As a mercenary, Kentril could also appreciate the value of the many writings stored in this vast chamber. Sorcerers like Quov Tsin often paid hefty prices for such books, and he had himself retrieved one or two for good pay. Still, at the moment, all Kentril saw in the library was the means by which Atanna could be free.
No, he saw something else besides. Seated in the midst of the lamplit chamber, Quov Tsin huddled over books and sheets, scribbling notes with a quill and keeping his index finger on one of the pages of one particularly massive tome.
The Vizjerei did not look up as Kentril neared. Under his breath, Tsin muttered incomprehensible things, and the sorcerer had a look upon his wrinkled features that caused the hardened fighter to pause. He had seen the diminutive Vizjerei obsessed before, but now Tsin resembled a man gone completely mad. His eyes never blinked as he worked, and his gaze went only from the book to the sheet upon which he wrote and back again. A grin that the captain had only seen on corpses stretched far across the slight figure's face, giving Tsin a very unsettling expression.
Kentril cleared his throat.
The stooped figure did not look up, instead scrawling new notes over the already heavily covered parchment.
"Tsin."
With what almost seemed a monumental struggle, the avian face turned his way. "What is it, Dumon?"
The venom with which the Vizjerei spoke each syllable left both Kentril and Gorst taken aback. The captain realized that his hand had slipped to the hilt of his sword, and he quickly removed it before Tsin could take any further umbrage.
"I came to see how you were progressing with Lord Khan and the city's—"
"I could be progressing much faster without constant and inaneinterruptions by the likes of you, cretin!" Quov Tsin slammed his fist on the table, sending ink spreading across the bottom of the parchment and over his hand. He seemed not to notice what he had done, more concerned with spitting barbed words at those before him. "You come clawing and squeaking and questioning, all of you, when here I sit on the verge of discovery! Can your feeble minds not comprehend the magnitude of what I struggle toward?"
Releasing the quill, the ink—stained hand reached for the sorcerer's staff. Malice filled Tsin's eyes.
Kentril backed up more, nearly colliding with Gorst. "Easy there, Tsin! Are you insane?"
Knuckles white, the Vizjerei clutched the staff. His silver—gray eyes darted from the two men to the rune—covered rod and back again. For a few dangerous seconds, a struggle between choices clearly unfolded… and then at last Quov Tsin put the staff to the side and with much effort turned back to his task.
Without looking at the pair, he whispered, "You had better leave."
"Tsin, I think you need some rest… and when's the last time you ate any—"
Both of the spellcaster's bony hands tightened. Eyes still downcast, he said again, "You had better leave."
Gorst took Kentril by the shoulder, and the two backed out of the library. They said nothing until several steps down the corridor, where they hoped Tsin could not hear them.
"Was he like that the last time you saw him?" Captain Dumon interrogated his second.
"No… not so bad, anyway, Kentril."
"I knew the old mage was ill tempered, but Tsin nearly tried to kill us, you know that, don't you?"
The giant gave him a brooding look. "I know."
"I should go have a talk with Juris Khan. It won't do anyone any good if old Tsin goes violently mad. He might hurt someone."
"Maybe he just needs to take a nap."
Kentril grimaced. "Well, if anyone can make him do it, it'd have to be Khan. You saw how much he listened to me."
"You want me to keep an eye on him?" Gorst asked.
"Only if you keep your distance. Don't do it immediately, though. Let him get lost in his work again for an hour or two first. That might be better."
From somewhere within the palace, a flute began to play. Suddenly, Kentril lost all interest in the damnable Vizjerei's antics. He knew of only one person in Khan's sanctum who played a flute.
"Maybe if I talk to Atanna first, she can better explain it to her father," the captain could not help saying. "That'd probably be the best course of action for me."
The grin returned to Gorst's broad face. "Probably be."
Kentril felt his face flush. He turned to go, but could not help adding at the last, "Just be careful, Gorst."
The grin remained. "You, too."
The flute playing continued, the same haunting melody that he had heard that first fateful time. Captain Dumon followed the music through numerous, winding halls that made it feel to him as if he were repeating his journey to the library. At last, Kentril came not to a balcony or one of the many vast chambers but rather to an open gate leading to, of all things, a vast inner courtyard open to the sky, a courtyard doubling as an extensive garden.
Garden perhaps understated severely the sight. A miniature forest—more a jungle—spread out before the veteran soldier. Exotic trees and plants that seemed like none Kentril had ever encountered, not even on the trek to this distant part of Kehjistan, grew tall and strong. Dark greens, vivid crimsons, bright yellows, and fiery oranges decorated the tableau in arresting fashion. There were hanging vine plants and monstrous flowers, some of the latter larger than his head. One could literally become lost within a garden such as this, of that Kentril had no doubt.
And near the path leading into it, Atanna, seated on a stone bench, played her flute. A billowing, silky dress with a long, thin skirt somehow emphasized rather than hid her slim but curved form. Her long red tresses hung down over the left side of her face, reaching all the way to a most attractive dйcolletage. She did not notice him at first, but when he started toward her, captivated by the sight of her playing, Atanna suddenly looked up.
Her eyes held such an intensity that they left Kentril at a loss for how to proceed. Atanna, however, took control of the situation by putting down her flute and coming to him.
"Kentril! I hope you slept well."
"Very much. You play beautifully, Atanna."
She gave him a most demure look. "I think not, but my father shares your opinion."
Not certain what to say yet, the captain glanced past her at the garden. "One never knows what to expect next here."
"Do you like it? This is my favorite place. I've spent much of my life here, and much of our exile, too."
"It's… unique."
Atanna pulled him toward it. "You must have a closer look!"
Despite the fanciful colors of the flowers and some of the plants, the garden had a rather foreboding look that Kentril did not truly notice until his hostess had led him up to the path running through it. Suddenly the beauty and wonder of it gave way to an uneasiness. Now it reminded him more of the jungle through which he and his men had fought, the same jungle that had claimed four of his party.
"What's the matter?" Juris Khan's daughter asked.
"Nothing." He steeled himself for the walk through. This was not the same stark jungle. This was simply a fanciful garden built for the lord of the realm. What danger could possibly exist within such a confined space?
"I love it here," she murmured. "It takes me away fromthe world in which I'm trapped, lets me imagine I'm far away, in another land, about to meet a handsome stranger."
Kentril started to say something but decided he could not trust his tongue not to tie itself up. He could scarcely believe himself. Never in his life had any woman left him feeling so befuddled.
Broad—leafed plants brushed their shoulders, and occasional vines, seeming to drop from nowhere, dangled near their heads. The path at their feet had been made to seem quite natural, a covering of soft dirt and sand over what felt like solid stone.