway full of guards. Although something was nagging at him that this was the right way to go, he knew that he would be halted. Sure enough, his turn came.

  “You there,” one guard signalled to him to step off to one side, “what is that you carry?”

  “Wine for the Duke, his special vintage from the deepest cellar,” Ju replied, using all the information he had gained in passing to sound more convincing. If he looked as scared as he felt, he would surely be found out.

  “You aren't the usual scullion that does this. Where are those two other fellows, the hulk and the skinny runt?”

  Ju broke into a grin. “They are the ones who ordered me out of the cellar, sir. They said they were going to help themselves to a good portion of my Lord Duke's wine, and were into their cups before I even left.”

  “And I suppose you were not thinking of doing the same?”

  Ju bowed his head piously. “I serve my Lord Duke, and do not dream of such things, sir.”

  “Perhaps,” the guard replied. “but make sure you present yourself at the guard's gate come sunrise. If we find these men down there, you will have to identify them. You three, come with me!” The guard took three of his fellows, who grabbed their pikes and marched through the crowd like a battering ram through wool.

  Ju was directed through the passageway and found himself in the entrance to the most lavish feast he had ever witnessed. Nowhere else had he ever seen roasting carcasses all up and down one side of the hall, table after table of vegetables and sweetmeats, and more wine than a man could drown in. His two bottles must have been very important indeed. His instincts told him to press on, and the dais was the obvious place to go. He hoped that this drama might soon play itself out. He had his foster sister to find.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The late afternoon always brought flocks of sea birds haunting the Grotesque as she made her way through the waters off of the coast of Caighgard. Ever since the sight of land had buoyed everybody's hopes, they had risen each day to see more rocky coastland slipping by. It was somewhat of a relief to see even the stony cliffs, as it was more to look at than the endless expanse of ocean. All of the Law Wizards had come to have a profound respect for the great blue deep, as the captain liked to call it. The way the currents would shift in the water as much as in the air was a skill it took a lifetime to learn, and they had barely scratched the surface. Here in the relative shallows, the blue turned to greens as the sea floor rose up to greet them, and groups of dark-skinned sea mammals barked out greetings from small coves on the shore. Raoul maintained his watch in the crow's nest, the only place he could truly be alone. At least that was what he had once believed. Ever since the discovery of communication by stone, the Law Wizards had rarely been apart in their discussions. He watched the rocky horizon go by, but his concentration was turned elsewhere. “Just because you managed to move an inanimate object, it does not mean that you can move a living breathing being by sheer force of will.”

  “I think you should let me try, Raoul,” Belyn replied, his thoughts drifting up from a cabin deep within the belly of the ship that he shared with Yerdu. “We will never know until one of us tries it.”

  “And what if we lose you? What then?”

  Amusement flowed from the consciousness far beneath. “Then you will finally stand a chance of winning an argument against me.”

  “Would you two just give it a rest?” Keldron split their conversation in two as he hammered his distress into the both of them. “It is a moot point, Belyn. We agreed that only if we all did agree then would we let you use yourself as an experiment. Until that time comes, you will not.”

  “That is exactly what I am doing, Kel, bringing us to a point where I can see agreement.”

  “By arguing the same case over and over again? Belyn, we are as brothers and we love you dearly as one, but give it until we reach the island to start arguing again. Once we reach the temple there may be something more to aid us in our decision, but Raoul is right. If we lose you then we lose the strongest of the three in the art of focussing. Should we get attacked, we would stand a much better chance of survival were you with us rather than off stuck in limbo with a demon and your own thoughts for company.” Keldron was at the prow of the ship. Raoul needed no focus to sense that. His friend was visible in his own unique blend of Order garb and sailors uniform, making him look decidedly half-dressed. It suited him strangely enough. “Belyn's thoughts might be the worse of the two.” Raoul thought to himself, forgetting that he was mind-linked with his two friends, earning him a mental slap from Belyn and a chuckle from Keldron.

  “It has been decided, Bel, stop trying to convince us. Give it until the temple and then we can worry about losing you.”

  “That might be sooner then you think, Raoul,” Keldron advised, “look to starboard.”

  Raoul did as he was bid, and saw that the land was receding rapidly. “Where is the land going?” He asked out loud rather than merely voice the thought.

  His friend's thoughts were lost in the nothingness as a sailor in the rigging yelled out a reply. “Them's the straits of Rhothamy, wizard. We sail up them to the city at their head, the capital of Caighgard.”

  The sailor went back to his work in the rigging, and shortly the bellow of the captain rang out all over the ship. “TWO POINTS TO STARBOARD, CHANGE WATCH! CROW COME DOWN!” Raoul took this to mean that his time was up. Captain Curtis was pretty lenient in Raoul's case, as the wizard had perfected the focus of far-sight and often took several shifts at a time. It had its uses, giving him a lot of time for contemplation of the Law, his favourite pastime, but had also earned him the nickname 'crow' from the rest of the crew. He did not really mind all that much, but he scowled when called it to give the others something to laugh about. At heart Raoul had a wicked sense of humour, but was loathe to acknowledge this fact to others around him. Let them keep guessing, that was his motto. This of course gave him what he wanted, but he still obeyed the orders of the captain. Climbing out of the crow's nest into the top spar above the main mast, he descended the rigging on feet calloused with several months' worth of climbing experience. Raoul did not get in the spirit as much as his friends, but he had removed his boots quite early on after slipping on a rope and nearly falling from halfway up the mast. Now he hopped down the ropes and knots that were his road to the deck. In moments he had dropped to the wooden planking and found that there was a small gathering on the deck below the captain. Several of the sailors were muttering about ill omens, and the tribesmen stared off to the North.

  “We want your opinion, wizard, and those of your friends. There are strange things afoot at this hour.” The cat-faced captain said nothing more, striding from side to side of the deck as he waited for Belyn to arrive. When the third of them finally arrived accompanied by the small and unusually jolly Yerdu, the captain turned to address them.

  “There are things that are wrong, and as learned men we would like your opinions.”

  “Anything that we can do to help captain, you know that,” Belyn replied with a smile.

  Curtis nodded in thanks. “You can see that we have turned towards land.”

  “At long last,” Belyn answered.

  “All is not well, wizard. We do not turn for the coast this soon. Not for another watch do we turn, riding straight up the middle of the passage as we do. The currents have shifted, and it is they that are taking us in towards the straits. The breeze is wrong, and has changed direction. The winds are such that you can set your direction by them here, and this is not right.”

  At this official proclamation by their captain many of the sailors experienced in seasons of sailing began to make wards against
evil, brandishing various charms and waving them around. Raoul gaped, not having realised that the sailors were such a superstitious group of men. The tribesmen and women stayed on the deck or in the nearby rigging, stoic and impassive, accepting whatever fate threw in their path. They all knew that they were treading the right road, and they accepted it all.

  ”What I am saying wizard, is that we are at the mercy of the elements here. Is there anything you can do to help us?”

  “Perhaps,” Belyn replied, “there are some focuses we could use to aid but we would have to understand more of what we are up against.”

  “Captain! We are becalmed!” cried the helmsman, and several of the sailors yelled in alarm. It was true, in open water, the ship had stopped moving completely. The land was distant, but not out of reach.

  Curtis wet a finger in his mouth and held it up. “No breeze,” he cursed.

  “Captain!” Yelled another crewman. “To the South!”

  They turned to look and saw two smudges of inky darkness off in the distance, flickering with lightning.

  Curtis climbed down to the deck most of the crew were stood on, and approached them. Raoul held his breath, as he knew the captain was fond of the strangest smelling foods.

  “Wizard, whatever you are going to do,” he pleaded, “do it now.”

  * * *

  “No, it's okay, I am fine.” Zya replied, brushing off the gentle advances of the courtier trying to steady her as well as impress her with his charm and not inconsiderable wit.

  “You do not look well, darling lady,” the man persisted. “Perhaps a walk in the fresh air would do us both some good.”

  “It might do you some good,” she retorted, “why don't you go and find out?” The courtier stood back, surprised and not a little offended by her words. His dark eyes and oiled ringlets were wasted on someone like her, and it was about time he knew it. The man had been preying on Zya since the moment she had walked into the focal point of the Duchy, the Duke's great hall.