Anticipating her question, Zivon said, "The three set sail from Perhata in the dead of night, appropriately enough, bound for the open sea. They did not make port here in Kolbyr, but otherwise I cannot say where they went. Given their last heading, my guess is that they intended to leave the gulf entirely, but it is only a hunch, based on no solid information."
Yvka smiled. "Your hunches are better than most people's facts."
Zivon acknowledged the compliment with a slight nod.
Yvka decided she'd gotten all she was going to from Zivon, and she'd better not push her luck any further.
"My thanks. Knowing that the Zephyr and the dragonwand are together will make things simpler. If we find one, we'll find the other." She started to stand, but Zivon gestured for her to remain seated. Yvka gritted her teeth. She didn't like being told what to do, but the Culinarian was Zivon's domain, and so she had little choice but to do as he wanted.
"I wish you all success in regaining possession of the Zephyr. But before you leave, there is another matter we need to discuss."
Yvka didn't like the sound of this. "If it's about my companions, I assure you-"
"It isn't," Zivon said. "At least, not primarily. As I said earlier, we are greatly pleased with the treasures that you've delivered unto us, thanks to your most profitable association with Diran Bastiaan and his friends. But you know our philosophy: too much is never enough, not when it comes to information and power. In the end, they're really both the same, are they not?"
Yvka was disturbed by the sudden turn this conversation had taken, and she dreaded Zivon's next words.
"If you wish to find yourself in our good graces once more, not only will you recover the Zephyr, you will bring us two things more: the artificer's wand and the psiforged called Solus."
CHAPTER SIX
I didn't know what to expect, but this surely wasn't it," Ghaji whispered.
Diran couldn't help but agree with his friend. The two companions, led by Asenka and flanked by a pair of guards, walked down a corridor in the palace of Baroness Calida. Up to this point, the architecture they'd seen in Kolbyr had been austere at best and forbidding at worst, and the outside of the palace had been no exception. The face it presented to the world was that of a severe-looking edifice of gray stone bereft of ornamentation or humanity. No windows or battlements, no towers or crenellations… nothing but featureless cold sterility. The air around the palace felt heavy and stale, making every breath an effort, and worst of all, the palace itself exuded an aura of sheer malevolence, as if waves of hate emanated from the stonework.
But inside was a very different story. The walls were painted soothing colors-soft yellows, placid greens, and gentle pinks. Potted ferns rested in corners, vases filled with aromatic blooms sat on tables, and hanging plants dangled from ceilings. Tiny bright-feathered songbirds flew through the air, free to sing wherever they pleased. Musicians performed at strategic locations throughout the palace-soloists, trios, and quartets-all playing their instruments with deft, light touches, producing tunes both soft and tranquil. The air smelled of sweet incense, and where breathing outside had been a chore, inside breathing was a pleasure and every inhalation filled one's body with a sensation of peace and contentment.
"Obviously, the palace's interior has been designed to soften the effects of the Fury," Diran whispered. "An absolute necessity, as this is where the curse is centered."
Neither of the two guards-tall, broad-shouldered men wearing chainmail vests and longswords belted at their waists-reacted to the two friends' exchange. But Diran could feel the tension radiating from both men. Their muscles were tight, jaws tense, lips pursed, brows furrowed, and their breathing was labored, as if some great struggle was taking place within them.
Ghaji must've sensed the guards' anger as well, for he drew his lower lip back to better display his bottom incisors. Diran had seen his friend perform this action on numerous occasions, and he'd also seen the aftermath. It usually involved a great deal of blood being spilled.
The priest laid a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Peace, Ghaji. Don't let the curse of Kolbyr take hold in you." Diran concentrated on projecting a sense of calm, not only in his manner, but also spiritually. As one of the Purified, Diran could mystically soothe a turbulent soul in much the same way that he could heal an injured body.
Ghaji sighed then nodded to show he was all right, and Diran was relieved. He doubted Baroness Calida would grant them an audience if they began brawling with her guards in the palace corridors.
Diran looked to Asenka, and though she appeared tense, she seemed to be handling the urgings of the Fury well enough. She was made of stern stuff, that woman: strong steel with a sharp edge. And yet she was also one of the most genuinely warm people Diran had ever met, with a gentle loving gaze and a delightfully earthy laugh. He was older than she by a few years, but the difference in their ages wasn't that great. But the gulf between them was much wider in terms of experience. Asenka had spent her life in Perhata, training to be a warrior, joining Baron Mahir's Sea Scorpions, and eventually becoming their leader. She had seen her fair share of battle, no doubt, but Diran had lived the first part of his life as an assassin. He had killed heartlessly, efficiently, and without remorse. So many men and women had felt the deadly kiss of his daggers that he'd lost count of the number he had slain. As one of the Purified, he knew death was not to be feared, for the passing away of the mortal shell allowed one's spirit to join with the Silver Flame in the afterlife. But as wondrous as that joining was, as much as it was to be desired, never should it be hastened. It should take place in its own time, and not be dictated by the desires of the rich and powerful, those with money enough to pay to have their enemies slain.
But after becoming a priest of the Silver Flame and dedicating his life to using his assassin's skills to combat evil in all its myriad forms, Diran had seen sights far worse than anything he'd ever experienced during the war. Purified he might be, but that didn't mean he was unaffected by the evil he battled, and he wondered if the shadows that had touched his soul over the years had changed him too much, set him apart from ordinary men to the point where he couldn't love and be loved the way he wanted to. The way Asenka deserved.
As they continued toward the Baroness's court, Diran found himself thinking back to a time when he'd learned what it truly meant to be touched by shadow, when he began to realize that he'd only thought he'd understood what evil was…
When his education as a priest of the Silver Flame began in earnest.
Nighttime along the banks of the Thrane River, southwest of Sigilstar, a week shy of Victory Day in the month of Barrakas. A priest and two acolytes sat cross-legged around a campfire, cloaks draped around their shoulders against the night's chill, heavy travel packs lying on the ground at their sides, bedrolls spread out behind them. The flames of their campfire burned with a silver tint, but the fire produced little smoke. A cloud of insects, mostly moths, hovered over the flames, drawn by the light, encouraged to come closer by the absence of smoke. The three men had finished a tasteless meal of travel rations and were now watching the silvery flames dance, thinking whatever thoughts happened to drift through their minds.