“How many rooms?” Fylynn asked.
“Oh,” Thaaliana murmured, “a lot. Enough for an army — though I’m not certain it ever held one. I found a diary left by the woman who had it built — a powershaper named Parshia. I can’t tell when she lived, exactly, because —” She blushed. “ — I’m no good at history. But I think it’s been several generations, at least.”
“I would think March could guess the age of the wood,” Seagryn said, examining the beams that supported the floor above. He didn’t see the woman’s blush deepen.
“Oh, he probably could,” Thaaliana agreed apologetically, “but — he’s never seen it.”
Seagryn immediately understood. After all, he’d hidden his own altershape from Elaryl for as long as he could manage. “You haven’t told him you’re a shaper,” he said.
Thaaliana winced and nodded. “I don’t know how,” she said honestly, adding, “I’m afraid it would — ruin him …” Suddenly the woman looked very weary, and her bright smile drooped. “I need to get back. You can sleep wherever you like — you’ll find beds and linens in several of the rooms on this floor, and there’s water!” She pointed upward, and a hint of her delight in this place returned as she explained, “The whole top level is a reservoir for catching rainwater, and it runs all over the castle through tubes of some wood I’ve never seen anywhere else! I guess this Parshia woman must have been well traveled,” she said wistfully, and Seagryn thought he saw a woman who would have liked to have traveled herself. Then a grin spread across her face. “I like to think I’m her descendent!”
“You may be.” Seagryn nodded. His words seemed to please her enormously.
“Well. I guess I’d better run on. I’ll see you again first thing in the morning.” And run on she did, first dousing her light and then skittering off through the branches in the general direction of the house she shared with March.
Fylynn and Seagryn just looked at one another, his purple ball glowing between them. “What a day,” the jester said for both of them, and they quickly found their separate ways to bed.
Seagryn woke with a start to the sound of chopping. He knew immediately where he was, and the sound caused him to leap to his feet. Was the woodsman cutting on one of the castle’s anchor trees? He rushed out the door of the room he’d chosen, down the varnished hallway, and out onto a balcony that overlooked the forest. His worry disappeared long before he got to the railing, for he could tell, now, that March was some distance away. That anxiety was replaced by astonishment as he turned around and craned his neck to look up at the tree-castle in the daylight.
Wooden spires poked up through leafy branches. Stairways and ladders connected the half-dozen wooden layers. Varnish made the entire construction glisten in the green-filtered sunlight of the morning. Seagryn grunted in awe at the effort that had been expended — how long ago? — to cut the massive logs it all rested upon and to get them up into these trees. Parshia must have controlled a small army — or else shed been very rich.
He wondered why it had gone so long undiscovered, but decided that wasn’t really surprising. Little traffic passed through this area, and what traffic did would move mostly during the summer months, when the tree-castle was shrouded from view by the leaves. He glanced up and tried to gauge how deep the leaf pack on the ground would be during the fall — the height of a man, perhaps? That would certainly discourage autumn travel. And winters in this part of the Marwilds were rumored to be horribly bitter, a further discouragement to travelers who might have sighted this construction when its supporting branches were bare. Even so, what a sight this tree-castle would make, frosted with snow and dripping with icicles! He would have to bring Elaryl to this place —
Elaryl. The thought of her absence robbed him of all joy. He turned to look off through the leafy vistas and to wonder where in the world she was. He couldn’t see the forest floor, of course, nor, looking up, could he see the sky, but he could see great distances across this in-between layer. “A lot of good that does,” he grumbled to himself. He decided to climb into one of the towers. He went back to his room to put his boots on first, then peeked in on Fylynn before starting to explore. She slept soundly, snuggled under a down-filled comforter, her brown hair spilling wildly across the bolster. He recognized that he felt a keen affection for her and guessed he understood what it might have been like to have grown up with a sister. He closed her door quietly so that he wouldn’t wake her and started toward one of the spires, his boots clumping heavily on the plank floor.
While the sides of the tree-castle’s six levels were open, the trees themselves had been enclosed. Stairs spiraled up around the circumference of the trees with a landing at each level. As he climbed the stairs he paused occasionally to glance out a window slit to see if the view improved. He saw little change and decided to climb on up into the room at the top of the spire, braced around the next great junction of branches. Suddenly he stopped. He’d heard something above him.
Seagryn waited for a moment, listening. What was in the tower room? An animal of some kind? Must be. He reasoned to himself that with the castle’s open sides, this must happen often. A tree-munk, perhaps? A cuddly little plagu? It must have heard him coming, for it made no further sound. Seagryn continued up through the floor —
As Seagryn popped his head through, a figure crouched against the wall shouted, “Don’t come any closer!” The man pointed a long pike at the powershaper’s face, and Seagryn was startled. “What —” the man grunted, for Seagryn had suddenly disappeared. The next moment the pike was being jerked out of his hand and spun about, and now Seagryn stood over him, pointing the pike down into the face of —
“Paumer? Paumer, is that you?”
“It’s me!” Paumer gasped, scrambling away from the pike’s tip on his hands and his bottom. “Who are you? Where are you?”
“Right here,” Seagryn said, releasing the cloak that had shielded him. “It’s Seagryn. What are you doing here?”
“I’m — hiding,” Paumer murmured, and Seagryn could see now that the merchant was trembling.
“From me?”
“Of course not from you. I didn’t even know you were in the tree-castle. I’m hiding from my son!”
Seagryn looked at this pitiful figure in dismay. He remembered the smiling, silver-haired merchant not only from the meetings of the Conspiracy that he’d attended but also from the weeks spent together in the making of the dragon. He’d ridden with Paumer through the northern Marwilds and lived beside the man in Sheth’s Dragonforge. Never before had he seen him like this — unkempt, unshaven, his hands shaking, and his clothing dirty. Seagryn shook his head. “Ognadzu has done this to you?”
“He’d do worse if he could,” Paumer mumbled, his voice trembling like his hands. “He’d like to kill me. He’s tried!”
“He’s sent the dragon after you?” Seagryn guessed.
“Several times! So far we’ve managed to dodge that —” Seagryn interrupted.
“We have? Who’s we?”
“ — but even if Vicia-Heinox doesn’t get me, the heartbreak eventually will. Have you any idea what it’s like to raise a son who hates you? And who not only tries to kill you, but who steals your business from you as well?”
“Who is we?” Seagryn repeated, his suspicions growing. “Has Sheth been with you? Do you know where he is now?”
“It was all his inheritance anyway!” Paumer explained, his fingers twisting upward as he held out his palms in supplication of Seagryn’s understanding. “I loved that boy! Isn’t a father entitled to pass along his inheritance when he chooses to do so, rather than having it ripped away?”
“I agree with you,” Seagryn muttered, deciding the only way to get answers from this man was by indulging him. “Do you know where Sheth is?”
“Whoever knows where Sheth is?” Paumer mumbled, adding with some of the old sharpness, “Are you listening to my story?”
“Do you know where my wife is? Elaryl? You remember
her from the Dragonforge?”
“I’m sure my son could tell you,” Paumer said bitterly. “His spies are everywhere. I know — they used to be my spies.”
Seagryn had grown curious at last. “How did they become his, then? Were none of your people loyal to you?”
“Many of them were. Still are,” Paumer added with emphasis. “He hasn’t controlled all of my houses yet, not all of them. He’s convinced Kerily of course —”
“Kerily!” Seagryn said. “But I was just in Kerily’s house a week ago!”
“Kerily’s house?” Paumer smiled wanly. “That used to be my house. You were surrounded by his spies, then, and his mother is foremost among them. If you told anyone there your plans, he knows them by this time. Anyone but Uda,” he corrected himself quietly.
“But how did he do it?”
“Where have you been?” Paumer scolded. The merchant obviously considered his family tragedy the primary plot line currently being played out through world events. “I thought you had contact with those tugolith creatures?”
“Not much recently, no —”
“He went up there where you were and convinced them that he’s their Wiser — whatever that is. I guess you would know …”
Seagryn did indeed know. Suddenly he tasted bile, and he felt a little dizzy. He had been the Wiser — the spiritual leader of the tugoliths. But he had left them to come back and help Sheth make the dragon. They were simple creatures, naive and gullible. He could easily see how Ognadzu might have — “Oh, no,” Seagryn murmured. The more he thought about the implications of this news, the worse he felt.
“You’re beginning to understand,” Paumer said, finally beginning to feel justified. “He’s used them as a battle force against those of my houses that resisted his control — and they’ve turned. He’s trained several of them to be his messenger lads to Vicia-Heinox, and has arranged somehow to provide that monster with people to eat. That’s how he maintains his control over it.”
“Inconceivable,” Seagryn murmured.
“A very effective arrangement. The boy is shrewd,” Paumer said, smiling faintly. “I’d be more proud of him if I weren’t myself one of his targets.” When the smile faded from his lips, Paumer looked old. He shook his head and peered earnestly into Seagryn’s face. “He was a good boy, I thought. Always seemed to be. What kind of evil would make a lad turn on his father like that?” Paumer begged, his eyes tearing up. “What kind of evil has a grip on my son?”
Seagryn thought again of Nebalath’s warning, and it occurred to him that, if the powers were so much stronger in this region, they must be close to the source of the evil as well. He grieved over the lost innocence of the tugoliths and wondered how much his abandonment of them at a critical time had contributed to their fall. “I don’t know,” Seagryn muttered. “Something horrible.”
Paumer nodded, his face ashen. “Incidentally,” he added, “I understand he’s also convinced the tugoliths that you were a false Wiser, and that you misled them.”
“Misled them!” Seagryn exploded. “I saved them!”
“Oh, yes?” Paumer nodded knowingly. “Well, they’re a fickle race, then, for the simpleminded beasts are thoroughly convinced that you should be ripped limb from limb.”
Seagryn was suddenly struck by the irony of listening to this man, the instigator of so much horror in the old One Land, decrying the evil plans of others. “So,” he said acidly. “The tugoliths have joined themselves to the Seagryn assassination squads you yourself organized!”
Paumer looked up at him, fear of reprisal spreading slowly across his features. “You — you know about that?”
“Nebalath was an invisible witness to your last Conspiracy meeting,” Seagryn snarled. “He heard your report and shared every word with me.”
Paumer said nothing for a moment — just studied Seagryn’s face as he sought for some effective defense. “It’s all changed now, Seagryn,” he said finally. “When the dragon came, everything changed so quickly …”
That was certainly true, Seagryn thought. He remembered the Remnant. He remembered Nebalath. He remembered the pleasant village of Ritaven — all gone now. Everything had indeed changed, and he’d come to help correct it. “Do you know where Sheth is? I’ve come to help him destroy the twi-beast.”
Paumer arched his eyebrows, then nodded. “I’m sure he’ll be very glad to hear that when he returns.”
“When he returns?” Seagryn demanded. “He’s been here?”
“We’ve both been here — waiting for you and Fylynn. Is she with you?”
The words stunned him. “Sheth has been — here?” Seagryn jumped forward and jerked Paumer up by the front of his robe. “Then where is my Elaryl?”
Paumer jerked his head away but didn’t try to fight off Seagryn’s hands. “I haven’t seen her.”
“Sheth said he had her with him!” Seagryn shouted in Paumer’s face.
“He did?” the merchant replied, turning his head. “Then I can only guess it was a ruse to get you here. An effective one, apparently.”
Larger openings ran the length of each side of this octagonal room. The impulse to throw this traitor out one of them was very strong. As he wrenched Paumer out of the corner where he’d crouched and dragged him down the length of the wall, the merchant caught on to his intentions and began shouting, “It’s not my fault! It’s Sheth’s! I just told you the truth! Why do you want to kill me for it?”
Seagryn stopped dragging him and threw the man to the floor. “When is Sheth returning?”
“Who can say?” Paumer pleaded, holding his hands up now to protect himself. “This is Sheth we’re talking about, remember? He may be hiding from the dragon’s wrath, but he’s still the foremost powershaper of the age! I certainly don’t know his schedule!”
Seagryn felt betrayed. “Who told you to expect me here?” This was a foolish question, but he needed to ask it anyway.
“Dark, did, of course! Sheth collected some packets of the Emeraudian dreamkiller and traded it to the boy for information!”
Seagryn nodded, his cheeks burning. He wondered how much of this old Nebalath had known during their voyage home from the spice islands. And how much had Fylynn known all along … ?
Seagryn pounded down the stairs, making nine full circuits of the tree before reaching the level on which he’d slept. He ran headlong down the veranda, then cut sharply up the hallway to Fylynn’s door. He flung it open, shouting, “Why didn’t you tell me that —” He got that far and stopped. Fylynn sat up quickly in bed, but she was not alone.
He had only a glimpse of Sheth before the man cloaked himself. He glanced immediately around the room, however, and saw a pile of garments disappear off the shiny wooden floor. Sheth obviously picked them up and was now clothing himself in them. Seagryn’s eyes came back to Fylynn, who had wrapped herself in the comforter. Had he just missed seeing Sheth earlier? Had the shaper been here all night?
“Why didn’t you tell me, Fylynn?” he asked, managing to sound as if he had his emotions under control.
“Tell you what?” she frowned, obviously embarrassed.
“Didn’t you know that my Elaryl wasn’t here?” he asked flatly.
“Of course she didn’t,” said Sheth, now appearing by a mirror on the wall and checking his appearance in it. The vain shaper was apparently satisfied, for he now turned and shot Seagryn a dimpled smile. “I never told her.” Sheth shared his smile with Fylynn and sauntered around the end of the bed. “She’s too loving a lady to carry such deceit around with her. And she cares too much for you. So absolve her of guilt, Seagryn. The fault is all mine.” He spoke these words with apparent sincerity but also with that same mocking grin Seagryn had come to loathe so much.
Seagryn stared at his rival, his eyes blazing with barely contained rage. “You should have the altershape of a mudgecurdle, not Nebalath. Your stench is great enough to drive every soul from the Marwilds.”
Sheth’s blue eyes didn’t blink
in response to the insult, nor did his black mustache even twitch. All he said was, “Is that Nebalath’s altershape? I’d always wondered! He never once used it against me in battle!”
“He’s gone now,” Seagryn murmured, fighting his feelings.
“So I just learned. And the Imperial House is silent. Pity — I always liked those old walls, and the House seemed to like me, too. But …” Sheth shrugged and sat on the bed next to Fylynn. He slipped his arm around her and began toying with her hair. She squirmed uncomfortably under Seagryn’s gaze but didn’t push Sheth’s hand away.
“And you, Fylynn? What’s your part in all this? Besides consort to the shaper, of course.” He couldn’t prevent the bitterness he felt from dripping from his words.
Her eyes flashed up to meet his, now snapping with anger. “That’s not fair, Seagryn! You know how I love Sheth, you’ve known it all along!”
“Besides, she had a job to do,” Sheth said, hugging her to him protectively. He looked at her. “You did bring the stones, didn’t you?”
“They were loaded on our horses yesterday,” she said, sitting up, and he patted her.
“Relax. Thaaliana knew you were coming, and she’s surely hidden them in her house. She’ll bring them with her later this morning —” Sheth craned his neck toward the open window and listened a moment. “She should be here soon. The mighty woodsman is already busy chopping.”
“Thaaliana is involved in this, too?” Seagryn asked, overwhelmed by all the twists he’d not even guessed at that everyone else apparently knew.
“She is. Had to be. I learned from Dark that Nebalath wouldn’t be available for this act of shaping. That’s when I set out to secure the help of the little squirrel-lady.” Sheth gestured at their surroundings. “I hadn’t anticipated the tree-castle, though. That was an added plus. It’s a wonderful advantage, for Ognadzu knows nothing about it, and, following my practice in the past, his people are seeking us in caves. Here we can make the crystal thorn in relative security — you, me, and Thaaliana. It took both of us to make the dragon, Seagryn. It’s going to take all three of us to unmake him.”
The Faithful Traitor (Wizard & Dragon Book 2) Page 28