Legend of the Ravenstone (22 page)

The tracker brought his cup to his lips but barely sipped it. “It would seem you’ve been nosy, Bill. Is Jumull so dull? Who is your contact?”

“You may know him, as he was part of the Watchers. Othenis Strix and a couple others.”

“He is a radical,” Hawkwing said, with some disapproval.

“It often takes a radical to move our world. The Watchers have dissolved, and he is determined to stand against the corrupt. He has his eyes open, and they happened to settle upon the Priagent.”

“Or did you turn his head?” Hawkwing shook his head. “You have already found another to replace me, so are you certain you want to ask me what you intend to ask me? Or will you merely wish me well in my retirement?”

William grinned, ignoring the tracker’s wary frown. “Come now, lad! You know me too well. And you have proven you are also curious about this development.”

“I do not want to get involved,” Hawkwing said.

“This would be your last great adventure. Learn what the Priagent is about.”

“I have a feeling you know what he is about, Bill. I cannot get involved. I have retrieved the Key, and that was risky enough. My last great adventure will be to see it lost to obscurity.” He set his cup down. “Please, do not ask this of me.”

“I come to you because I trust you. Othenis is a radical, yes. You—you are dear friend, and you care too much to see any great wrong done after the dissolution of the Watchers.”

“Now there is a ‘great wrong’ being committed,” Hawkwing said quietly. “Tell me, what of the group I have brought to you? Are they a part of your scheming?”

“Only Arcturus,” William admitted easily.

Hawkwing looked away.

“Now there’s a telling gesture,” the wizard said, peering at the tracker through narrowed eyes.

“If you do not hear it from me, you will hear it from him. There was an incident at the Plains.”

William leaned forward, immediately snared. “Really? With him or with—”

“Both.”

William sat back, his brow furrowed.

“I left the path.” Hawkwing glanced at the white hawk sleeping upon her perch nearby. “Snowfire was in trouble, and I went after her. I found myself trapped—unable to return to the group. The demons came, but not for me. Jinx had gone after Ruby, and he was trapped with me. I did not think we would escape, but Arcturus’s staff reacted to the threat, and we were able to reach safety.”

The wizard’s eyes were bulging. “Arcturus used the staff?”

“Kariayla did.”

“Kariayla?” William set down his cup, and it disappeared. “I will have to interrogate Arcturus later.”

Hawkwing continued. “No one was injured, but there was damage of another sort. Differences in ideology aside, Master Prentishun has obviated his distrust in my character and in my motives.”

William waved a dismissive hand. “He does not know you as I do.”

“From his vantage point, his feelings may not be unjustified, but my tale is not for the telling,” Hawkwing said, looking the wizard in the eyes. “So matters will stand, and my role as an escort is at an end.”

“It does not have to be,” William countered, wagging a finger.

Hawkwing pushed his own cup aside and stood, towering over the wizard. “I have not forgotten all you have done for me. I think on it every day, but these days are fleeting, and it’s time for me to consider what is ahead of me. My journey won’t see me here again, Bill, and I would rather not have us part on sentiments less than what old friends deserve.” He waited for a response, and William slowly nodded.

“I understand,” he said, rising. “For your part, you have humored this old wizard perhaps more than he deserves.” He reached up and patted the tracker on the arm.

Hawkwing glanced at the balcony. “And I still humor you,” he said with a slight smile, “though I sometimes wonder why.”

“Because you know these are all just pieces to the puzzle, lad. I fit them where I might.”

The tracker’s smile fled. “I know,” he murmured and watched the wizard walk away, hearing the exit before William had reached the door.

A
rcturus sipped his tea as they walked, grateful for a warm beverage. The morning had a bite to it—even for one as hardy as him. He wondered just how he had allowed William to coax him outside at such an hour, especially when his recent travels left him craving luxury and comfort. The two of them walked along the path in silence; plumes of their frozen breath were all that escaped their lips. William had not disclosed their destination this morning, but he had provided a full and delicious breakfast that awarded him Arcturus’s patience.

They came upon a darkened shop labeled, “Antiquities,” and William produced a key and unlocked the door. When the two of them were inside, he snapped his fingers, and a fire ignited in the hearth.

“That will take some time to heat the room,” Arcturus said, heading for a chair near the fire. As he did, he looked around to find the shop was fortified with many shelves—all of which were empty except for dust and spider webs. “You are in need of some upkeep.”

“This place was not mine to maintain,” William said. He pulled another chair from the shadows and set it across from the Markanturian’s.

Arcturus eyed him suspiciously. “I had wondered when my interrogation would come.”

The wizard smirked. “Do you think I will torture you? Withhold your lunch until you answer my questions? Come, now, Arcturus. We are old friends set to chat.”

“Very well.” Arcturus grunted as he bent to set his cup upon the floor. He folded his hands in his lap. “Why have we braved the cold to chat in an abandoned construct? Your dining hall was much more inviting.”

“But not as significant,” William said. “You were not where I expected you to have been.”

“I have the liberty of going where I please,” Arcturus said.

“Of course,” the wizard returned impatiently, “but
Belorn?
For
research?
What did you hope to find that you could not find in Mystland?”

Arcturus sighed. “Myself.”

“Profound.”

“Truly. For nearly two hundred years I dwelled in medori territory, studied cantalere, learned the secrets behind such items of power and curiosity. All of it was fascinating, but none of it was satisfying. The one question I yearned to answer did not rest upon a shelf in any cantalereum. In fact, I have yet to know where I would discover...” He trailed, lost to his thoughts. At last he looked at the wizard. “I am not Human, William. For a couple centuries, I tried to be one of them. My homeland beckons me. The truth behind my people’s past—it is the unanswered question. Where is Trinnad Markanturos’s final resting place? Where is
The Forging
, and how were his accounts lost to my kind? Were they purposely hidden because of some inconvenient truth, or is there doubt to the occurrence of the Great Welling?”

William pointed a finger at him. “You quit your position, didn’t you?”

“I was asked to leave,” Arcturus said, his tone flat. He pulled out his pipe and began to pack it.

“You were always the radical.”

“A tradition I must propel in heeding the summons of a reclusive wizard in a hidden city.”

“How fortuitous for me that I had an expert tracker to find you,” William said. “I hope you did not give Hawkwing any trouble.”

Arcturus snorted.

“Ah, as I thought,” William said.

The Markanturian wagged his pipe. “You are capable of much meddling, but never did I believe you would employ a personal spy.”

“Spy!” William exclaimed. “Is that what you believe? Hawkwing is not a...well, if you define... He is not
my
spy. Though I can see how you would come to such a conclusion.”

“Certainly,” Arcturus said. “False identities, mysterious comings and goings, evasive conversations, unknown destinations... You sent him to find me, and after all this time without so much as a letter, I would hope you have a sound reason for having me led across much of Northern Secramore. I have been robbed, forced to sit in a jail, given lodging in a Freeland cellar, and then hastily forced through some perilous grassland. Your spy is not very professional, either. He tells fantastical tales to scare my companions, ignores his own advice and abandons us to untold danger, lies about his identity—”

“Which identity?” William interrupted.

Arcturus narrowed his eyes.

“I think you have misjudged him,” William said. “There is no one I trust more than him.”

The Markanturian folded his arms, weighing the wizard’s words.

“I have a story,” William continued. “A story that will explain Hawkwing, this city, and the shop in which we sit.”

“But not the reason I am here.”

“In time, Arcturus, in time.” William gestured toward the fire. “The story begins with what you call the ‘Great Welling.’ Believe what you will about the details of that fateful event, but know that the consequences of what happened are the most important truths.” The image of a journal appeared in the flames. “Trinnad Markanturos’s account does indeed exist, but even I cannot say where it rests. He was not the only one to document what happened.”

The journal turned into the symbol of an eye. “There were those who believed that such significant events should be recorded and kept in a great archive of information, lest the truth be forgotten with time. So formed a group known as the Gray Watchers. Two ideals were crucial to them: anonymity and unbiased documentation. The Watchers would not interfere in what they witnessed, but they would report it to the keepers of the Archive, The Three. The Three would review the information and file it amongst years of careful observations.”

Arcturus blew a ring of smoke. “To what avail, William? Knowledge kept hidden is as useful as a candle beneath a bucket.”

“Very true,” the wizard said, “and the Watchers certainly did not intend to hoard this archive. But what they did not anticipate was deception amongst their ranks. As with any great tool, there are those who seek to exploit it for their own good. You may not have heard of the Seroko, but undoubtedly you know their front: the Merchants’ Guild.”

“I should say so,” Arcturus said, intrigued. “The Merchants’ Guild is the most prevalent organization throughout Northern Secramore. You mean to say that it is a corrupt network of greedy malefactors?”

William rubbed his chin. “Not entirely. Much of the guild operates as a guild would, but there is a darker secret kept by those in more powerful positions. There are ill-intentioned ideas in the works, and if ever the Seroko should learn the location of the Watcher Archive, one could only imagine the influence they would have. They could rule this world.”

“I fail to see how they do not know where the Archive is. If they were once Gray Watchers, then they had to report to The Three.”

William gave him a slight smile. “Very attentive, Arcturus. Most Watchers reported to a regional agent, and that agent would report to one above him. Only a select few knew where The Three resided.”

“A hierarchy of sorts, then,” Arcturus mused.

“Exactly.”

“Is it any wonder you know as much as you do, tucked away in the mountains?”

William shook his head. “Do not get the idea that I am involved with the Watchers. I knew of them, I gave them a place to convene, but I have no access to their Archive.” He extended his arm. “This, by the way, was where The Three resided.”

Arcturus studied the shop with renewed interest. “What happened, then?”

“As the Seroko grew in power, the Gray Watchers decided to dissolve their organization for fear of discovery of the Archive. This happened rather recently, I might add.”

“So all that knowledge will be left hidden and forgotten.” Arcturus took another puff from his pipe. “What a terrible waste.”

“I prefer to view it as a treasure waiting to be discovered,” William said. “At any rate, this shop was the primary reason for a secret city.”

Arcturus nodded thoughtfully. “Quite an interesting tale.”

“Hawkwing is a Gray Watcher.”

There was a moment of silence where the Markanturian moved the pipe from his lips. At last he spoke. “Of what relevance is this to me? It hardly explains his actions other than his secrecy of this destination.”

“He is a most complicated man, and the only way for you to understand him would be to set all differences aside and open the door to a prospective friendship.”

Arcturus waved his pipe, an arch of smoke trailing before his face. “My business with the man is at an end. Whatever camaraderie you harbor with him is not of my concern, but if you imply that the both of us are to be involved in one of your grand schemes, I will have to decline.”

“You do not know enough of my grand scheme to decline a role.”

“Enlighten me, then.”

“Tonight,” William said. “I will host a meeting.”

“And I am expected to attend.”

“There will be wine,” William promised, and Arcturus sighed. “I will give you three morsels of information upon which you can feast in the meanwhile.” He held up a finger. “One: Hawkwing
is
Jaharo Halensa. Two: The Plains of Delmadria are plagued by real demons. Three: Whitestar does not self-activate.”

Arcturus sat forward. “Of course it does not self-activate.”

“Then you dispelled the demon in the Plains,” William reasoned.

“There was no demon.”

“Arcturus.”

“William. You are fishing for an answer from me,” Arcturus said, annoyed. “The simple truth is that whatever ambient magic was present in the plains reacted with the magic in the staff, thus causing a reaction.”

“Do you truly believe that?” William asked.

“I do,” the Markanturian answered stubbornly.

“At least you do not take credit where it’s not due.” The wizard shook his head. “Think on what I have told you. And try to come to the meeting with an open mind.”

~*~

I
’ve said too much,
Kariayla thought, watching Jinx’s brow furrow. He was kneeling beside a pond of fish, poking at the surface of the water to entice them closer. The fish had grown wise, however, and without an edible reward for their curiosity, they moved to the other side of the pond. Ruby, undaunted, followed them there and was swishing her hand in the water.