Sayri's Whisper: The Great Link Book 1

by Daniel J. Rothery

  They had left their horses at the inn, where the groom would take good care of them (or, if he didn’t, Wissa would take good care of him). They could, as Collectors, have demanded accommodation at Lord Perrile’s residence, which might have led to a quicker assimilation of the Lower Valley girl’s story. Llory, however, preferred to attain an overview of the situation from her network of spies (she called them “trustees”) before approaching the lord.

  Thus they found themselves standing on smooth paving stones in the alley, watching the driver load the last of his cargo and retire for the night, extinguishing the sole lamp in the street.

  Welgray, barely able to make out Llory’s face in the starlight, was about to inquire how long they would loiter about in the darkness when a shadowy form appeared before them. Before the man spoke, Welgray wondered briefly if they were about to be robbed—in a back alley, a Collector’s livery meant little.

  “Chamber Seat Llory,” the shadowy figure said. The voice was incongruently pleasant; Welgray had expected a gruff and threatening baritone.

  “Tell me,” Llory ordered.

  A faint nod, barely visible in the shadows. “The girl is still alive.”

  “How did you accomplish it?” Llory asked. In the darkness, Welgray raised his eyebrows in surprise. She already had a contingency to keep the girl alive?

  “I did nothing. Some sort of deal was arranged with Lord Perrile, and the charges were dropped. She left on a ship with him for Somria shortly after the Proselyte’s visit.”

  “When?” Llory asked.

  The man paused briefly. “A few tendays back,” he answered, his voice slow as he considered. “They probably arrived some time ago.”

  “Why Somria?” Welgray said. If Llory was irritated with him jumping in she didn’t show it, at least not that he could detect in the darkness.

  “Some sort of dispute regarding an island in the south,” the spy replied immediately. “The details have been well guarded.”

  “And the Proselyte?” Llory asked.

  Welgray frowned; he hadn’t expected that question, and wasn’t sure of the relevance.

  The spy, however, didn’t hesitate. “He left on a ship shortly thereafter.”

  Llory was silent for a moment. “Understood,” she said finally.

  “Peaceful eve,” the spy said with a bow, then he faded back into the night.

  The two Collectors stood there for some time while they digested the information. Finally, Welgray spoke quietly.

  “Why release the girl, then take her to Somria?” he wondered.

  Llory shook her head.

  “We’ll have to follow,” he said.

  He heard Llory sigh. “Impossible. We have no influence in Somria.”

  “We have knowing, and twisting,” Welgray offered.

  “Not enough, Collector,” she criticized, her voice nearly lost in the darkness among distant echoing voices from the docks. “Somria is a land of intrigue and power. We would make so many enemies seeking her out, that we would never return from that land.”

  He ignored that she had again spoken to him as a Chamber Seat, rather than as an equal. “Then what?”

  “I need to think,” Llory replied after a moment. “And ask a few more questions.”

  Fair enough, Welgray considered. So do I.

  ・

  Wissa had the evening meal awaiting him in their room. He had tried to leave her behind believing that it would be easier to accomplish his goals without her fussing over him, but he could not deny how pleasant it felt to have her waiting. In addition to the meal, she also had already drawn a bath, which was still steaming.

  He thanked her, and decided to bathe first. She removed his cloak and robes, and he climbed in. Wissa must have noticed his black mood, because she did not offer to join him. Instead, she watered wine in a metal cup and placed it within reach of the bathing vessel.

  The water was hot and soothing. He picked up the flagon and sipped from it mechanically as he felt the knots in his back and neck slowly easing.

  Two puzzles. First: how to get to the girl in Somria. He was not entirely convinced of Llory’s assessment; Welgray believed that with sufficient care, they could still accomplish their goals in that land. Would he have to go without her?

  Perhaps foremost on his mind though, was Llory. The more he considered her, the more enigmatic she seemed—a trait that was certainly the goal of their order, but usually his fellows were at least comprehensible. Could it be that Llory seemed so ambiguous to him because she was a (former) Chamber Seat? Were the elders of his order so far beyond him that he could not imagine their thoughts?

  He found that hard to believe. Llory seemed talented and wise, even brilliant at times, but hardly incomprehensible. He was her peer, or at least near to it, he was certain. Still, he was strong enough in knowing, even without the added enlightenment of delving, that he should be able to fully comprehend her plans. And yet, he could not; unanswerable questions remained.

  Why was she against traveling to Somria? He had nearly missed her spurious explanations, convoluted as they were amidst the insult of chastising him like a student.

  Why had she not enlisted the aid of a fellow Chamber Seat, if she could not twist the Lower Valley girl on her own? Why enlist him, instead? He could think of no explanation for that, either. The more he learned, the more difficult it became to understand her aims. Mulling it over from every angle he could, Welgray was only able to come to a single conclusion.

  She was lying to him.

  Llory had admitted to knowing of Sayri years before. Owning up to that had been necessary; if she hadn’t, he would have been suspicious of her sudden, strong opinion upon the informant’s arrival. She had explained her act of leaving, for appearance’s sake.

  But he knew it didn’t quite make sense.

  If Llory strongly disagreed with the Chamber of the Spire’s decision on the girl’s fate, could she not have attempted to change their minds? The Chamber couldn’t act, after all, without a unanimous—

  “Oh!” Welgray exclaimed, raising a hand to his forehead suddenly and spilling his wine. Wissa moved immediately toward him, ready to clean up the resulting mess. He waved her off.

  Peace through inaction. The Chamber motto. They couldn’t act without unanimous assent.

  They couldn’t force Llory to step down unless she had committed some sort of offense. That would have been announced to all Collectors, and she would have been expelled from the order, so he knew it wasn’t the case. And yet, she had stepped down, presumably to protect the girl—except the Chamber also couldn’t harm Merikal without unanimous consent.

  There had been no threat to the girl so long as she sat as Chamber Seat. In fact, now that she had stepped down, the Chamber could order her death! So, if she meant to keep Merikal safe, why not stay at the Spire and work her plans there? Then the Chamber could not order the girl’s destruction without her consent. She could bring the girl in, and be lauded as hero of the order for discovering her.

  So why leave? It was not for the girl’s protection, that was certain.

  Had he somehow stumbled into her other plans, by catching up with her after her sudden departure? What plans?

  The bath was getting cold, and he had more questions than answers.

  Welgray finished what wine remained in his cup and stood slowly, allowing Wissa to dry him, then sat and ate his meal. Wissa supped as well, across from him at the small wooden table; at the Spire, it would never have been allowed. But Llory had said that their relationship would have to be redefined, and she was correct. He was somewhat surprised that Wissa, who had always seemed so deferential, would so easily agree, and would act upon it. Still, he wasn’t offended, and was even somewhat relieved. He had always been slightly uncomfortable with the manner in which she practically worshipped him; if she saw fit to seize her new independence by sitting with him, then he welcomed her.

  He did wish she would stop eyeing him so, however. Though he di
splayed nothing and she certainly could not have delved it from him, her gaze made him self-conscious, as if she were aware of his failure to solve Llory’s mystery.

  Somehow, it made him more certain of the import that he must.

  ・ ・

  “We go to the Council,” Llory announced, a cup of wine in one hand, and a cockleseed square in the other. Street lamps were burning outside, their cheery yellow glow illuminating the table at which they sat. Inside the tavern, a hearth filled the room with flickering firelight, but most of the light came from outside, giving the large, open room a hushed sense of secrecy despite the several dozen tables and hundred-odd diners.

  Welgray had continued his ponderings well in to the night, and as a result he had slept late. As it turned out, either Llory had done the same, or she had been engaged in other business during the following day, since she was missing from her room in the morning and did not contact him until nearly evening. That contact had taken the form of a handwritten message, sealed and dropped off by a private carrier, a luxurious expense within the city’s limits.

  The note had designated the establishment in which they now sat and, oddly, told him to bring Wissa. Perhaps it was only a tactic to confuse him; he dismissed it as such, and did as she bid.

  Llory had already covered the table with a variety of dishes, samplings of the city’s cuisine. They had eaten mostly in silence, except for Wissa’s occasional cries of delight as she tried this dish or that; she had, after all, only eaten in the servants’ kitchens at the Spire, where the fare was likely very simple, and before that she had only tried village fare.

  Only when Welgray held a cup of kaf in his hands, and Llory wine in hers, did she address the concern on both of their minds.

  Welgray shook his head slowly, considering her words. “Unfortunate, then, that you’ve stepped down,” he quipped.

  Llory glared at him. “Not that Council,” she said, her tone droll.

  Welgray couldn’t help but widen his eyes slightly. “The Lords’ Council?”

  “Yes, that one,” she replied, her voice positively drizzling sarcasm.

  Ignore her, Welgray! He couldn’t afford to let her twist him, no matter how subtle. By the Great Link, she was treacherous! “Why?”

  “We need the girl to return,” she said, shrugging, as if it was obvious.

  Welgray held his centre. He felt absolutely lost now; Llory had a plan, and was needling him, baiting him to admit his ignorance, but he could at least not show it. When in doubt, deflect, he reminded himself. One of the first rules of twisting.

  “Not just return,” he said. “Return in such a way as to be accessible to us.”

  Llory smiled at him. “Good point,” she conceded. “What do you suggest?”

  “I suppose it depends on what you intend with Lord’s Council,” he countered.

  “I intend to have them go to war,” Llory replied.

  With that, she had him stunned, and he wasn’t alone; Wissa let out a gasp, then covered her mouth with a sharp squeak.

  “Why?” Welgray asked, ignoring the girl’s interruption.

  “Perrile is in Somria to stop a war over the Southern Islands. Why the girl is with him, I haven’t been able to determine. However,” she went on, “if war breaks out, he will have no choice but to return, bringing her with him.”

  “You can’t know that,” Welgray said. “He might be captured, or killed. He might stay in an attempt to prevent the war. He might leave the girl behind, for reasons we cannot estimate.”

  “But he is most likely to return,” Llory said, waving off his concerns.

  He sighed in frustration. “The girl might be killed, then where will your plans be?”

  “Unlikely, but worth the risk. It’s either that, or we go to Somria after her, just like the Proselyte.”

  “Why are you so against that option?” he asked. “Somria can’t be that deadly for us. We can simply be careful when and upon whom we exercise our twists.”

  “No, this will work. We start a war. Then,” she continued, as it unveiling a grand design, “then the girl will return to us.”

  “You can’t just twist the Council of Lords,” Welgray pointed out glumly.

  “Watch me,” she said.

  ・ ・・

  The Lords’ Council met at an ancient structure known only as the Library. It was circular and two-storied, the upper balconies being devoted to exquisite collections of books and scrolls, and the lower to stone tables, which served as the setting for formal meetings between lords. Encircling the centre space, which extended to the roof many man-heights above, were sixteen fluted columns of carved and stacked stones. On approach they had noted thirty-two that graced the exterior of the building, upon which the grand stone roof rested, shaped like a flattened cone. The building’s history, like that of the Spire, was shrouded in legend, but suggested it had stood as a meeting place for those who had directed the land’s fortunes since many, many centuries past. Historians in the Spire suspected that it had once been the hall in which their predecessors met, but the Proselytes had a similar legend, so it’s true past remained a topic of debate.

  No man, it was said—however influential, wealthy, or powerful—called the Lords’ Council to order, not even in times of war or plight.

  The Collectors of course, were often said to be more than men. Some said spirits, some said demons, and some said gods. None were true, of course; Collectors were human, but with great talent and skill.

  That Chamber Seat Llory of the Spire of Rising—she didn’t identify herself as such in her summonses, since that would now be a deceit, but nor did she state otherwise—could bring the Lords to Council in less than a tenday would only add credibility to the superstitions that Collectors were more than human.

  In any case, somewhat to Welgray’s surprise, they came. Some were already in the city and responded immediately, pleasantly affirming their intent. Others, unsurprisingly, took time to respond, their messages arriving at best carrier speed; Welgray had no doubt that several horses died to accommodate them. The lords themselves arrived a few days after, and were assembled before the moon had turned over.

  Welgray did not know if he was more proud of the influence his order could extend to accomplish such a feat, or mortified by how whimsically Llory wielded the terrific power it conveyed through her.

  One thing was certain; there was no turning back for Llory, now. Once the Chamber learned that she had summoned the Lords’ Council without first consulting them, especially after she had already stepped down—well, if her plan to learn manifestation from the Lower Valley girl did not come to fruition, she would have no future with the Spire. Welgray was not entirely certain they would not mete out punishment upon her as well, though he could not imagine the form it might take.

  Was it even possible to twist the entire Council of Lords? These were not simple farm folk, but intelligent and experienced negotiators; intimidation was useless, and she would not have the benefit of stupefaction. If she succeeded, it would be entirely on the merit of her skills in manipulation.

  He also wasn’t entirely certain whether or not he wanted Llory to succeed. The Lower Valley girl was important; she could hold the key to the future for the Spire. But starting a war to bring home? Collectors were known for their manipulations through the generations, that was certain, but this was beyond extreme. Surely there was another way?

  Welgray had, regardless of his uncertainty, done his homework; each of the lords were present (save Lord Perrile, of course), seated behind the massive stone tables on the Library’s main floor, and each were known to him in great detail, by reputation if not in person. He ran through his collection of known facts, rumours, and impressions with regards to each province’s noble ruler.

  Llory sat to his right. Beyond her was the Lady Odvacar, ruler of the Heartlands, the wealthiest province of the Lords’ Lands, and that in which they met. Though Benn’s Harbour was technically a free city and thus open for all rulers t
o benefit from, Lady Carissa made certain to benefit the most. An attractive woman in her prime (Welgray’s notes placed her at twenty-four), she had long, brown hair and deceptively doe-like eyes. The Lady of the Heartlands was shrewd and could be politically deft, and though she possessed a romantic heart and tended to distraction, she was best not crossed. She had no children, but she and her partner, a wealthy merchant of old blood, were supposedly trying.

  Beside her was Lord Bonivic Roxo Eld, Sigvri, of the Northern Islands. Only a few years the elder of Lady Carissa, Lord Sigvri was rather shy and quiet. Though somewhat taller than average, he no doubt felt out of place at most Council gatherings; his domain was the most recent to join the coalition, and still somewhat considered far and away. The Lord of Roxo’s accent was also quite odd, to Welgray’s ears a cross between the Somrian’s lazy tongue and the Wastelander’s roll—it was also quite difficult for all the other lords to understand.

  Next was the hideously ugly (at least to Welgray’s eyes) Lord Valanti Arriola, ruler of Promontory and the radiant Sunset Coast, closest neighbour to Sigvri. From what Welgray had dug up, the island prince was fairly under the thumb of Arriola, who could easily have taken advantage of the near-worship with which Lord Sigvri regarded the old man. Fortunately, with nearly sixty summers under his belt, Lord Valanti was the eldest of the lords and held little ambition. In fact, from what Welgray had seen, the pallid and vein-strewn old lord was worthy of admiration, having traveled extensively in his time and brought much peace and prosperity to the realm with his many wise decisions. If Llory had her work cut out for her with anyone, it would be Arriola.