The sorcerer shook his head. "As you say, I've already outstayed the service for the coin you paid. Since my contract is concluded, I can do as I please. I'm coming with you, if you'll have me."
Adrik glanced at Kiril and continued. "Dip me in honey and set me to run through the Great Wild Wood if I pass up an opportunity to find the ancient realm hidden behind the menhirs of Yuirwood! My brother'd boil me in formalin if he found out I turned my back on such a chance. I—"
Kiril raised an arm. "You're welcome to join me as well. I saw you hurl fire like a warmage. If the Traitor's minions stand in our way, we'll have use of such talent."
Adrik beamed.
"Very well," interjected Gage, "I'll get our packs. How do we get to Sil—"
"No. You are not coming with us." Kiril pointed south. "Leave the forest—the closest border is that way. No way I'd let a blood-flecking backstabber accompany me into the starry realm, and into Stardeep itself."
"I've come clean with you, Kiril. I've told you the truth!"
"Which is the only reason you're not dead, despite Angul's wishes to the contrary. Get out of my sight before I change my mind, you damned liar."
"You need me! I've talked to Telarian, and he'll recognize me. We could trick him into—"
"I said no, thief. You dealt with Telarian, and perhaps you still have a deal. Just how gullible do you think I am? For all I know, you're playing a deeper game than I can pierce, even now. I'm done talking about this."
So saying, she walked forward, her left shoulder roughly shoving Gage to the side as she swept past him.
"You two, follow me. We can't waste any more time than we already have."
* * * * *
Kiril led Raidon Kane and Adrik Commorand away from the shore of the misted Chabala. The three figures melted into a line of short pines. The high-flying crystal dragonet darted a glance at the thief, who stood alone on the icy shore, unmoving, then flew after its mistress.
Gage picked up his pack and turned away from the Mere. Shoulders stooped, head down, he stumbled through the leafless glades of the Yuirwood, alone. His long strides ate the distance, but without companionship, the way ahead seemed long. Time spent in conversation passes more swiftly than the same span spent in self-loathing doubt and second-guessing.
And when his journey was concluded, it would be at Laothkund's gate. Back to the cold city walls and slick rooftops. Quick thefts, quicker escapes, and finding a fence trustworthy enough to unload his take. Repeat. Only another fabulous heist away from a month-long parry with fifty of his closest friends . . .
Friends who'd lose interest when the money ran out.
The only one who'd never cared who was buying had been Kiril. And he'd rewarded her by trying to steal the only remaining thing in her life about which she cared.
"By the Queen of Air!" he swore. Gage paused beneath the bole of a hoary old evergreen.
It came down to the kind of man he wanted to be. He looked at his gauntleted hand. The demonic mouth drooled, its teeth working. It whispered, "One day I'll have your soul, you know." He frowned, shook his head.
"Don't put off what you've already decided," he muttered to himself. He turned and traced his own trail back to the edge of the Mere. There, plain as day, was the trail in the snow left by those who'd cast him aside.
"I'll show her who she can trust, and who she can't!" he promised.
His gauntlet growled, maybe in protest, perhaps in agreement, or possibly because it had not supped on blood in over a tenday.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Stardeep, Telarian's Quarters
Shivers coursed through Telarian as if he stood in an icy waterfall. He considered his predicament; were his machinations ill-conceived? Cracks of failure on every front threatened to erode and crumble his endeavor, potentially causing the very catastrophe he sought to avoid. Incompetence, betrayal, and perhaps insinuations of the Traitor's growing influence outside the Well worked against him.
He just prayed none of the incompetence was his own.
The Keeper of the Outer Bastion grabbed the edges of his cot and held tightly, as if it threatened to suddenly launch him toward the high ceiling of his personal chamber. His breath shuddered, his mind skittered for any answer, any assurance.
Maybe Nis . . . ? He allowed his head to roll to the left. Nis nestled in its sheath, leaning against a stone scroll shelf on the far wall. He'd decided he needed to distance himself from the black blade, physically and mentally, if only for a little while. Now, after candle-spans of separation, a strange anxiety mounted, an anxiety born of more than the shambles of his designs. It was an anxiety born of his desire to once again hold the blade.
Was he becoming addicted to Nis's calming presence? No! A crazy thought! He wrenched his gaze back toward the ceiling. He was the master of his own destiny, by the Sign!
He concentrated on easing his breathing. As he did so, he slowly opened and closed his eyes. The glittering points of light sprinkled across the ceiling blinked into nonexistence, then back, over and over. A minor decorative illusion meant to convey the homey feeling of Sild?yuir, a realm he'd not walked in years, despite it being his place of birth, and despite it being relatively close. Duty prevented him. Duty not just to Stardeep, but to Sild?yuir, and the wider world behind which the starry realm rested: Faer?n.
Faer?n . . . and the monstrosities that yet hungered to consume it! He rose, so quickly his lower back twinged in protest. Just a minor distraction, like all the distractions, minor and major, that sought to deter him. How sad it would be if he allowed mere distractions to cloud his vision of what he had to do. How pitiful. He wouldn't!
Telarian strode across the chamber, grabbed up Nis's sheath, and tied it securely to his belt. This was the tool he'd created. It was his own true work, not something to be denied by fear-fed whispers. Weakling doubts might assail him, but he did not have to heed their traitorous suggestions, or even listen. He would fight to the end, using every weapon in his arsenal to its maximum.
The room darkened as he paced; the blade Nis streaked gloom behind him, briefly marking his path, despite residing snugly in its scabbard. Telarian failed to notice.
Besides Nis, his other tools included his own intellect and the special knowledge his divinatory craft revealed in the Epoch Chamber. That and his partially successful efforts to bring Cynosure under his direct control. But then Delphe had taken the sentient construct out of the control loop that interwove all Stardeep. Without the capacities of that mighty magical idol, Telarian's scheme would certainly fail!
He hadn't guessed or foreseen his fellow Keeper would take such direct and effective action. Nor had he counted on her refusing to listen to his many justifications for why Cynosure should be returned to active cognizance immediately. He'd finally been forced to give up his arguments for a time, lest she become suspicious over his zealousness.
Telarian always thought her a passive player, concerned chiefly with staring into the Well. His divinations had failed to reveal the depths of character Delphe would bring to bear when true danger threatened.
Damn her, though, for removing Cynosure from the equation! Without the constructs pinpoint ability to grant passage around Stardeep, he couldn't access the Epoch Chamber. It was too dangerous for him to attempt the connection manually.
After all these years of dissembling, perhaps he should simply blurt the truth to Delphe, appeal to her reason. He imagined her working with him, instead of blindly countering his moves by chance and accident.