“I received word that things did not go exactly as planned.”
Duvan scowled. “There are spies among the Copper Guard,” he told her.
“The Order is getting bolder with their infiltration.”
Duvan nodded. “I should never have let Beaugrat hire the team. I should have screened them myself.”
“Yes; then you would have had but one mutineer.” Tyrangal’s gaze was intense, but not disapproving. “Tell me, did Beaugrat or any of the others get a look at the tome?”
Duvan shook his head. “No. The other two are dead anyway, and I chased Beaugrat off when he tried to take the book.”
“Did he know what he was trying to take?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Excellent. Tell me the whole story.”
Duvan sent a questioning glance in Slanya’s direction. “In front of her?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Tyrangal said, her hands reached out and brushed the air in front of Slanya’s chest. The cleric went into a trance, staring straight ahead where she stood. “She cannot hear us now.”
So Duvan told her the whole tale. He relayed how they found the citadel barely hanging from a ledge down in the Underchasm, and how they’d descended to search it. He described the battle with the manticore, and the secret compartment he narrated the sorcerer’s demise and the tower’s plunge into the darkness, until finally, he told of the mutiny and Seerah’s death, Beaugrat’s spellplague attack and cowardly escape.
“Beaugrat’s spellscar created blue fire?” Tyrangal asked. “Are you certain?”
Duvan nodded. “I’m quite familiar with it.”
Tyrangal gave a laugh, although Duvan wasn’t trying to be funny. “I suppose you are,” she said, and then added, “And he realized that his attack had no effect on you?”
“Yes, I’m certain of it.”
Tyrangal frowned. “That is unfortunate. I fear you will be sought by those who would use you for your talents.”
Duvan looked away. It was convenient for Tyrangal to tell others he was clever or lucky, but she and Duvan knew the truth: he was resistant to the spellplague, and his resistance extended to anything and anyone near him. A blessing and a curse, as spellscars were, though in his case the curse came more often by the hands of those who had stopped seeing him as a person and only saw him as a spellscar to harness.
Duvan shuddered. His years at Wildhome threatened to come flooding back over him. He tried to focus on the here and now, on Tyrangal and this new mission. He needed sleep; dreamless rest would help him focus.
“Duvan,” Tyrangal demanded his attention. “Be exceedingly careful. Avoid the Order and get out of town. Take Slanya.” Tyrangal touched Slanya’s chest again. “Duvan here has uncanny luck avoiding the threats of the changelands. He is the only person I know who has survived near-exposure to spellplague without getting spellscarred.”
Slanya came out of her reverie and nodded her nearly-bald head. “He seems like the ideal guide for my journey. Well, except for the trying-to-kill-me part.”
“Oh?” Tyrangal said. She looked enquiringly at Duvan.
Duvan smirked. “Yeah,” he said. “That was a misunderstanding.”
“I presume,” Tyrangal said, “that it won’t happen again.”
His smile grew. “As long as she gives me no cause,” he said. “Besides, she can take care of herself.”
“Excellent,” Tyrangal said. “Sister Slanya has my full approval. And her quest is an important one, even though it is probably more dangerous than any I have sent you on previously. It is your decision whether to go or not; I will not exert my influence on you in that regard. However, it would be a convenient way to stay out of potential mischief for the time being.”
“Yes, Tyrangal, I will-”
“However, I request that if you agree to take it, you promise to see it through to the end.”
Duvan nodded. “I promise,” he said. “If I accept the job, I will see it through.”
Slanya looked at him. “Will you do it, then?”
“What’s the arrangement?” he asked Tyrangal.
“You will get triple your normal pay,” Tyrangal said. “One third up front and the balance when you and Slanya return with the plaguegrass load.”
You and Slanya-he looked over at the priestess. Solemn, but under that stern face she was worried. At least she was smart enough to know it wouldn’t be easy.
“So,” Duvan said. “When do we leave?”
Walking next to Duvan with the high Vilhon sun beating down on them, Slanya found herself sweating in the heat. For some reason that wasn’t yet completely clear to Slanya, Duvan wanted to avoid discovery by the Order of Blue Fire. So they had decided to skirt around the city on their way to the monastery, where they would pick up their supplies and head out to the Plaguewrought Land.
Gnarled trees and tall brown grass surrounded the disused trail on either side. Through the foliage Slanya could see glimpses of some ruins off to their left-perhaps an ancient military tower, its once-strong structure no more than discarded rubble now.
A stony mote floated like a low cloud above them, and as it drifted to eclipse the sun, it cast a wide shadow that blocked the searing heat. Slanya was grateful for the reprieve, even though the close proximity of the motes made her nervous. Sometimes, the small ones fell out of the sky.
“We must hurry through this area,” Duvan said, keeping his voice low. “If we are being pursued, this is the best place to-”
The sound of approaching hooves interrupted Duvan.
Slanya glanced around. “You were saying?”
“Hide!”
Slanya barely noticed Duvan disappearing into the tall grass and ducking behind a pile of stone rubble. And as she moved off the path and crouched down in the shadows of a ruined wall, her eyes lost track of him. She concentrated and tried to find him again.
Yes, there he was: just across the narrow track in the shade of a large flagstone. It was right where she knew he’d been all along, but if she looked away, even for a second, she had a hard time finding him in the tableau of shadows and shapes.
The riders approached at a rapid canter from the direction of the Tyrangal’s mansion. Slanya picked out four of them, coming directly for her: three human men she didn’t recognize and one red-headed female dwarf in blue clerical robes, tied at the waist with a braided white rope. The dwarf had been part of Vraith’s party when she’d visited with Gregor. Within moments they drew reins in the path next to her.
“We can see you, cleric,” said a large man in dull plate armor. “And our quarrel is not with you. I’m Beaugrat from the Order of Blue Fire. We’re looking for a man by the name of Duvan.”
Behind the man, an archer with a pockmarked complexion nocked an arrow. Next to him was a thin skeleton of a man with the air of a pilgrim.
“The criminal was recently seen walking with you,” said Beaugrat.
So they haven’t seen Duvan yet, she thought.
Slanya stepped out into the open, standing ready. She gripped her staff loosely, prepared to swing it. “Good morning to you-”
Beaugrat swung down from his horse and stood facing her. He wore a heavy suit of armor and a huge sword on his back.
“Criminal?” Slanya took stock of the other three. The archer and the pilgrim hung back on their horses. The pilgrim wore leathers but seemed uncomfortable in them. The archer brought the bow up, the ready arrow aimed at her. The dwarf cleric merely looked on, her dark eyes set in a ruddy face. The Order of Blue Fire symbol of a flaming blue eyeball, was embroidered on her robes.
“Yes,” Beaugrat said, “he killed two respected members of the Order and is wanted for questioning and enlightenment.”
Slanya winced. Enlightenment was not something that could be imposed upon someone by an external force. Despite the fact that Gregor had forged ties with Vraith, the more Slanya learned of its practices, the less she respected the Order of Blue Fire.
“My meeting with Duvan was brief. I don’t know where he is at the moment.”