"The drow and his friend approach Bloodstone Village in the company of a dwarf," Kane said.
"Athrogate, by name," said Gareth. "A most unpleasant fellow, but a fine warrior, by all accounts. A second dwarf died in the castle, and will be honored posthumously."
"Athrogate is a known associate of Timoshenko and Knellict," said Kane. "As was the wizard, Canthan, who also fell in the castle."
"Master Kane, you have quite a conspiracy envisioned," said Christine.
Kane took the jab with good nature, and bowed to the Queen of Bloodstone. "No, milady," he corrected. "It is my duty to serve Gareth's throne and King Gareth, and so I do. The web of a potential conspiracy appears faintly visible if the light is just right, but it could be a trick of the sun, I know."
"Wherever we have seen a filament of a web, we have found a spider," Celedon interjected, rather loudly. "It is not right, I say. There is more here than we know, and we should not be offering such honors as apprentice knight of the order until the questions are answered beyond all doubt. I'll not—"
Kane stopped him with an upraised hand, right before Gareth could tell him to shut up. "The drow, his human companion, and the dwarf," the monk said in a quiet voice. "Be they friends, we have gained worthy allies. Be they enemies, and we have put them under our eye, clearly so. To know your enemy is a warrior's greatest asset. If you wish to remain as king, Gareth my friend, and hope to expand beyond the gate fortress north of here, then you need to know Athrogate and the creatures of the shadows who work his strings."
"And if these three, this drow, the dwarf, and the man on whom I will tomorrow bestow knighthood, are truly aligned with the Citadel of Assassins?" Gareth asked, though his grin betrayed the fact that he already knew well the answer.
Kane shrugged as if it did not matter. "We will reward them and honor them, and never allow them free passage to any place or position where they might do us harm."
Even Celedon calmed at that assurance, for when Kane offered such words, he always delivered on his promise.
Soon after, Celedon, Dugald, and Kane took their leave, promising to return later that evening for a feast in their honor.
"You're hoping to lure Olwen here with a grand table," Christine said to Gareth when they were alone—alone except for the guards, who had become such a fixture of their lives that they were all but invisible to the couple.
"Olwen can smell an orc from a hundred yards, so it is said," Gareth replied. "And so it is also said that he can smell a meal from a hundred miles."
"It is more than a hundred miles to Kinbrace," Christine reminded, referring to the seat of Soravia's power, where Olwen dwelt. "Even with his enchanted boots, even with his growling stomach urging him on, Olwen could not cover that distance in time for your feast."
"I was thinking that another might enjoy the reunion of the seven," Gareth slyly replied.
Christine rolled her blue eyes, for she knew of whom her husband spoke, and she wasn't thrilled at the prospect of entertaining Emelyn the Gray. The oldest of the band who had defeated Zhengyi, past his seventieth birthday, Emelyn's understanding of «civility» often tried Lady Christine's patience. Glad she was those years ago when the wizard announced that he would return to the Warrenwood ten miles southeast of Bloodstone Village, and happier still was she when it became apparent that he would rarely return for a visit.
Gareth moved out of the audience chamber to a side corridor that led to his private rooms. He entered a small anteroom to his bedchamber and moved to a desk set against the side wall, near his bedroom door. The back of the desk rose high above the writing table, and was draped with a silken cloth. Gareth pulled the drape free, revealing a mirror, framed in gold that was molded into exotic runes and symbols. From the side of the mirror, the king slid forth a six-inch red ball set in a golden base. He positioned it right before the mirror and lifted his hand as if to cover it.
"There is no other way?" Christine asked from the doorway behind him.
Gareth glanced back at her and offered a grin as she rolled her eyes yet again. He knew that she was only half-serious, for Emelyn was indeed a trial, and in all truth, Gareth had not been sorry at the wizard's announcement of his «retirement» with the centaurs of Warrenwood.
"We may be needing Emelyn's services soon enough," Gareth replied, and he placed his hand on top of the red ball and closed his eyes, picturing his old friend in his thoughts.
A few moments later, he looked into the mirror, and instead of seeing his own reflection, he saw a separate room. It was full of vials and skulls, books and trinkets, statues small and large, and a grand and ornate desk that seemed as alive as the white tree from which it had been fashioned.
At the desk with his back to Gareth sat an old man in satiny gray robes. His white hair, long and unkempt, hung down nearly to the desk—in fact its end strands showed that they had dipped into the inkwell more than once—as he hunched over his parchment.
"Emelyn?" Gareth asked, then more insistently, "Emelyn!"
The wizard straightened, glanced left, then right, then turned around to look behind him and across the room at the sister mirror set in his wall.
"Peering in uninvited, are we?" he said in a nasal and scratchy voice. "Hoping to catch a view of Gabrielle, no doubt." He ended with a cackle of delight.
Gareth just shook his head, and wondered again why such a beautiful young woman as Gabrielle had agreed to marry the old kook.
"Oh, I know your game!" Emelyn accused, wagging a gnarled old finger Gareth's way and flashing a yellow, gap-toothed smile.
"One you perfected, no doubt," Gareth dryly replied, "which is why I keep a shroud over my mirror."
The wizard's smile disappeared. "Never were you one to share, Gareth."
Behind the king, Lady Christine made her presence known by clearing her throat, loudly. Of course, that only made Emelyn cackle all the more.
"I was looking for you, my friend, though Lady Gabrielle is surely a more welcome sight before my eyes," said Gareth.
"She is in Heliogabalus, seeking components and potions."
"A pity, then, for I have come with an invitation."
"To see a drow honored?" Emelyn replied. "Bah!"
Gareth accepted that with a nod. He knew, of course, that Emelyn would have heard about the morning's ceremony. Surely the word was general all about Bloodstone Valley.
"Kane and Celedon have arrived in Bloodstone Village," Gareth explained. "I think it a good time for old friends to eat and drink, and speak of adventures past."
Emelyn started to respond, apparently in the negative, but stopped short and chewed his lip. A moment later, he rose from his chair and faced Gareth directly. "There is little I can do until Gabrielle's return, in any case," he said.
The mirror filled with smoke.
And so did the room, and both Gareth and Christine gave a shout and fell back.
The smoke cleared, revealing a sputtering Emelyn, waving his hands before his face to chase the fumes away.
"Never used to… create such combustion," Emelyn explained, coughing repeatedly as he spoke. At last he straightened and smoothed his robes. He looked alternately into the blank stares of Gareth and Christine, then back to Gareth. "So when do we eat?"
"I was hoping that perhaps you could retrieve Olwen before the meal," Gareth explained.
"Olwen?"
"The Duke of Soravia," Christine clarified, and Emelyn snapped a stare over her.
"How might we locate him?" Emelyn asked. "He is never near the six castles of Kinbrace of late. Always out and about."
"We could look," Gareth said. He stepped aside and waved his arm back at the scrying mirror.