Amelia had put her arm on Gillis’, and she quietly absorbed his words for a few minutes. Choson and Roos, though, stood across the dying fire from Gillis. They had their weapons drawn still, but held them point-down in the sand. Roos looked to Choson every few moments, and Gillis thought he saw the Gweidorian giving wordless commands for Roos to watch, to wait. To Gillis, the suspicion of these two mattered not. The act only had to fool Amelia.
“How in the world did you find us?” Amelia said.
“I have wondered the same thing,” Choson said.
Gillis drew out the old, frayed tracking cloth. It pulled against his grip, pointing directly at Amelia’s satchel. Her mouth hung open for a moment, looking from the cloth to her satchel to Gillis.
“But I …” she said. “I didn’t take it. I thought I had lost it after Pauloce Keep.”
“I thought I had as well. But then I found the cloth, tucked away and forgotten … and I hoped you had forgotten it also,” Gillis said.
Amelia plunged her hands into her satchel, the vials clinking together as she rummaged around. Suddenly her face went slack, then she barked out a humorless laugh and held up a dirty, wadded up rag.
“I used it to mop up a failed potion,” Amelia said. A faint smile touched her lips, and then fell away sharply, her eyes widening with fear. “Fool!” She slapped the side of her head. “I would have made it a thousand times easier for Verandert to find me, had he found the other cloth! I should have remembered.”
“Best to leave the tracking cloths where the sea can wash them away, then,” Gillis said. Amelia took the cloths and left the hollow, heading out toward the sea.
The three men looked at one another with no sounds other than the crashing of the waves breaking the silence between them. Gillis kept his expression neutral. When Amelia returned, Choson said, “Roos and I ought to leave.”
“Very well. Off with you,” Amelia said.
“I would not leave in such haste, friend,” Gillis said quietly. Verandert will pursue and kill them all anyway, Gillis thought. Why double his work in searching for these two?
They turned to face Gillis, and waited silently for him to elaborate. He deliberately let the silence be for a moment, feigning agitation by flicking his eyes to each of them before dropping his gaze to his twisting hands.
“Verandert seeks you also. I would not wish facing him alone on anyone,” he said, adopting the choked voice once more. “In fact, h-he will hunt for you first. Of the four of us, you two are the easiest.”
“Then we run, swift as we can,” Roos said.
“You do not know how to run from this man,” Gillis said.
“What would you have us do?” Choson said.
“Stay with us.”
Roos and Choson looked to Amelia, who nodded. Choson then took Roos by the arm to the far side of the hollow. The giant leaned low as Choson spoke in his ear, and Gillis was unable to hear them over the rushing waves.
“With Gillis with us, we have a chance of reaching Wilhelmina in time,” Amelia called out to them.
“Choson will not trust the bald one,” Roos said. Choson hissed and kicked him, but it could not be unsaid. They came back a few paces toward Gillis and Amelia.
“I understand,” Gillis said. He bowed his head slightly, and spoke with quiet passion. “I was one of the Mordenari a short time ago. No longer. I may not know who I am now, out here, oathless and cast out, but I swear I will not harm you.”
“I stand with him,” Amelia said. “Trust him as you would me.”
Roos whispered something to Choson. Gillis watched the movement of his lips closely, and guessed that he said, “Why not go with them and see?”
Choson sighed, kicked the sand a little, and nodded curtly.
“Gillis knows all there is to know about slavers,” Amelia said.
“I will gladly share my knowledge with you, if it can help,” Gillis said.
“Perhaps I must reconsider, then,” Choson said. He swung his jaw left and right, with a look on his face like he was chewing a large, unpleasant piece of gristle. After a moment of silence, he said, “For if going alone is certain death, and if you are searching for Min-Yu anyway…”
“You’ll come with us?” Amelia said.
“Yes.”
“Good,” she said. “We’ll get more songs out of Roos on the way. And Gillis will cook for us! Won’t it be grand?”
“I will travel with you, but I will prepare my own food,” Choson said, his eyes flashing in Gillis’ direction. Gillis hung his head as though consumed by shame at Choson’s words. The Gweidorian had unintentionally raised a good point—if Gillis happened across hemlock or some other deadly plant on the trip, there would be no need to wait for Verandert’s arrival. The first task, then, was to establish enough trust to get them all eating his cooking.
“More for me,” Amelia said, shrugging.
“Forgive me, but why do we go to Wilhelmina?” Gillis asked Amelia quietly.
“She taught me all I know of Blood Magic.”
“Blood Magic?” Gillis breathed. He affected an expression of shock, but it came with a real pang in his gut. “You said she was an herbalist!”
Amelia then explained all that had transpired, from Choson and Amelia both needing to find Min-Yu, to the fight with her slavers in the woods, to the illusory path that had been beyond Amelia’s knowledge of magic.
“Min-Yu is arrogant indeed. Was she among those that attacked you?” Gillis said.
“No. Though one of them warned us not to try find Min-Yu—they were clearly hers.”
“Hmm. She creates a path so close to the mountain,” Gillis said, almost to himself. “A faster route by perhaps a day or two—little gain for such risk. She has great faith in these traps and illusions.”
Inwardly, Gillis felt a rising elation at the thought of delivering not just Amelia and these foreigners to Verandert, but possibly an odious Blood Mage also. Verandert would be pleased enough to make him Dreyen—or better, High Monk then and there. High Monk Javius had displeased Verandert so greatly with the writ he was likely already dead. The test had been given to Gillis at the perfect time.
“What are you smiling about?” Amelia said.
Her eyes crinkled at the corners—she was smiling in earnest as she looked at Gillis. She did not know. She would never know until the moment Verandert was there before her, giving her what she deserved for all the betrayal and deceit. To think, she had practiced Blood Magic on top of all the rest! Gillis continued to smile, and looked at her.
“Just that I am glad to be with you in this,” Gillis said.
“You don’t hate me for forging the writ?”
“No. Never. That bastard Pauloce got what he deserved. Verandert and his Laws are not true justice, I can see it now,” Gillis said, though he felt a sharp jolt in his chest as he uttered the lie.
“My, you have changed.”
“I still cook the same!”
She laughed. “That’s good. We’ll need it. We may die any day, after all—each meal potentially the last. We’ll run until that day comes. But, we’ll die together.” She stretched her arms skyward and yawned, then shook her head as a shiver took her. “Isn’t that an exhilarating thought?”
Gillis said nothing. The sun had risen now so that its bottom was above the horizon. Wordlessly, the four of them stood, brushing sand away and gathering their belongings. They left the hollow just as the rising tide broke through the sand Roos had piled at its entrance, and the water rushed in to extinguish the last of the smoldering embers.
****
The group headed south in a trudging march with hardly a word spoken. Lacking sleep as he was, Choson felt as though his armor had become twice as heavy and his legs half as able to bear him. A few times each hour Choson’s eyes drooped shut of their own accord, at which point he nodded forward, only to jolt awake again. Amelia and Gillis walked ahead while Roos and Choson lingered behind, and Choson used the distance to keep a close watc
h on Gillis. The day passed like a dream, hazy and muted to all of Choson’s senses, and warped his sense of time. It seemed as though a single hour would stretch out to feel like a dozen, and then the next few hours would pass in the space of a breath. The sun hastened down after noon and darkened the sky in what felt like a few minutes—that was the time Choson nearly nodded off the most. They made camp in a small, soft depression in the earth some way from the path. The same as before, Amelia lit a smokeless fire and Roos sang quietly at her request. Choson looked at their surroundings, or stared into the fire with a casual air, but never let Gillis leave his field of view. The bald one, as Choson thought of him, did nothing overtly threatening, nor did he speak much. The few times their eyes met, Gillis would flash Choson a small, tight smile and raise his eyebrows. Each time he did that, Choson felt the same air of oiliness that the trader in Yiseyo’s village had given off, though he could never pinpoint why that should be so. The smile looked real enough, and seemed friendly. As the night drew on and the others fell asleep, Choson positioned himself so that the hard edges of his plate and the handle of his sword dug into his skin. As heavy as his urge to sleep was, he leaned onto them so that the pain kept him wakeful, and he used the time to watch Gillis. The latter remained awake too, hardly speaking, tending calmly to the fire and flashing Choson that same small smile. At some point, Choson fell asleep.
The following days took on the same basic pattern. Choson’s restless mind at first dwelled on Min-Yu, but then a new idea struck him and told hold of his imagination. Perhaps, if they survived the confrontation, the group might be persuaded to track down and free some slaves. Not only those from Yiseyo’s village, but any other slaves Min-Yu may have taken and sold. Perhaps the mere fact that he considered a future endeavor ‘after Min-Yu’ was too optimistic, but no matter. He wished to suggest these things to Amelia, but Gillis always walked beside her, and Choson refused to speak a single unneeded word within earshot of him.
Gillis was always kind. But that was it: always kind. One should never trust that. He was ever offering food, always helpful, never complaining. With Roos, you can be certain he means well. He wears no mask. I would gladly take Roos’ unpleasant complaining and foolishness over this Gillis’ meek smiling and bowing. Choson never ate what Gillis offered, and for the first three days he managed to convince Roos to do the same. When they cooked on Amelia’s smokeless fires, Gillis always filled the camp with rich scents that made Choson’s stomach feel hollow. He even got the impression that Gillis was intentionally cooking more fragrant meals each time, as the smells of the previous night’s fare began to invade his memory while they marched. Choson kept Roos from being idle while Gillis was cooking. He often challenged Roos to spar—an offer Roos never passed up—and took him upwind under the guise of finding a suitable area. Roos learned from the training quickly. Gone were the wild aimless swings, as Choson drilled him in the proper forms. The one thing Roos could not do was hold back his strength when he perceived an advantage, and Choson repeatedly used the giant’s own weight to unbalance him. “Use your sword against me,” Choson would say, “not your entire body.” He would then teach Roos about caring for his sword, and they would eat some meager game catch while Gillis and Amelia enjoyed their meal.
One evening, Roos said quietly to Choson, “You are helping me make my father proud.”
On the fifth evening, Choson could not keep Roos from accepting Gillis’ cooking. It felt like a shift in allegiance, but Choson dismissed that as a foolish thought. It is just Roos’ way, and just the smell of the food. It did smell good. A fat, roasting game hen dripped its fats into a pot of broth with wildberries and leafy herbs that Choson could not name. Then came those salt-rocks that Gillis found near streams, which were dropped into the broth with a hiss and great clouds of steam. Choson picked at his own dinner, a dry, charred rabbit, while the other three ate Gillis’ meal with much-evident pleasure.
After the meal, Roos began to ask Amelia questions about magic. Choson shifted a little closer to them than he usually would, and made no effort to conceal that he was listening.
Amelia had Roos’ sword on her lap, and drew a pale finger along its blade.
“This would be Momaentum magic—the sword is unliving, see?” she said. She took a pinch of powder from a vial in her satchel and rubbed it over the length of Roos’ enormous blade, chanting under her breath. As they watched, the rust-marks and dents were smoothed away and filled in. No amount of whetting could have done that. The sword was now brighter than Choson’s, and it had taken only minutes.
“Teach me to do it!” Roos said.
“No need, the sword is good now. It will need little sharpening until long after our bones have turned to dust.”
“Is it that easy?”
“I studied a great deal. For some, it may take hours,” Amelia said without a hint of humility.
“How can powder do this?”
“The powder does little, as do I. The magic comes from Momaentum: the river-like flow that moves through and within all things. You can step into that flow and move with speed—that is how I fight. You can change the way things are, like this sword, always drawing on Momaentum in the same way a bucket draws from a well. The well may dry, but it will always re-fill. Blood Magic is much the same, though … complicated. All things that live drink from Momaentum, and you can do a lot more with that, and with blood especially. Like our dear slaver friend with that illusory path.”
“This sword is now a fine thing. What a wonder this magic is,” Roos said. “Can I watch more?”
Choson turned away at his words, and wordlessly moved a few paces out of the firelight. He whet his sword properly—that was, without magic. He had fortunately found a waterstone by a stream earlier that day. It had fine grit and a smooth, flat side which was perfect for whetting. His heart deflated a little as he worked, because he had looked forward to sharing the stone with Roos.
“Gillis, I had a thought—we are Mordenari no longer, yet we are still dressed as them,” Amelia said.
“I suppose we are,” Gillis said.
“Let us change, then,” Amelia said.
Choson turned to watch the bald one out of the corner of his eye. Gillis’ expression had frozen a little, his smile fixed and tight. Choson saw his eyes flash. Didn’t the others see that it pained Gillis to cast off his beloved garb?
As Choson returned to whetting his blade, the others busied themselves behind him, cutting strips of cloth while Amelia made bright blue flashes as they worked. They spoke of changing the colors and shapes of their garments, perhaps going as far as altering their hair or faces. Soon it was finished, and Choson returned to the fire and put away his whetstone and his sword. Gillis’ robe had become a brown jerkin and leggings, with a slightly frayed grey cloak. Amelia wore leather as before, but lighter colored and heavier looking.
Choson’s shoulder, the one that had been pierced by the bolt, ached after the long stretch of honing his sword. The pain that came from the site of the wound was strangely cold, and he considered mentioning it to Roos. He swung his arm in a full arc, and was satisfied. No injury truly mattered unless it stops free movement. As well as that, he considered that he was filled with all manner of aches from the long journey and lack of sleep.
Later in the night, Roos sang softly, though clearly and with great feeling. Choson was hypnotized by Roos’ voice and the shapes thrown up by the fire. After the song was done, Amelia offered to take the first watch. Choson, eyes already heavy and then growing heavier after Roos’ song, slept straight through to his own watch. When he awoke and took his own watch, stiff but free of his aches, he kept an eye Gillis. The bald one lay still, with his chest moving evenly. Whenever he looked away from Gillis for a time and then looked suddenly back, Choson was certain he saw the glint of an open eye.
The next morning when Choson woke, Amelia sat alone by the ashes while Roos slept on. Gillis had gone off foraging by that point. Choson sat beside her and bade her good
morning, though he saw she had dark rings around her eyes.
“I have been thinking that, should we find Min-Yu—” Choson said.
“I still will not fight her,” Amelia said.
“I know. Should we find her, though, I wonder … can the victims be found? The ones from Yiseyo’s village?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know where they might trade? Where the victims end up, or how long they live?”
“These are questions for Gillis. I did not investigate; I merely killed whomever I was asked.”
“He knows more than you on this? You truly know nothing?”
“I took great pains to avoid knowing. All my attentions were on the mechanical and the magical—nothing clerical.”
“Ignorance kept you in service of those villains longer than was needed. If only you had focused on thought.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your conscience is strange, Amelia, but as least you possess one.”
“Hm,” Amelia said.
“What?”
“I always did think I was different. From other Mordenari, that is. Gillis is different too,” she said, and stirred the ashes with a stick. “Maybe it’s my ‘strange conscience.’ ”
The Tyranny of Shadows Page 17