Poisonwell
Page 40
“Father?” she asked, drawing nearer to him. She sidled up next to him, grateful that he was still alive and worried that the Romani’s wrath would snap like a taut bowstring.
“Thank you, Shion,” Tyrus said in a low voice.
He was answered with a brief nod. Prince Aran’s expression was black with distrust.
Paedrin approached them as well, his expression firm and mixed with anger. “Why do you suffer that man to be with us?” he whispered to Tyrus, his voice thick with rage. “He almost killed you, Tyrus. I swear he almost did.”
Tyrus shook his head. “You exaggerate, Paedrin.”
“You know that I do not. He is not as he was in Havenrook. His grip on sanity is precarious. Tyrus, this is not wise.”
“We need him, Paedrin,” Tyrus said with finality. “You will understand when we reach the Scourgelands. When we face the dangers there, it will become very clear to you.”
“Will he even last that long?” Paedrin said with a puffed breath. “My instincts warn me that he cannot be trusted. He will betray us, Tyrus. He will bide his time—”
“Hush,” Tyrus interrupted. His eyes were dark and stormy. “We play an elegant dance, he and I. Do not interfere with the timing.”
Paedrin looked at Phae and then at Shion. “This is a mistake, Tyrus. It would be better if we left him behind.”
Tyrus’s expression began to smolder with anger. “Trust me, Bhikhu. It is likely that many of us will be left behind as corpses as we go on from here. Friendship is a driving emotion and is a powerful one. But against the threats that we face, it is not enough—as you have seen with my friend Mathon. It was not enough then and it is not enough now. Duty drives me, not friendship. This may be the last chance we have to stop the next Plague. Our way forward is dangerous beyond your imagination. You will see the wisdom of choosing Kiranrao later.”
Paedrin’s scowl was deep and distrustful. “You misjudge your allies as well as your enemies, Tyrus. I would not be doing my part if I did not warn you.”
“I understand, Paedrin. Master Shivu was preparing you to join me on this quest. It was a tacit understanding, never spoken out loud. He never told you this. There is much you still do not know about the ways of men and ambition. This is the Uddhava. I learned it from the Arch-Rike. It is only a matter of deduction where he learned it from.” Tyrus squeezed Phae’s shoulder. “Get some sleep. We go in the morning.”
“It was said long ago that the desire to be observed, considered, esteemed, praised, beloved, and admired is one of the earliest as well as the keenest dispositions discovered in the heart of man. All the great ones have ambition and all desire recognition for their efforts. More than most people, I knew Tyrus Paracelsus of Kenatos to be a man of deep ambition, which he cloaked with worthy goals. It has been said he’s turned traitor and will unleash the barbarian hordes of Boeotia against us. I am saddened but not surprised. How are the mighty fallen.”
- Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
XII
The group had assembled on the ridge top above the canyon. Annon had never met the king of his own land. Observing how Tyrus and the Empress of Boeotia conversed, he wished he had taken the time to do so. It fascinated him how leaders sized each other up, how they probed each other for weakness and strength in the comments they used and the short little phrases that tested one another. He had witnessed the Thirteen of Canton Vaud, the wisest of the Druidecht order, debate with Tyrus and seek to sway him away from his quest. He had observed the cruel machinations of the Arch-Rike attempt to do the same thing. The Empress was completely different. In every way, she sought to aid them—offering camels, supplies, sturdy men who could be trusted, and advice on how to maintain composure during conflict and to trust the inner voice that had guided him over the years.
Larei of Boeotia, Empress and servant to the lowest dregs of human life, amazed Annon, and he found himself overwhelmed by her wisdom and forethought. He was grateful to Tyrus that he was allowed into their private conversation. He knew it would mark him for the rest of his life.
A sudden gust of wind blew dust into his eyes and the camels snorted and spat, loaded down with casks and rugged sacks and bladders full of wine and oil. Tyrus stroked his own beast’s neck, trying to soothe it as they spoke. Annon listened in eagerly.
“We will strike Kenatos from the docks,” the Empress said, her voice low enough not to carry far. “Make them think that we are seeking to steal vessels to ferry our way across the waters. I will send Mathon and a chosen few to cross into the city from the bridge in the shallows. We will steal disguises and learn what we can from the inner defenses.”
“Thank you, Shion,” Tyrus said in a low voice.
He was answered with a brief nod. Prince Aran’s expression was black with distrust.
Paedrin approached them as well, his expression firm and mixed with anger. “Why do you suffer that man to be with us?” he whispered to Tyrus, his voice thick with rage. “He almost killed you, Tyrus. I swear he almost did.”
Tyrus shook his head. “You exaggerate, Paedrin.”
“You know that I do not. He is not as he was in Havenrook. His grip on sanity is precarious. Tyrus, this is not wise.”
“We need him, Paedrin,” Tyrus said with finality. “You will understand when we reach the Scourgelands. When we face the dangers there, it will become very clear to you.”
“Will he even last that long?” Paedrin said with a puffed breath. “My instincts warn me that he cannot be trusted. He will betray us, Tyrus. He will bide his time—”
“Hush,” Tyrus interrupted. His eyes were dark and stormy. “We play an elegant dance, he and I. Do not interfere with the timing.”
Paedrin looked at Phae and then at Shion. “This is a mistake, Tyrus. It would be better if we left him behind.”
Tyrus’s expression began to smolder with anger. “Trust me, Bhikhu. It is likely that many of us will be left behind as corpses as we go on from here. Friendship is a driving emotion and is a powerful one. But against the threats that we face, it is not enough—as you have seen with my friend Mathon. It was not enough then and it is not enough now. Duty drives me, not friendship. This may be the last chance we have to stop the next Plague. Our way forward is dangerous beyond your imagination. You will see the wisdom of choosing Kiranrao later.”
Paedrin’s scowl was deep and distrustful. “You misjudge your allies as well as your enemies, Tyrus. I would not be doing my part if I did not warn you.”
“I understand, Paedrin. Master Shivu was preparing you to join me on this quest. It was a tacit understanding, never spoken out loud. He never told you this. There is much you still do not know about the ways of men and ambition. This is the Uddhava. I learned it from the Arch-Rike. It is only a matter of deduction where he learned it from.” Tyrus squeezed Phae’s shoulder. “Get some sleep. We go in the morning.”
“It was said long ago that the desire to be observed, considered, esteemed, praised, beloved, and admired is one of the earliest as well as the keenest dispositions discovered in the heart of man. All the great ones have ambition and all desire recognition for their efforts. More than most people, I knew Tyrus Paracelsus of Kenatos to be a man of deep ambition, which he cloaked with worthy goals. It has been said he’s turned traitor and will unleash the barbarian hordes of Boeotia against us. I am saddened but not surprised. How are the mighty fallen.”
- Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
XII
The group had assembled on the ridge top above the canyon. Annon had never met the king of his own land. Observing how Tyrus and the Empress of Boeotia conversed, he wished he had taken the time to do so. It fascinated him how leaders sized each other up, how they probed each other for weakness and strength in the comments they used and the short little phrases that tested one another. He had witnessed the Thirteen of Canton Vaud, the wisest of the Druidecht order, debate with Tyrus and seek to sway him away from his quest. He had observed the cruel machinations of the Arch-Rike attempt to do the same thing. The Empress was completely different. In every way, she sought to aid them—offering camels, supplies, sturdy men who could be trusted, and advice on how to maintain composure during conflict and to trust the inner voice that had guided him over the years.
Larei of Boeotia, Empress and servant to the lowest dregs of human life, amazed Annon, and he found himself overwhelmed by her wisdom and forethought. He was grateful to Tyrus that he was allowed into their private conversation. He knew it would mark him for the rest of his life.
A sudden gust of wind blew dust into his eyes and the camels snorted and spat, loaded down with casks and rugged sacks and bladders full of wine and oil. Tyrus stroked his own beast’s neck, trying to soothe it as they spoke. Annon listened in eagerly.
“We will strike Kenatos from the docks,” the Empress said, her voice low enough not to carry far. “Make them think that we are seeking to steal vessels to ferry our way across the waters. I will send Mathon and a chosen few to cross into the city from the bridge in the shallows. We will steal disguises and learn what we can from the inner defenses.”
