Gile felt the familiar rush of blood that usually impelled him to flee or murder someone. He took a long look at Orabon, weighing both options in his mind. "I don't know what mistress you're talking about."
Orabon's laughter was richly amused. "Of course you do. Need I speak the High Lady's name aloud? She may not have told you about me, but she has informed me of you, Gile Noman. I know you betrayed Kaerleon's Champion to Valdemar Basilis of Bruallia. And I know you aided his escape. I know you have been sent here to sow further seeds of chaos. We are brothers of the same order, my friend."
Gile fumed inwardly. It was just like the High Lady to send him blindly on a mission without telling him who to trust. Masiki always said she would not coddle her servants. If one could not survive on his own, then death was the deserved punishment. Vivienne, Anon, and Eretik surely found that to be true, if what Gile had heard was correct.
Gile opened his mouth, but the sound of a deep chime spared him from having to lie further.
Orabon lifted his head. "It is time. Tell me, what do you know about the Sects, Gile?"
Gile shrugged. "Bits and pieces. Not much."
Orabon's lips curved in a faint smile. "You're about to be educated."
The far doors swung open. The man who walked in was tall and broad-shouldered, his long black hair pulled back behind an iron-studded leather band. His mouth was a cruel slash, his eyes chips of onyx. He wore black from his boots to the high collared coat that sported silver scrollwork. That and his imperial bearing was all that differentiated him from the small company of black-garbed followers that slunk behind him. Their eyes darted around as if expectant of an attack. Though their physical characteristics varied, all had a similar look of…hunger, Gile decided. They looked like a pack of half-starved wolves.
"Lord Drowan is the Speaker for the Obdura Sect." Orabon spoke softly, as though not wanting to attract attention. "With his Honor Guard, if those with him can be said to have honor. The Obdura are usually the ones humans speak of when they whisper of creatures of the night. Most are nearly animals, knowing only two distinctions — hunter and prey. Even the more civilized of them are decidedly antisocial. Turn your back on an Obdura, best to check your spine afterwards."
The Obdura hunkered down in the farthest tables out. To Gile's surprise, Drowan nodded to Orabon, who returned the greeting coolly.
He smiled. "Lord Drowan is surprisingly stable for an Obdura. In terms of level-headedness, he is matched only by his second, Lady Vivienne. Normally she would be by Drowan's side at such a momentous occasion, but she's been permanently detained, or so I've been told." Orabon seemed to find that amusing.
He gestured. "Look — the Malic Sect is on time for once."
The next group entered almost right on the heels of the Obdura. They were led by a tall, slender man with bright red hair that swept down his back. He too wore all black, but his garb was supple leather — a sleek coat that cut off just below the waist, and snug breeches tucked into tall, sturdy boots. Gold hoops dangled from his ears, and a skull-shaped medallion with glittering ruby eyes hung from his neck. His face was narrow, his lips curved in a thin smile that matched the devious light that sparkled in his green eyes. A gem-encrusted dagger hung from his belt; another was tucked in his right boot. He sneered at the Obdura as they took their seats.
Behind him was his Honor Guard. Most wore polished armor strapped with weapons of some sort, even if they were ceremonial. They sauntered in with an air of cocky aggressiveness, moving with the grace of natural born killers.
Orabon smiled faintly. "The red-haired one is Killian, Speaker for the Malic. They are generally warmongers. Useful in situations that need messy solutions, but they're prone to fits of brutality and bloodlust, so the other Sects tend to avoid them. Though Killian is known to be extremely cunning."
Orabon indicated the leader, whose hair flailed like living fire as he sat down with a flourish. He grinned sharply at Lord Drowan, who gave a slight nod of acknowledgment. The Sect members showed each other no such courtesy. The Malic sniggered and sneered while the Obdura glared as if they hated their Malic brethren.
Then again, the Obdura sods always have those baleful expressions. Gile had encountered enough in his travels to know some of the Sects by sight, though he felt it best to keep his facade of ignorance in place. Orabon seemed the type to flaunt his knowledge. There was no telling what gems of information the man might let slip.
The door opened again, admitting a new group that caught all eyes. The woman who led them was immediately striking. Her ruffled blouse and divided dress of blue shades were of the latest Parandian fashion, and a ladies top hat perched atop her glossy raven tresses. Her high-heeled boots made every stride sinuous, every sway of her hips alluring.
She glanced about the room with a cool expression as her Honor Guard took their seats. They were an assortment of men and women all draped in silks and velvets, most wearing their hair long and loose. Compared to the earlier Sects, they were swans in a murder of crows. They sat at the tables in between the Obdura and the Malic, giving both Sects a new target for their heated stares. The newcomers seemed amused, outwardly the epitome of relaxed calm.
"The Speaker for the Paphic Sect is Tasith." Orabon's tone was admiring. "Don't let her looks fool you. She is more than just a beautiful face. A poisoned dagger in a jeweled sheath is what she is, and cold as a Norland winter when she has to be. But if you do right by her, she will always remember you."
As he spoke, Tasith turned in their direction and touched her fingers to her lips. Orabon returned the greeting with a respectful nod. "The other Sects do not care much for the Paphic because they tend to live their lives immersed in the world of humans. Many pass themselves off as their own descendants to stay in the same locations for centuries. Famous artists, poets, and stonemasons have been of the Paphic, their true nature never exposed. It helps that they are Gifted in Coercion, manipulating minds to bend to their whims."
The doors opened again. Gile looked for more newcomers, but this time no one entered.
The lights flickered.
When they fully illuminated again, black-robed figures stood at the seats in front of the Paphic. For a moment he thought his eyes deceived on him. But as their gloved hands removed their hoods, he felt the reverberations of their Shadowmelds.
Like the other Sects, they were a varied assortment of men and women that shared a common demeanor — theirs was lofty arrogance. They did not bother looking about, but simply turned their backs to the other Sects and sat.
Only one cast a challenging look about the room.
She was tall and would have been beautiful if her features weren't frostbitten from the chill of her haughtiness. She seemed cast from marble. Her eyes were as blue as a cloudless sky, yet cold as frozen lakes. Her hair was pale gold tresses pulled back and fastened in a pile of curls by a diamond-encrusted comb, save for the strands that fell across her eyes. A band of silver encircled her brow, centered by amethyst gems.
Orabon folded his fingers under his chin and studied the woman. "That could only be Celestine. She is Speaker for the Arcana, the most secretive and exclusive of the Sects. Although they are especially gifted in Aetheric Crafts, they make it a point to master as many of the others as they can."
Gile frowned. "Aetheric? I thought Crafts were either Mental or Elemental."
"Not exactly. Crafts can be broken down into three categories: Mental, Elemental, and Aetheric. Aetheric Crafts are the most difficult, combining Elemental and Mental Crafts for abilities like Shadowmelds to travel or Gavras to create golems."
He nodded toward the Arcana. "The majority of them were Elious, and they take pride in their hybrid blood. They believe that makes them purer than the rest of us savages. But try as they might, they'll never be what they wish to be."