The Sacred Hunt Duology (70 page)

“Were it not for the death of Ararath, or rather, the manner of his death, I would have the lot of them turned out on their ears. But his death is his death, and we continue to search. And when I say that there is nothing, I mean exactly that; there is no trace of magic or magical concealment; there is no trace of newness or the newly hidden; there is
nothing
whatever to indicate that the so-called maze ever existed.” He relaxed, placing his arms against the armrests and then lifting his hands in a steeple before his lips. “And now another mystery. The girl that you travel with—I have seen her before. Were the demons to be chasing her, I would not be surprised. But they turn to you, and to you, Lord Elseth, two hunters from the realm of Breodanir. Two lords who happen to be led to Averalaan by the ever-so-mysterious Evayne.

“If she led you here, you must have a purpose; that much I've been able to glean from her activity. And if she led you on the Winter road . . . that is not without its risks. Yet even so, I sense that you do not know her purpose, or your place in this larger game.”

Stephen nodded warily. “She looked ahead for us.”

“Ah. You know she is seer-born. What was her vision?”

“No vision.”

“Did she speak?”

“Not so we could understand it,” Gilliam broke in.

“I see. And what did she say?”

Stephen did not want to tell the mage of the prophecy that Evayne had granted them. But he knew that that had been her intent—else why send them here, to this Order and this cold, angry man? He took a breath, made it deeper, as if it could hollow out his lungs. Then he spoke in a steady, clear tenor.

“The Covenant has been broken in spirit.

“The portals are open; the gods are bound.

“Go forth to the Light of the World and find the Darkness.

“Keep your oath; fulfill your promise.

“The road must be taken or the Shining City will rise anew.”
As the last words faded, he opened his eyes, and only then realized that he had closed them. Slate gray met brown.

“She told you
that
?”

“Yes.”

“And anything else?”

“That if we chose not to travel to Averalaan to help the wild girl—it was to help her that we wanted to come—she thought Breodanir might fall, and the empire as well.” Stephen's glance, skittish and hesitant, only touched Espere briefly. “And if she is the daughter of the Hunter God, then I don't see that there's anything we
can
do to help her.” But he remembered her very human voice, and he remembered the plea in eyes that were already becoming bestial. Something was trapped beneath the Espere of Gilliam's pack.

Meralonne rose swiftly and silent, and crossed the room to where the wild girl, impatient, sat at Gilliam's feet. Gilliam tensed, and Stephen sent his caution along their bond. But the mage made no sudden moves; indeed, the moment he was at the girl's side he ceased to move at all. “What do you know of this, daughter of the Hunter God that men have called no true God? If we return the gift of speech to you, will you answer my questions? Can you?” She met his eyes and did not blink or look away. He reached out slowly, and touched her chin with forefinger and thumb, lifting her face. She suffered it quietly. “You met her while she was being pursued.”

“Yes.”

“Did she bring anything with her?”

“No,” Gilliam said. Stephen said nothing at all.

“Ah, mystery. It makes life interesting.” He rose quickly. “Come, then. You have been delivered to the right man, whether or not you understand it. Zareth Kahn, if you wish to continue in your other duties, you may; the choice is your own. But I believe that the gentlemen and the lady that they travel with are best served by my companionship and guidance.”

Zareth Kahn nodded almost blandly; he said nothing.

It was Stephen who asked. “What did it mean?”

“What?”

“Her prophecy.”

“I am not certain what it meant. But the Light of the World is Averalaan, and the Darkness that you speak of is without question the power of Allasakar and the demons who serve him.”

“And the Covenant? The Shining City?”

“About the first, little is known—but I will know more; about the second, I will not speak, except to say this: The Dark Lord himself ruled there in times lost, with magics most foul and most forgotten.” He started to walk away, and then stopped, wheeling abruptly mere inches away from Zareth Kahn. “And those arts
will
remain forgotten.” The younger mage met his glare as if he were fencing with his eyes, but although he had the strength not to look away, he took two steps back.

“Good,” Meralonne said. “If we are to work together, it is important that we understand each other.” He swept out of the room, then stopped, swung around again, and looked in. “I mean for you to follow,” he said, as patiently as possible.

Gilliam urged his dogs out, and held on to Espere by the hand. Zareth Kahn made haste to walk beside, rather than behind, his fellow member of the Order. Stephen, as always, brought up the rear. As he closed the fine, solid door, taking care with the delicate brass handles, he looked down. At his feet was a small book, with a dark, blue cover and writing so faded that it was impossible to read. He lifted it.

“Sir APhaniel?” he said, holding the book above his head. “Is this yours?”

The mage looked back over his shoulder. “That? Oh, yes. Do bring it along.”

• • •

Jewel was nervous. It was the cool season in Averalaan, but she was certain she'd never sweated more in her life. Four weeks and a day she'd been searching through the warrens trying to find any hint—any sign at all—of the labyrinth by which she and her den had kept themselves fed and clothed. She knew those tunnels like the back of her hand, and they were gone. Gone. Dirt and rock, uninterrupted by any trace of a tunnel, was all that remained, and if she hadn't known better, she'd have said that she'd imagined it all. But damnit, she
did
know. Somehow, in some way that not even the mage could detect, the demon had concealed them.

Which probably meant that there had to be more than one, because the creature that had become Rath was gone.

It was Rath's memories they were using; she was certain of it. And he'd said she'd explored areas that he hadn't—but what if that didn't end up being true? He was a canny old man, was Rath, and he always kept something up his sleeve in case of emergency. She cursed him with happy abandon in the relative safety of the den's rooms.

Ellerson appeared from around a corner. “You called?” he said blandly.

“You know damned well I didn't call,” was her curt response. “So you can stop that stuffy, polite act.”

“As you wish,” he replied, in exactly the same tone of voice. “But may I point something out to the young lady?”

She rolled her eyes. “Like I could stop you if I wanted to.”

“It is unkind—and inaccurate in some cases—to assume that the mannerisms and gestures of another person are assumed, rather than genuine. While you will never develop the same style that I have developed, you were also never exposed to the same influences. I do not assume that your behavior is an act.”

She snorted. “If I was going to act, I'd probably choose something different to act like.”

“Agreed.”

“Ellerson, don't you have something to
do
?”

“I am your domicis.”

The reply hadn't changed at all over the course of the last two weeks; nor had the tone. “I forgot,” she said, her voice heavy with sarcasm.

“As you say.”

“Did you come here for a reason?”

“Indeed. Suitable attire has arrived for you and your companions. I thought you might want to have your old clothing removed, as you will be representing The Terafin, and will therefore be expected to dress appropriately.”

She knew better than to say no; she didn't even try. Instead she nodded and went back to her pacing. The room that she slept in was larger than the flat her entire den had occupied only weeks ago. The food was a bit unusual, but there was a lot of it, it came regularly, and it was good. The moneybox was still empty, but it didn't matter—while she served The Terafin, her den-kin were safe and secure.

But it's not going to last long
, she thought, grinding her heels into the smooth, waxed floors,
if we can't find the damned labyrinth.

Carver came sauntering into the room. Jewel looked at what he was wearing and sighed. Ellerson was wrong; if they were going to find those tunnels without being caught, they had to do it looking as if they belonged to the holdings they searched through.

“Carver, go tell Ellerson I've changed my mind about the clothing.”

“Right, sir,” he replied. “But I'll trade.”

“Trade what?”

“The Terafin's looking for you. Torvan's outside.”

“Why?” She heard the nerves make her voice shake and forced them out of it. “We don't have another meeting scheduled for two days.”

“Teller says he saw the mage with a group of people. Three men, a really scrubby woman and a bunch of dogs.”

“They've called someone else in?”

He shrugged, knowing the news was bad. “Looks like.”

She said something extremely rude and left him by the door as she made her way—at a run—to Torvan's side.

• • •

The halls, with their almost cavernous ceilings and their width, would always surprise her; she was certain of it. Footsteps echoed strangely and words, even those spoken in near-silence, were caught by unforgiving acoustics. She fiddled with the sash that she wore; it was a shade of blue that Jewel couldn't identify because the dyes that were used in its making were not affordable to those who lived in her holding. Her hair was drawn back in a style that Ellerson had suggested—and while it was both simple to look at and practical, it was also a monstrosity of little hairpins and clips that she was constantly forgetting were there when she tried to run her fingers through it in her usual gesture of impatience or frustration. She hated it. The more she tried to fit in, the more ill at ease and out of place she felt.

But she'd worry about that later.

She had become accustomed to speaking with The Terafin in either her office or her quarters, and she felt slightly uneasy as she looked at the intricate doors five feet from the arches of the chambers that were used to address visiting dignitaries and people whose import to the House had to be acknowledged. “Isn't this where—”

“Yes. But the repairs have been done, and well; except for scoring in the stone, you would not know that a battle of any sort took place here.”

Torvan answered so smoothly that she had to wonder how often such cleanups had taken place. It didn't ease her.

“Aren't you coming?” she asked, as he took up his place beside the doors.

“I wasn't summoned,” was the wry reply. “There are other guests,” he added.

“Which means I've got to be on good behavior, right?”

“The choice is always yours.”

She snorted and caught the brass handles of the closed door. “Not much of a choice,” she said to his turned back. “Starve, or jump through hoops.”

“Welcome,” he replied, “to the adult world.” But his voice was actually very gentle.

She didn't reply because the open doors would carry her words to the woman she least wanted to hear them.

“Jewel. Good. Please join us.” The Terafin was seated behind a large, elegant desk. It was not a match for the one that had been damaged when the wall exploded; Jewel knew it instinctively, although she couldn't say why. Still, the new carpets were a lovely deep blue with rose and gold embroidery and a pattern—an intricate circular dance of fire flowers in the first rain—that leaped to life from its center. There were sitting chairs here, and the fireplace wall had been cleaned and tended. If she looked, she could see where the demon's spell had done its damage. She did—but her gaze did not linger.

“This is Lord Elseth of the Kingdom of Breodanir. This is his companion, Stephen. The young woman with them is called Espere, but she is, unfortunately, mute—and they have traveled this distance to find a cure for her condition.”

Jewel followed The Terafin's introduction and bit her lip to stop herself from speaking. Mute, in Jewel's opinion, was the least of the stranger's problems.

“Gentlemen, this is Jewel Markess. She is one of three people I've personally appointed to investigate the unusual occurrences in the inner holdings.” There was a knock at the door—one that reminded Jewel that she, too, had been expected to knock and allow her presence to be announced. She blushed.

“Enter.”

The door opened and a man whom Jewel had never seen before walked into the room. He was Torvan's age, but not like him in appearance; his hair was black with a sprinkling of silver, and his eyes were dark enough that they also seemed black. His face was long, his brow high, and his cheekbones pronounced. He smiled, and Jewel thought he had the most perfect teeth she had ever seen. “I'm sorry I'm late, Terafin.”

It seemed to Jewel that The Terafin's smile was drawn out against her will. “I'd prefer that you were less often sorry and more often on time,” she said, but she couldn't make the words as curt as they deserved to be. “Very well. You know Meralonne, more or less. The two gentlemen are visitors from beyond the Empire. This is Lord Elseth of Breodanir, and this, his companion, is Stephen. The young woman to your right is Jewel Markess; it is she that you will be advising.

“Devon ATerafin,” she said to those that she had just introduced, “has been a member of my house for almost twenty years. He is absolutely trustworthy.” Gilliam turned to Stephen, and Stephen shrugged. “Although his duties are to the trade commission, he has agreed to aid us in this difficult time.”