"She's Absorbed him," Menkal breathed, his mouth hanging agape with awe. Or it could've been fear or even disgust -- it was hard to tell.
"'Absorbed'?" Sal asked.
The elder sapphire was silent for a moment, but when he spoke, his voice shook violently. Sal had never heard him that rattled. "I've only ever heard about it in stories. Very few people have ever worked out the concepts to even enter another person's mind, let alone Absorb them. But it works like she said -- you draw all of a person's memories into yourself. All their skills, all their knowledge, all their years of experience. In essence, you become the person you've Absorbed."
"But that's a good thing, right?" Sal asked. "I mean, now we don't have to interrogate a prisoner. She can tell us."
Menkal didn't answer. Instead, he stood silent and scowling opposite Patrys. The old man's body was perfectly rigid. If Sal didn't know better, he'd think that the old mage was readying himself for battle.
He's right t' worry, Patrys Whispered, the flavor of her thought sharp, menacing. If'n I were him, I'd worry too. She turned to Sal and her features softened slightly. I didn't just Absorb the man's knowledge. I also got seventy three years worth of experience wi' Sapphire -- much o' which he learned from... disreputable sources. But more t' Menkal's unease... I know why du'Cyphem sided wi' th' Shadow Mage...an' I canna say fer sure that he was in th' wrong.
The reality of the situation struck Sal all at once. More than mere knowledge, she had Absorbed the essence of the man -- the trials, failures, heartaches, and successes that had shaped Hogan du'Cyphem and made him who he was. The things that had turned him traitor to the people of Ysre, of the Mainland, the things that had drawn him to the Highest, the things that had made him an enemy of the Cause -- all of that was now a part of Patrys. But as horrific as the prospect was, the reality was much worse, because not only did she have du'Cyphem's knowledge and experience, but she had her own strength in magic, as well as her fledgling capacity to improvise, due in no small part to Sal himself.
As dangerous as du'Cyphem had been, Patrys Goatherd was now exponentially worse.
Apparently, Retzu thought along the same lines. Like lightning, the shol'tuk was on his feet, steel-hilted blade in hand and whistling toward its mark.
Patrys was just as quick to react, jumping up and assuming a ready stance. She snatched her spearhead from the thong around her neck and wielded, the stone point shooting from her hand atop a staff of solid ice, pointing directly at the assassin.
Sal was wielding before he'd even had time to process this exchange. Retzu's katana stopped bare inches from Patrys' ruined throat, caught in a wall of amethyst magic. The assassin tugged at the blade, trying to wrench it loose, but it remained fixed in midair. Patrys faced similar frustrations on the other side of the wall, the end of her spear evaporating where it touched the spell and dropping the stone spearhead.
"Stop!" Sal shouted, holding the barrier in place, just in case anybody else wanted to get froggy and leap to the attack. "If she were really the enemy, we'd never have known it until it was all over."
Nobody moved, but nobody dropped their guard. Sal had their attention, but they remained unconvinced. "She had the element of surprise, y'all! She had it, and she gave it up. Willingly."
One by one, the Heads of Order and Guild sat back down. Their distrust was still evident, but at least they weren't throwing daggers or spells or whatever.
Retzu eyed Patrys and Sal hotly for a time, and whispered a lethal "You better be right, mate" before tugging once more on his sword. Sal released his hold on Amethyst, and the katana dropped. "You better be right," Retzu repeated, then resumed his seat.
Finally, Patrys' sapphire eyes dimmed, and the rest of her staff evaporated. She bent down to retrieve her spearpoint, and turned to the diamond mage. Thank ye, Sal.
"I was half a step away from wrapping you in a null field myself," he said with a guarded sigh. "Still am."
Why don'cha?
Sal tapped his neck in response, right about where the stoma would be in Patrys' throat. "Because then you wouldn't be able to convince me of why I shouldn't."
* * *
Patrys did indeed turn out to be a wealth of information.
The once-mage du'Cyphem had long been a devotee of the Shadow Mage, and in his mind, with good reason. Like many scholars, he was familiar with the Prismatic Prophecies, but in his case, that familiarity swung rather close to obsession. As a young man, he felt as many mages did, that the Prism was an otherworldly hero, invested with unique magics by which he would save the world. But as he studied the prophecies closer, his image of the Prism as a hero darkened.
Tile Three, Sonnet Three in particular fed this fear. Sal was somewhat familiar with the prophecy, thanks to Gaelen's recitation, but as Patrys carried them through the logic, it became clear to him why du'Cyphem had felt the way he had.
The sonnet itself spoke to the Prism ending two worlds. Sal could only imagine that those two worlds were his old world, and the world that he now found himself in.
But one sonnet alone was nae enough to sway Hogan, Patrys Whispered. There were others, particularly th' contrary ones.
"What do you mean, contrary?" Sal asked.
Patrys' brow furrowed as she considered her response. There are verses what disagree, sayin' much the same thing, but leadin' t' different ends. Take... say... Tile Two, Sonnet Five...
O scattered shards of heart's desire
That flicker flame and quencheth fire
The stolen Rose to whither lone
The Prism darkened and undone
Then Light shall flee and Shadows creep
Beyond the Emerald touch
Fractured shall the Prism weep
And succumb to Abyssal clutch
"So a 'rose' is stolen, and it's supposed to break me?" Sal asked.
Patrys nodded. Perhaps. But Tile Three, Sonnet Two says just th' opposite...
O scattered shards of heart's desire
Stoke thou flame and quench not fire
The lost Rose found and set aright
The Prism filled and set alight
Then Light shall seize the Shadow's creep
Extend the rain its bow
Finally whole the Prism keep
The Light the world to show
Sal's head spun. "So... which one is right?"
'At's just it, Patrys sent. Ye canna know which prophecy is right until it comes t' pass. T'morrow is still in th' makin'.
"So, either is just as likely," Sal said, processing. "I could beat the Highest, or I could lose. But du'Cyphem thought the Prism was a hero. What made him swear to the Highest? Why not do what he could to make sure the Prism succeeds?"
Patrys shrugged her sympathy. Yer not a safe bet. Th' Highest is a devil, but he's "the devil ye know", t' borrow yer term. Bad as du'Cyphem sees th' world, this world would continue if'n ye failed. If ye succeeded, th' world might end. Better'n his mind t' befriend a tyrant than t' fight 'im, and risk everything fer a world 'at might never be. S'why he reached out t' his kin in Schel Veylin, th' Lady Bralla Veis.
"Bralla Veis?" Gaelen asked. "Any relation to Nestor Veis?"
Aye, he's 'er husband.
"Their son, Heramis, was involved in the attacks on Caravan just after Harvest," Retzu clarified. "Why?"
"Because with the Granite Spire and the runes, and then all this talk of the prophecies and the army headed this way, I just forgot..."
"What?" Sal urged. "Out with it!"
"I think I have a way to help."
* * *
Nestor reached over his head, stretching to the chorus of a thousand pops, the sound of knots unraveling in his back. He'd been leaning over the map dais since shortly after lunch -- quite a while ago, according to his growling stomach -- but he found it hard to break away from such a fascinating find.
"Nestor," Jaeda addressed as she came into the map room.
"Look at this, my dear," Nestor indicated a large, colorful porti
on of the map. " Do you see the blooms between these islands?"
"They look like the vi'zrithi cities that we found in the Maw a few days ago," she commented.
"They do," he affirmed, the butterflies in his gut competing with the gnawing hunger. "But these islands are in the Scar that runs down the middle of the Expanse. It's been long thought to be a no-man's land, even for vi'zrith, but just look -- it's absolutely teeming!"
"Yeah, that's nice," she dismissed, obviously not as excited by the discovery as he was.
Not surprising. It had been a common theme of theirs. How they could be so alike in some ways, and so different in others...
"I just talked to Gaelen," she said, plunging her hands into the image and drawing it closer, shrinking the map to take in the surrounding waters, further and further until fingers of land appeared at the edge of the map -- the westernmost tips of Norwood and the Plains. She paused, orienting herself against the map for a moment, then shifted it, running the image east over the Inland Sea between the Northern and Southern Plains, then over Bayton, then the Vale. Finally, she settled the map with the Vale to the upper left and the Sea of Ysre to the lower right. She nodded and stepped back from the map, placing her hands on her hips as the two of them took in the display. "We've got to find an army," she said finally.
"An army? Where?"
"There," she said, spreading her arms to take in the entire map. "A granite army, somewhere between Schel Veylin and Bastion."
Nestor stared at the dais in silence. The scope of the search that Jaeda's brother was asking for... the sheer magnitude of it...
The displayed area covered thousands of miles, filled to the brim with villages and farms, all with their own mages, as well as large swaths of forest, teeming with wildlife. Countless auras, dimly natural and brilliantly magical, spread across the landscape, small enough that the combined auras looked quite like a dim fog of green. To see any other color, the map would have to be close enough for the fog to disperse into individual droplets -- merely a league or two in any direction, and even closer if the army of brown that they sought was Merged.
"Impossible," Nestor murmured. "It took us almost an hour yesterday to find Cao Tzu on the plains north of the Sea of Ysre, and we knew exactly where to find him. This... We could study this map for days and not find them. And that's presuming the granite army is above ground. With them Merged..."
"I told Gaelen as much," she affirmed. "But he said that little help is better than none."
Nestor turned to take in his declared, his eyes locking with hers. She was now employing Clarity at every opportunity, as was he. It had become habit for them, and lacking the conventions that he had grown used to in the Granite Guard -- first as a soldier, then as its leader -- it now seemed foolish that he'd ever hidden the skill. It was a blessing that he cherished, to once again see the world in all its beauty, rather than in terms of structure and order. It thrilled him to be able to openly look upon Jaeda's beautiful face, to see her skin -- the color of blackbrew and cream -- flush red with embarrassment or excitement, or her plump and pert lips glisten as she moistened them.
Or create tiny shadows when they turned down in sympathy, like they did at that moment.
Sighing again, he turned back to the map. "If it were me, I'd cut across the foothills of the Stormbreaks, along this pass from here to here," he said, pointing to some low points to the bottom left of the dais before reaching into the map and pulling it in close...
* * *
The Heads of Order and Guild were still discussing matters well into dinnertime, so pages were sent from various parts of Caravan to bring offerings to the assembled council members. Gruel, stew, spiced potatoes, wild hog and beans -- the options were as random and varied as the leaders themselves, with no particular tastes in mind, save for those of the people who offered them of a willing heart.
Retzu declined his bowl -- venison and rice. He didn't have much of an appetite left, thanks to a certain sapphire, one far more cunning and brutal than her sixteen years could account for. After giving her testimony, she had stayed silent, stoically looking on as the council deliberated, but the seed of Retzu's distrust had already been planted, and it worried him what might sprout from it.
One by one, the assembly dispersed to their varied tasks. Tribean went to rally the Unmarked, while Jaren left to assemble Caravan's fighters. The two legs of their army were to meet in the Camp's central green, where Senosh would form them into a single unit. Menkal went to collect the squadron of dragon riders that he'd chosen from among Caravan's best horsemen, and Eshira left to gather their mounts, selected from among the Flight for their speed and stealth. They were paired, primarily as scouts but also as cavalry, and were to be sent out at first light. Menkal, like Senosh, would answer to Aten'rih, who would answer to Sal and Retzu.
As the assembly dispersed in earnest, Retzu saw Patrys out of the corner of his eye, taking to her feet and edging toward the darkness beyond the firelight.
Oh no you don't, he thought.
"Yeah, I'll talk to D'prox in the morning, mate," Retzu told Sal absently, cutting his sodu off in whatever it was that he was saying at the time. The assassin honestly hadn't a clue, but the disposition of Bastion's shol'tuk was as good a guess as any. "He's already allowed for the possibility of the Fellowship fighting with us, so it's just a matter of putting the request to them. Excuse me..."
Retzu followed Patrys as she fled into the night, only catching up to her when they were well out of sight from his brother's tent. "Well, hang on."
The sapphire mage stumbled slightly as she drew to a halt, then turned slowly to meet him. Retzu moved to remove his ring, but one look at her expression and he decided against it. Instead, he opted to do as he did at the assembly -- push the ring out from his finger with his thumb, breaking a contact with his skin that he could easily reestablish by simply letting go.
Not that he really needed to. She remained silent, waiting.
"How did you do it? Take his magic?"
S'like puttin' out a fire, she commented, her face perfectly straight, as if she'd done nothing particularly special. Ye can blow it out if'n it's a small'un. Ye can dump water on th' wood, or sand, or if'n yer a sapphire, ye can take th' air from around th' fire. Any one of 'em'll kill it. Ye canna attack th' fire itself, mind, but ye can take away what feeds th' fire an' it'll die on its own. I did the same wi' du'Cyphem's magic, she added with a shrug. Take th' mem'ries what feed th' skill, an' ye lose th' skill itself.
She sighed and looked away. I's no' permanent, if'n that's yer worry. He can get 'is magic back th' same way he got it th' first time, but he's like a babe, stumblin' around. He'll never be who 'e once was -- the man what done this t' me.
"You got your vengeance, mate," Retzu summarized, nodding and smiling grimly. "The man behind your maiming, behind Cedric's death. The man who had Sal jumped. You gave him what he had coming to him, didn'tcha."
He didn't mean it as a question, and by the look on her face, she didn't take it as one either. Her still face betrayed no emotion, but even in the dark, it was plain to see that the stoic look was intentional. Even desperately so.
Good, he thought. Maybe her thirst was quenched with the first draught.
"Don't feel like it's supposed to, does it?"
Patrys tried valiantly for a second or two more, but her lip started to quiver and her gemstone eyes took on a glimmer in the moonlight that betrayed more than their glassy surfaces. I coulda killed 'im -- I wanted to -- but this hurts 'im so much worse, I can tell. He deserves th' worst I can give'm, she Whispered, smiling at the thought, but even in the darkness, the smile looked bitter. She paused a moment, then continued in thoughts that seemed more genuine. I thought it'd stop. Th' pain, th' anger. I thought endin' 'im, endin' th' worst part o' him, would somehow... I just wanted t' see justice done.
"Nah, you didn't, mate," Retzu countered softly. "You wanted revenge, and that's what you got." He chuckled lightly, ruefully. "Funny thing a
bout vengeance. You render it, thinking it'll fill some hole in your life, but after you've done your worst, you find that the hole is still there, just as big as it ever was. Bigger, even, because of the piece of yourself that you gave up trying to fill it."
Patrys' gemstone eyes welled with enormous tears, but she scrubbed a palm roughly across her face, refusing to let them fall. What 'e did was evil, sure, but what I did... I wish ye'd been there t' stop me.
Retzu shrugged. "Probably best I wasn't there. You'd have just kept trying, waiting until my back was turned and then doing worse for my delaying your 'justice'. He'd probably be dead now, instead of disarmed."
She huffed, her stoma cover blowing out slightly from her throat. An assassin, preferrin' life t' death.
"Shol'tuk is more than just killing," he said, taking a scholarly tone. "It's about justice -- about righting a wrong. An adherent spends his first four hilts learning how to kill. If he lives long enough, he spends his later hilts learning when to kill... and when not to."
When not to?
"Aye, mate. Even the stupidest shol'tuk can take a life. It takes wisdom to know when to try and change a life. That, my dear, is what separates vengeance from justice."
Patrys' frown deepened, the more she thought on what he said. So what I did t' du'Cyphem wasn't justice.
"I didn't say that," Retzu countered again, a slight smile tugging at his lips. "You may not have dealt justice to him, but that ain't saying that justice wasn't done. Long as he's alive, he has an opportunity to right the wrongs he's done. He might even use your vengeance to do it. Make sense?"
Not a lick, Patrys Whispered, shaking her head.
This time, Retzu chuckled richly. "I wouldn't expect it to. You're a mage. You're used to order -- this rune means that concept, which means that magical effect. Everything's a formula. No need to make a judgment call. Justice requires more improvisation than that. Not exactly a mage's strong suit."
Fractures (Facets of Reality Book 2) Page 34