Poisonwell
Page 24
“Why did we arrive in the middle of the ravine?” Tyrus asked Mathon, slowing his stride to keep up with his friend.
“To give the Empress time to prepare for our arrival. I left three days ago and agreed that if you came with me, I would have us appear where we did. Some were posted to watch for us, who are now running ahead to warn her of our arrival.”
“I don’t want to meet her in the caves,” Tyrus said. “It gives her all the advantage. She should come out to us.”
“She is the Empress, Tyrus. She does what she wills. I can only ask.”
“Then do ask,” he said.
As they reached a tunnel opening that was broad and deep, Tyrus stopped and waited. Paedrin and the others clustered around him while Mathon shuffled ahead into the gaping tunnel. The Bhikhu saw small stone urns placed before each tunnel opening. He did not understand the significance. He had expected an immediate attack. So far, Mathon’s words had proven true.
“Do you sense any spirit magic at work?” Tyrus asked softly to Annon.
“I do,” Annon answered gravely. He looked up at the tall walls. “The feeling is thicker than in Canton Vaud, but not in the same way. With the Druidecht, the spirits are generally very friendly, asking what they could do to help. These are . . . strangely . . . rather conceited. A few have brushed against my mind, but they are seeking information. Not a way to help. There is something . . . troubling the air. Like the smell of smoke from a distant fire. I don’t care for it.”
Paedrin craned his neck again, unable to see the spirits that Annon always seemed to be communing with. He squished his sandaled foot into the dirt and watched it puff with dust. The smell of death lingered in the air, reminding him of the Bhikhu temple after it was poisoned. Memories could be torturous sometimes. He recalled the face of Master Shivu, wasting away.
The sound of arrivals from the tunnel mouth announced the visitors. Paedrin could hear voices low in conversation, one of whose was a woman’s. He was not sure what to expect, but he braced himself. Not in one of those hundred times he had perched atop the Bhikhu temple in Kenatos and stared out at the lake would he have dared imagine he would one day face the Empress of Boeotia within her own homeland. It was so absurd it nearly made him laugh outright.
Nor was he expecting the Empress of Boeotia to seem so plain.
She was simply garbed in layers of dusty desert clothing, rugged boots, and a long, jeweled necklace around her neck with a Druidecht talisman in it. Her hair was dark brown with streaks of gold and gray showing the harshness of the environment as well as her age. She was slender but not in a vulnerable way and had a body hardened to the elements and the rugged country in which she lived. She could have passed for Aeduan except for the purple tattoos marking one side of her face. In the shadows, it was difficult to tell if her eyes were green or gray, but she had a smile that, when it appeared, was her most distinctive feature. She was holding hands with Mathon as they appeared up some steps from deeper inside the tunnel.
“You came,” the Empress said, giving Tyrus a dazzling smile.
“You suspected I would,” he replied, bowing his head deferentially. “Your bait was enticing.”
“You expected a hook or the strands of a spiderweb here, Tyrus Paracelsus? I suppose that makes sense, but you have a reputation for treachery yourself. But I show my trust by bringing you here, knowing you have a Tay al-Ard. Well met, sir. My name is Larei. I am the seventy-second Empress of Boeotia. I am known by the people by a title instead of my name. As you can see, I am unarmed, though I do have many spirit artifacts that protect me. I am especially immune to fire. My demons affirm that four of you possess the fireblood. That is quite a collection, Tyrus. In your last foray into the Scourgelands, only two possessed it.”
“You said you had information,” Tyrus pressed.
“In due time,” she replied, smiling again. “You are wary, which is what anyone would expect in such a situation. I assure you that no one here will attack you without express permission. Few of the many abandoned here are even capable of it. This is a place for the dying to die honorably and with grace. I tend them as best as I can alongside my husband.” She beamed when she said this, her grip on Mathon’s hand tightening. A shiver of revulsion went through Paedrin.
“I will not be delayed in my quest,” Tyrus said. “The Druidecht of Canton Vaud attempted to waylay me. The Arch-Rike himself seeks my death—”
“I care nothing for that,” she interrupted. “What I have to tell you, I am not going to speak in front of so many witnesses. I have gathered food and supplies for your journey. Fresh water in abundance to satisfy your thirst. And camels if you desire to use them. You will find none of this throughout my kingdom without great labor. My help will hasten your journey, not slow it down. Pick two whom you trust the most. They will join our interview. The rest can be near enough to see us as we speak, and you can determine whom to share information with at your discretion.”
“To give the Empress time to prepare for our arrival. I left three days ago and agreed that if you came with me, I would have us appear where we did. Some were posted to watch for us, who are now running ahead to warn her of our arrival.”
“I don’t want to meet her in the caves,” Tyrus said. “It gives her all the advantage. She should come out to us.”
“She is the Empress, Tyrus. She does what she wills. I can only ask.”
“Then do ask,” he said.
As they reached a tunnel opening that was broad and deep, Tyrus stopped and waited. Paedrin and the others clustered around him while Mathon shuffled ahead into the gaping tunnel. The Bhikhu saw small stone urns placed before each tunnel opening. He did not understand the significance. He had expected an immediate attack. So far, Mathon’s words had proven true.
“Do you sense any spirit magic at work?” Tyrus asked softly to Annon.
“I do,” Annon answered gravely. He looked up at the tall walls. “The feeling is thicker than in Canton Vaud, but not in the same way. With the Druidecht, the spirits are generally very friendly, asking what they could do to help. These are . . . strangely . . . rather conceited. A few have brushed against my mind, but they are seeking information. Not a way to help. There is something . . . troubling the air. Like the smell of smoke from a distant fire. I don’t care for it.”
Paedrin craned his neck again, unable to see the spirits that Annon always seemed to be communing with. He squished his sandaled foot into the dirt and watched it puff with dust. The smell of death lingered in the air, reminding him of the Bhikhu temple after it was poisoned. Memories could be torturous sometimes. He recalled the face of Master Shivu, wasting away.
The sound of arrivals from the tunnel mouth announced the visitors. Paedrin could hear voices low in conversation, one of whose was a woman’s. He was not sure what to expect, but he braced himself. Not in one of those hundred times he had perched atop the Bhikhu temple in Kenatos and stared out at the lake would he have dared imagine he would one day face the Empress of Boeotia within her own homeland. It was so absurd it nearly made him laugh outright.
Nor was he expecting the Empress of Boeotia to seem so plain.
She was simply garbed in layers of dusty desert clothing, rugged boots, and a long, jeweled necklace around her neck with a Druidecht talisman in it. Her hair was dark brown with streaks of gold and gray showing the harshness of the environment as well as her age. She was slender but not in a vulnerable way and had a body hardened to the elements and the rugged country in which she lived. She could have passed for Aeduan except for the purple tattoos marking one side of her face. In the shadows, it was difficult to tell if her eyes were green or gray, but she had a smile that, when it appeared, was her most distinctive feature. She was holding hands with Mathon as they appeared up some steps from deeper inside the tunnel.
“You came,” the Empress said, giving Tyrus a dazzling smile.
“You suspected I would,” he replied, bowing his head deferentially. “Your bait was enticing.”
“You expected a hook or the strands of a spiderweb here, Tyrus Paracelsus? I suppose that makes sense, but you have a reputation for treachery yourself. But I show my trust by bringing you here, knowing you have a Tay al-Ard. Well met, sir. My name is Larei. I am the seventy-second Empress of Boeotia. I am known by the people by a title instead of my name. As you can see, I am unarmed, though I do have many spirit artifacts that protect me. I am especially immune to fire. My demons affirm that four of you possess the fireblood. That is quite a collection, Tyrus. In your last foray into the Scourgelands, only two possessed it.”
“You said you had information,” Tyrus pressed.
“In due time,” she replied, smiling again. “You are wary, which is what anyone would expect in such a situation. I assure you that no one here will attack you without express permission. Few of the many abandoned here are even capable of it. This is a place for the dying to die honorably and with grace. I tend them as best as I can alongside my husband.” She beamed when she said this, her grip on Mathon’s hand tightening. A shiver of revulsion went through Paedrin.
“I will not be delayed in my quest,” Tyrus said. “The Druidecht of Canton Vaud attempted to waylay me. The Arch-Rike himself seeks my death—”
“I care nothing for that,” she interrupted. “What I have to tell you, I am not going to speak in front of so many witnesses. I have gathered food and supplies for your journey. Fresh water in abundance to satisfy your thirst. And camels if you desire to use them. You will find none of this throughout my kingdom without great labor. My help will hasten your journey, not slow it down. Pick two whom you trust the most. They will join our interview. The rest can be near enough to see us as we speak, and you can determine whom to share information with at your discretion.”
