“I am exercising great care in this,” Gregor said. “But I envision a great revolution in how people regard the change-lands. No longer will they fear them. No longer will their loved ones disappear without warning, or worse, end up as plaguechanged monsters. I am on the verge of achieving that vision, and unfortunately collaboration with the Order of Blue Fire is required for me to proceed.”
Kaylinn frowned. “Collaboration is a good thing,” she said. “But do not be blinded by your vision. Ends do not justify means, Brother Gregor.”
“Of course,” he demurred. “Thank you for your sagacity. As usual, your view is wise.”
The high priestess gave a small smile. “I worry about you,” she said. “You have been … distracted. I worry that you’re driving yourself too hard.”
Gregor gave his most earnest smile. “I have never felt this clear-headed,” he said. “And I am close to the end. We are doing great good here on the changelands border.”
“That’s true,” Kaylinn said, with a nod. “Very well, I will stop worrying. Where will you meet them?”
“In here is fine, but I can escort them back.”
“No, no. I’ll get them.”
“Many thanks.”
After Kaylinn left, Gregor opened the ledger which showed the numbers and mortality rates of the pilgrims who had tested the latest elixir. Gregor paged past all the other experiments. Hundreds of pilgrims had been tested, and five different elixirs, their data compared with that of the false elixirs.
The last formula had a twenty-onefold increase in survivability, while those taking the false elixir fared in the usual range. Gregor smiled. Numbers didn’t lie.
The door opened again. Following Kaylinn came the blonde elf-Vraith, slim and looking even more delicate in silky, sky-blue robes. Behind her clomped a huge human wearing shiny plate armor with a section of his right pauldron cut out to reveal a spellscar.
“Well met, my friends,” Gregor said. “I think things went successfully last night, no?”
Vraith gave an abbreviated bow. “May the Blue Fire burn inside you.” The human stood a pace behind her in deference, and he did not speak.
“Last night went quite satisfactorily,” Vraith said. “But that is not why we’ve come.”
Oh? Gregor thought, and he wondered what brought this arrogant priestess down out of her nest of followers. What he said was, “How can I be of help?”
“A young man was seen with one of the temple’s clerics this morning,” Vraith said. “We need to know where he is.”
“A young man? What does he look like?”
Vraith’s eyebrows arched up to disappear into her hairline. “You don’t know of whom I speak?”
“Perhaps I do,” Gregor said. “And perhaps I do not. Many people matching the description of ‘young man’ pass through and near the monastery every day.”
Vraith gestured to the plate-clad human. “Beaugrat, describe this Duvan person.”
Beaugrat stepped forward. “Duvan is dark skinned, of average height and sinewy. Very quick. Black hair, black eyes, and a day-old beard. He is known to work for the head of the Copper Guard, Tyrangal.”
Gregor kept his face implacable. “And what is your business with this man?”
Vraith said, “He has committed offenses against our members and is wanted for questioning.”
It was Gregor’s turn to be incredulous. “Offenses? What offenses?”
Beaugrat said, “He killed two members and stole their property.”
Gregor laughed. “Sounds like he’s wanted for more than questioning.”
“Do you know where he is or not?” Vraith asked, her tone darkening.
“I do not,” he said, dodging the question. “But I may have valuable information concerning his whereabouts.”
“And do you plan to tell me, or do I need to have you questioned as well?”
Behind Vraith, Kaylinn raised an eyebrow at Gregor. The half-elf’s tone and attitude had been pushing at him the whole time, and he finally snapped. “I will not be commanded in my own home, Vraith,” he said, his own tone growing fierce. “We work together, and together we can accomplish much. Apart …” He let the implied threat hang in the air.
Vraith stared at him, her pale gray eyes as hard as slate behind her translucent blonde lashes. She seemed to be weighing the merits of arguing with him or defying him some other way. But finally, she averted her gaze. “Yes, yes,” she said, waving her hand. “Solidarity and cooperation and all that. It’s very important that we find this man.”
Now we’re getting somewhere, Gregor thought. “All right,” he said. “We may be able to come to an arrangement. But first you will tell me the true reason you seek this man.”
CHAPTER SIX
Under a bright afternoon sky, Duvan guided Slanya toward the border of the Plaguewrought Land. It was a journey he’d taken several times before, but the path he chose was a little different each time.
“To be honest with you, Duvan,” Slanya said, “I’m nervous.”
Duvan regarded his companion. Slanya took sure and confident steps; no doubt she’d trained intensively. She also seemed to have some measure of the body control that monks were famous for. She’d demonstrated quick thinking as well as enviable discipline.
All of which would mean nothing in the face of the changelands.
“You shouldn’t be nervous,” Duvan said. “You should be afraid.”
“I’m not afraid to die.”
“Really?” Duvan had yet to meet anyone else besides himself who did not fear death.
Slanya shrugged. “My death will come as everyone’s will. Why should I fear that? If the cause is right and I am true to myself, then my death will have meaning, as will my life. Kelemvor will welcome me, and I will pass on to the next life.”
Duvan remained silent as they passed into the shadow of a large mote which hung precariously low in the sky. Large motes tended to be stable, but Duvan had seen smaller ones sustain damage as they passed through the border veil. Quite a few of those lost their buoyancy and plummeted to the ground. In fact the terrain along the border was littered with boulders and the deep furrows they had made upon impact.
Around him, the gentle hills gave way to steeper ones, the grassy knolls replaced by bare rock dotted sporadically with tenacious weeds. The faint sensation of the disturbance in the Weave the Plaguewrought Land caused made the hairs on his arms stand on end. The faint odor of oranges and decaying flesh drifted occasionally on the warm wind-the sour and sweet stench of the plaguelands of the Plaguewrought Land in summer.
“Have you ever been very close to the changelands?” Duvan asked. “I know you understand what they can do, but if you haven’t experienced living plaguelands, it’s likely to be a shock.”
Slanya looked at him, her eyes narrowing. Perhaps she was trying to figure out why he was asking the question. “I have seen it from afar, through the border veil. And I have prepared myself by talking to many who have been exposed. I believe I know what to expect.”
Duvan nodded. “Nonetheless, I think you should let me go in alone.”
“No.”
Duvan pressed on. “I can find the plaguegrass as easily as we both can, probably faster. Nobody goes very far past the border. The pilgrims merely wait near the edge or just inside until they are exposed, hoping for a minimal wound.”
“I will not let you go alone.”
“Most people don’t go inside for more than a few minutes, and I’ve only been deep inside once …” Duvan trailed off. The nightmare journey of his one and only trip across the changelands came back to him in staccato flashes. Gossamer scythes of blue fire burned precise cuts across the land. Dirt, rock, and plants obliterated all around him.
Duvan had walked into the hell wanting to be taken by the fire, but it wouldn’t take him. So far it never had. “There are some stable places in the Plaguewrought Land, but those areas are only temporarily safe. Eventually all the landscape bleeds and burns. I seem to be charmed or cursed when it comes to changelands,” he said. “I seem to be able to avoid the effects, so to stay safe you must stay near me.”