Chapter 12

"It makes little sense," said Jollis to an empty chamber.

As the day in the Urisi Nation hurtled towards late afternoon, the sun had just risen over the Oceanus Imperial Palace. It was well past the candlemark when his Master should be seated at his desk tending to the morning reports. Yet the flame in the lamp at the corner of the desk remained low, untouched since Kyllos had retired the evening before.

Jollis took a slow, deep breath. His own words disturbed him, not so much for their meaning as the fact he had felt the urge to say them when no one would hear them. And what exactly made little sense? That his Master was not present? That he felt the need for guidance? That he had not solved his Master's dilemma?

Jollis left the chamber. He gazed down the corridor and spotted Yonlas at the far end. When his faithful assistant did not move, Jollis tilted his head. "You feel the need for distance this morning?"

Yonlas paused, his fingers knitted together before him. "Of course not, Wanderer," he said in a flat voice as he advanced. "Good morning and good blessings to you."

"Good blessings upon you as well," said Jollis, a ghost of a smile upon his lips. "Have you seen Master Kyllos?"

"This morning?"

Jollis hesitated. "Indeed, yes, this morning."

"No, I have not."

Jollis nodded once.

"Have you trouble, Wanderer?"

"In a manner of speaking. I seek guidance on what to do next."

"Have you no more leads to follow?"

"I do, but I fear they will result in the same failure."

Yonlas clenched his fingers, his hands knitted into a tight ball. "Master Kyllos believes the Rogue Mages are being forewarned somehow."

"Ah, yes, I had thought this myself." Jollis looked at Yonlas. "You have been speaking on the matter with Master Kyllos?"

"Only in passing."

Jollis looked intrigued, his face a silent bid to elaborate.

Yonlas stood rigid before his would-be mentor despite his efforts to relax. Chagrin clouded his eyes, though he was quick to hide it with a steady voice which exuded a confidence the rest of him did not share. "He spoke a few words to me as he retired last night. The candlemark was late; that is likely why he is not yet present this morning."

Jollis nodded again, though he did not accept the explanation. Master Kyllos was like the mountain: old, yet formidable and strong. His Master could go days without sleep if needed.

And he could tell Yonlas was anxious about something. He gave the faithful Cohort a small smile. "You appear to be expressing the same consternation I will not allow myself to express so openly."

Yonlas summoned all his powers of quick meditation to force his tight muscles to relax. He gave himself time to digest Jollis' words until he understood they expressed amusement rather than admonishment. "Perhaps that is for the best so you may go about your tasks unencumbered, Wanderer."

Jollis laughed, and Yonlas did not clench his fingers as tightly. "If you do have something else to offer, I would be most grateful to hear it."

Yonlas' fingers relaxed further as he barreled into the opening Jollis had left for him. "Perhaps it is time to seek a wider counsel."

"An intriguing thought. Who would you suggest?"

"The Holy Order."

Jollis hesitated. In the silence, he could hear his assistant's steady breathing. He recognized the cadence for the meditative technique that it was. He finally realized just how nervous Yonlas was and how desperate the Cohort was to hide it. "Would that not strike of ambition?" Jollis suggested, more as a test rather than a serious criticism.

"Not at all, Wanderer. You do not seek to gain favor. It is not as if Master Kyllos had denied you and now you seek advantage with someone more powerful."

"I consider knowledge to be power. One could think I wish more power by bypassing my immediate Master."

Yonlas knew this was not the correct application of the concept, but he could not simply declare as such. "The wise man accepts there are always those wiser than him," the Cohort intoned after a moment's thought. "He becomes the fool when he denies others that greater wisdom."

Jollis slowly smiled. "You know your path well. I am most pleased."

Yonlas' lips twitched into the first smile he had felt able to express in many stretches of days. "Your words honor me."

"Have you a further suggestion as to where I may go to seek their wisdom?"

"If you are troubled, I would suggest somewhere familiar to you."

Jollis' smile widened. "Such as the D'ronstaq Manor."

"Yes, Wanderer, that would be a most excellent choice. I understand there is a contingent of Rogue Mages assisting the Holy Order there. You may learn something from them."

"Indeed. Would you know if the Holy Order brought a Priestess with them?"

Yonlas tilted his head. "Priestess?"

"I feel the need for a Purification again. These feelings of being watched at the last few camps I have investigated are most distracting. I need to rid myself of them if I am to remain effective."

"I do not know if one is present, Wanderer."

"Ah, then Master Kyllos did not relay that information to you."

Yonlas let out a ragged breath, his meditative state shattered.

"I would advise you," began Jollis, unable to keep a tiny bit of amusement from slipping into his voice. "To practice your meditative techniques. Your future attempts at stealth will depend upon it."

"Ah ... stealth, Wanderer?"

"You may tell Master Kyllos you have accomplished your task most admirably. I will seek the Holy Order as he wishes of me."

Yonlas let out another long breath. "I beg forgiveness for the deception. It is--"

"It is what was expected of you, and thus you performed your duty well."

"But--"

"The fool lies when it pleases him to do so," intoned Jollis. "It is the wise man who practices deception when it serves a greater good. You have been the wise man."

"Thank you, Wanderer." Yonlas paused. "I feel I must tell you this has left me even more disturbed than I was before."

"Ah, yes. Your instincts serve you well."

Yonlas' face was caught between surprise and despair. "I should be disturbed?"

"The word 'should, ' you will find, can be very imprecise," said Jollis. "It does not properly convey from whom we receive our direction. And thus you have used the word correctly in this case."

"I am most troubled by this," said Yonlas. "Things are not proceeding as I had thought they would. Enlightenment is slow to come to Oceanus."

"You understate the matter. I suspect Master Kyllos has a greater purpose in mind for me which he is hesitant to reveal. Perhaps he had hoped I would not realize this."

"My failing, Wanderer."

"Not at all. Do not belittle yourself. He tasked you with something which taxed your abilities to their limits. You did very well in light of this. It is better that I know; I will be more open to anything unusual."

Jollis stopped, his mouth having opened to give voice to his next thought, but he closed it and looked pensive.

"Is there something else?" asked Yonlas.

Jollis shook his head. "We have spoken enough on this matter, and I need to set about my new mission. You may inform Master Kyllos you had succeeded in your task. You may choose to avoid further explanation if you wish."

"Thank you. Good day and good journey to you."

Jollis smiled and stepped past Yonlas.

Yonlas watched Jollis until he had turned down another corridor. He let out a windy sigh and bowed his head in a short prayer to his patron god. Master Kyllos had been right; he was indeed picking up his would-be mentor's gift for sensing the unusual. Something had remained unspoken, and now his shoulders ached as if from the strain of bearing its weight.

Jothan stood to the side of the road, where lingering moisture from a morning rain dripped upon his head and down his back from the towering canopy of leaves. He stood calm and still as a horse clopped by, drawing behind it an empty wooden cart. Several peasants sat near the front, one of them holding the reins, which he snapped to quicken the horse's pace as they approached the wider road.

Jothan studied their faces. One turned his head and looked at him. Jothan bowed his head in greeting and received a casual response. It was the same here as back in the village; the peasants were less fearful of the expatriate Mages now. They betrayed no sense of relief as they left the former Overlord Manor, not as they had when the Manor was once home to a cadre of young naked women.

After the cart had passed, he waited for any more to emerge from around the bend. When he heard nothing but the fading squeak of wheels behind him, he stepped onto the road and continued along his way.

The energies he had first sensed a candlemark ago were growing stronger, rising and falling in an irregular cadence as the Portal was energized and de-energized, as if attempting to diagnose a problem. He believed he had a solution for the problem of the spy pearls failing to relay Portal energy patterns. He hoped to find their hiding places and re-enchant them with his corrected spell.

The gate to the D'ronstaq Manor rose before him. Two unarmed Cohorts were in attendance, the gate itself as wide open as it had been in the heyday of the Overlord who once owned this Manor. Yet now the openness was misleading. Jothan looked past the gate and saw staff-wielding warriors guarding a point where the main path forked towards the Portal building, and two more standing outside a thatch-roofed hut.

The Cohorts came to meet him. "We bid you welcome, traveler," said one. "What brings you into our humble midst?"

Jothan lowered his hood and bowed his head. "I look for honest work for a fair price."

The second Cohort scrutinized him. "You are a Mage?"

"Yes. I am unaffiliated with the Guild, however. I hope that is not a problem."

"Not at all, honored Mage," said the first Cohort. "But we have a number already in the employ of the Holy Order. I do not believe they require any more at this time."

Jothan smiled. "So you have indeed employed several of my brethren as I have heard. Quite fortunate they are. Is there nothing I can do for you?"

"We regret having to turn you away."

Jothan sighed. "That is most unfortunate, considering how far I have traveled."

The Cohorts paused and gazed at each other for a moment. The first one nodded. The second turned to Jothan and spoke. "How far have you come, honored Mage?"

"From the main continent." He paused, allowing his eyes to cloud. "There is no going back for me. I am something of an exile. But I should not bore you with such things." Jothan turned. "I will be on my way."

"A moment, please."

Jothan paused, then turned to face the Cohort once more, folding his hands before him.

"We have a saying in our culture," said the Cohort. "When faced with potential failure after great effort, the wise man will make the attempt anyway. Only the fool will accept defeat easily."

"I see. Then I shall not be the fool in your eyes. I am at odds with my brethren who do not see the wisdom in working with the Inonni. I believe they squander a wonderful opportunity to perform Magery in a more apolitical atmosphere."

"And they do not share your feelings?" the Cohort asked.

"They do not. Thus I cast myself from them, and came here in hopes of proving them wrong."

The two Cohorts again looked pensive and exchanged another glance. Something was whispered between them which Jothan could not quite hear. The first one nodded, then the second. The latter turned back to Jothan. "Have you nowhere else to turn, honored Mage?"

"I will likely be forced to wander about the countryside," said Jothan, injecting the right amount of chagrin into his voice. "I certainly cannot return to our camp."

"Camp? An active camp?"

Jothan tilted his head. "Active?"

"Has it been occupied for some time?"

"Yes, indeed. For quite awhile."

The Cohort gave him a solemn look. "It is a great pity we do not know the locations of these camps."

"Oh?" Jothan asked. "How so?"

"Our great task is to bring Enlightenment to Oceanus," said the Cohort. "This extends to the Mages as well. We would be most happy to approach your brethren and show them they have nothing to fear and everything to gain."

"Then might I offer to share my knowledge of the location of the camp from which I originated?"

The Cohort looked nonplussed and glanced at his partner. "You would do this for us?" asked the second Cohort. "Willingly?"

"Oh, yes, indeed. But I feel I must warn you. Many of them do not trust you. Some even fear you and believe you will attack them."

"Then your assistance would be imperative," the first Cohort said.

"Then I ask again for you to reconsider and accept my services," said Jothan. "If I can work for you for but a small span of days and some decent platinum, I will inform you of the location of the camp. Then you can meet with them, and through me they will come to accept you, seeing how I have been treated fairly by the Inonni."

"Very well, honored Mage," said the second Cohort. "I will take you to our Mage Master. He can better determine your skills and where we could use you."

Jothan smiled as he stepped into the Manor behind the Cohort. "I thank you. You are most kind. I hope this leads to a final reconciliation between your people and mine."

Pain flared along Tarras' side near his waist, like a thick needle thrust into him. He resisted the urge to rub it, not so much in the knowledge it would do little good as he did not want to appear weak before Frenon. His legs ached, his joints about to scream in agony. He could not have kept the pace save for Frenon pushing him ahead. Tarras would have thought this cruel punishment were it not for the fact that Frenon was acting as a shield to those behind them. Yet when he stumbled and felt a new pain flare in one ankle, and Frenon pushed him onward when he tried to stop to tend to it, he thought it punishment anyway.

Tarras ceased to see the stream of peasants flowing like a parting river on either side of them. His now hurting ankle made it harder to avoid colliding into them when he tried to step around the detritus which littered this squalid section of the village.

"To the right," Frenon suddenly hissed in his ear, startling him into another stumble. "To the right, my Lord!"

Tarras almost blundered past it, and Frenon had to grasp his arm to help him make the turn. They dodged into a narrow alley littered with splintered wood, bent nails, broken horseshoes, and an upturned cart, its timbers warped and whitened by the elements.

Frenon grabbed Tarras and thew him behind the cart rather than attempt to direct him verbally. Tarras thumped first against the wall, then to the ground. Frenon crouched beside him, stringing his crossbow and holding it ready. "Be quiet, " Frenon said in an urgent whisper.

Tarras wheezed and had not the breath to tell his protector this was as quiet as he could be. He rubbed the ankle he had twisted. The pain was fading, so it was not sprained or broken.

Frenon eased his head up until he could peer over the cart, his eyes narrowing to slits. He ducked back down and gestured to Tarras for silence. He held up three fingers.

At the end of the alley, three Cohorts appeared. Their walk was unhurried, yet the two on either side were sweeping curious gazes around them as if searching. The one in the center bid the others to stop, and they engaged in soft conversation.

Frenon frowned and found a gap between the warped boards of the old cart. He watched as two Cohorts nodded at something the third had said. The third pointed, first back the way they -- and Tarras and Frenon -- had come, then in front of them and away from the alley. Another nod, and all three walked out of view.

Frenon remained still, staring for a long moment before he turned to his companion. "They have moved off, but we will stay here awhile longer before we leave."

"They did not seem in a hurry," said Tarras.

Frenon sighed through his nose. "I am aware of your theory concerning them, but I cannot take chances. They appeared to know you when they looked at you."

Tarras spread his hands before him. Not a single finger was spared a callous, healing cut, or scratch. "I no longer appear the part of the Noble Lord."

"You cannot change your face, my Lord, and they will eventually know what face to look for. And please keep your hood on."

Tarras raised his hood back into place. "I have found that people who look like they are hiding something are more suspicious than those operating out in the open, no matter what they are doing."

Frenon peered above the cart again. He gripped the crossbow tighter. "There are far too many Inonni in this village for my liking."

"There are going to be far more in our eventual destination."

"Yes, and if you have spoken with Lord Rennis, you know my opinion on that."

"It is necessary for me to--"

Frenon waved him silent. "With all due respect, my Lord, do not bother debating me, it will not get you far. I have taken an oath to protect you regardless of my opinions on the merits of your task."

"But I want your opinion, Frenon."

Frenon shook his head, a gesture which exasperated Tarras to no end. "My Lord, it is my understanding you and the others wish to reestablish the old order. This means I must know my place if I am to fit into it once more."

Tarras had no reply to offer. With his own thoughts about the future now muddied beyond the ability of simple answers, whatever he said would make him sound like a hypocrite to his own ears.

Tarras strained to look over the cart himself. "Frenon, I am becoming cramped. We--"

"Shh!"

Tarras clamped his mouth shut, but made known his indignation with a gusty sigh.

Frenon raised his head higher. "I hear carousing."

"Pardon?"

"There is a tavern nearby. If I can hear them above the bustle of the street, there must be a large number of people present." He rose to his feet. "Come along, we will hide in there."

Tarras stood and smirked. "Hide? In a crowded tavern?"

"Yes, my Lord, hide. There is no better place to lose oneself than among a multitude, especially a loud multitude."

Tarras nodded. He felt foolish for not thinking of it himself. He pined for the days when he was the one who dispensed such advice, only to realize he had never had to follow through on his own words. Others would always act on his words. Others would take the risks. Others would die.

In war, men die. That was the mantra he had oft repeated to Duric. How blithe those words seemed to him now.

Frenon led the way, pausing at the entrance to the alley to glance in either direction down the street before ushering Tarras along. Frenon directed them down a side street, then another alley, then yet another street. It was not until Tarras could hear the cacophony of laughter, shouting, and even singing that he believed Frenon was not simply picking a random path through town.

The air became laden with salty moisture as they scrambled down an embankment as a shortcut towards an isolated building lying just short of a narrow strip of beach. Further on, just down the shore and past some jagged rocks, piers jutted into the water, several large sailing ships moored beside them. Men swarmed over them, loading and unloading crates using nothing but their own muscle, thick rope, and a few pulleys.