"Oh? And to who, or rather, whom, do all these enthusiastic secret worshippers pray?"
Taeauna lowered herself from her upright kneeling into a belly-on-the-bed dive forward and reached for his hand. She kissed it, and then looked up the length of his arm at Rod.
"You."
Dark-eyed, the ghostly head rose up out of the coffer that held the gem, and peered into the darkness, head tilted to one side as if it were listening to something. It was bald, yet bearded, a feeble glow in the crypt, and moved in utter silence.
Yet its voice sounded clearly, if a-little thin and distant, when it smiled and said, "At last."
"Right," Rod Everlar said to the beautiful woman on the bed before him. He let out a deep breath, shook his head, and decided he didn't want to think or say more about being treated as a god just now.
"So tell me more of Hawksyl, Darswords, and Harlhoh," he said instead.
Taeauna shrugged as she slowly sat up on her knees once again. "All much the same. A lordling in a keep, ruling and protecting farms that huddle in a cleared scar in the forest. Each on its own road west out of Sardray. Ironthorn, north of Tauren and northeast of Sardray, is larger and closer to us here, and also consists of farms in the forest, but it has three keeps and three rival lords. Hawksyl for years was home to outlaws from other lands who raided passing wagons, until something-probably something sent by one of the Dooms, for the Council in Tauren denies doing so-raided them. Darswords has been deemed haunted for years; it lies in the shadow of Yintaerghast, the tower of Lorontar. And Harlhoh has fallen under the hand of one of the Dooms who has built his tower there." She drew a name in the loose folds of the bed linens. The moment Rod had read "Malraun," she clawed the cloth back into smooth shapelessness again.
"Who," Rod asked, "is Lorontar? I never wrote…"
"No, lord. Lorontar is long, long dead. He was the only Lord Archwizard before you, a great tyrant and first-feared among the Dooms before your pen was ever known to us. So evil was he that the many wizards who seek to plunder his tower all flee from it in haste, and come not back to try again. So strong was he that his spells keep his tower standing still."
She shook her head, grimacing as if recalling a bitter taste on her tongue, and added, "For centuries he did much as he pleased; no one dared oppose or defy him as he worked ever greater and darker magics. There are some who say he never died, though many tales are told of the brave warriors who dared to hew him down, many dying in that strife. Others say he perished but is not gone from Falconfar, existing still as some sort of walking dead."
She shrugged. "He has not been seen for years. I once saw mercenaries in Bhelraohwsyn showing a skeletal hand and arm in a great glass vessel amongst their battle spoils and claiming it as his. 'Twas hacked from him by their swords, they said, that turned to smoke in their hands in the doing, as they took part in his slaying."
Rod nodded. "And they've not been seen again, yes? Nor the bones?"
"Indeed, they have not. These thirteen summers, now."
"Uh-huh. And where's this Bell-r-oww-sin place?"
"On the east bank of the Ladruar, where it empties into the Sea of Storms."
Rod frowned, genuinely curious. "Whatever were you doing there?"
"A task of the Aumrarr. A secret task."
Rod opened his mouth to tell her that he'd created the Aumrarr, so she should hardly be keeping secrets from him, and then shut it again without saying anything.
Taeauna smiled at him as if he'd done something very noble, and murmured, "Thank you, lord."
Rod shrugged and proceeded to ask the next of the dozens of small questions that were now crowding into his mind. "The Dark Helms, Tay: what are they? Who commands them?"
"Taeauna, lord. They are warriors. Cruel men in dark armor, who obey the orders given them by the one who sent them: a wizard, almost always one of the Three Dooms. Sometimes their swords or their armor or even their touch imparts fell magic on foes, but that is the doing of their sender, not any power of their own. They are slayers, sometimes battle-veterans, but they are men, no more and no less."
"So this 'appearing out of thin air' business?"
"The wizards translocate them, by teleport and tantlar."
Rod frowned. "Teleport is a word I know and have written in Falconfar tales, but what is 'tantlar?'"
"Before you first wrote that word, and the wizards learned to telep-"
"Wait. Forgive me, Tay-Taeauna, sorry-but are you telling me that when I write about a new spell, it falls into the laps, or the minds, I suppose, of the three wizards? Or all wizards?"
Taeauna spread her hands in a "you're asking we?" gesture. "Sometimes, it seems so, yes. The Dooms, however, are in a race to master the most magic, so as to destroy each other. They can't wait for your next book to hand them all the same new magic; they need to gain magic their rivals don't have. So they experiment, as all lesser wizards do, seeking to craft new spells."
Rod nodded. "Slow and dangerous."
Taeauna nodded, too. "Wherefore they spend much time and effort-and the lives of their underlings: hirelings and monsters and apprentice wizards they promise magic to, in exchange for service-in exploring and plundering tombs and ruins and anywhere else they think the magic of dead wizards, old magic, may lie waiting. That's what all of this conquering holds and subverting lordlings is about: seizing control of places that might yield up magic. Thankfully, scrying magic is weak, so they must send eyes to watch us if they want to see much. More than one hold and all of the larger lands, has seen knifings and larger battles between the spies of one wizard, and the spies of another."
Rod nodded. "I've used that! The plot of…"
Then he waved that thought away impatiently, aghast at the realization that he'd written about those warring agents without ever thinking the characters might be serving shadowy wizards.
"Sorry," he told Taeauna rather tersely. "You were telling me about teleport magic, and tantlar, whatever that is, and I interrupted. Could we go back to… uh… before I wrote the word 'teleport' and the wizards soon after learned a teleport spell…"
"Yes, lord. Before then, the Dooms, and all wizards, had to send someone to a place to work tantlar magic. After, they often teleport that someone, and it remains someone, since they can only teleport one agent at a time."
Rod nodded. "Okay, so what's tantlar, and where did it come from?"
Taeauna shrugged. "I know not; tantlar-work is old. Lorontar is infamous for using it, with his skeletons."
Seeing Rod's baffled expression, she explained. "Lorontar suffered no Dark Helms to fight for him, or stand guard at his tower. He used human skeletons animated and commanded by him to swing swords. There were priests in those days, who went about in cowled robes, and Lorontar's skeletons often used such garb to fool folk until it was too late."
"Charming," Rod grunted. "Okay, so tantlar magic works well with skeletons."
The Aumrarr nodded. "Better than with Dark Helms. The fire, you see…"
"No, I don't see. What fire?"
Taeauna smiled patiently. "Lord, let me explain."
"Er, please do. Sorry."
"Think of a place distant from a wizard; an inn, or a farmhouse, that the wizard wants conquered or searched. Lorontar would send several skeletons, separately, in case they were seen and attacked on the journey by fearful Falconaar. They would move by night, not needing rest nor provender, traveling by day only in wilderlands, otherwise keeping hidden. The Dooms, today, would teleport a Dark Helm instead."
"Right. So one of these skeletons makes it to the inn."
"The skeleton nears the inn, finds a sheltered plaice not easily seen by folk who might raise alarum, gathers kindling and firewood, and starts a fire."
"With flint and steel," Rod ventured, nodding. He'd written of characters doing just that, many times.