When Darvin arrived at the Generon, it took him a few minutes to track down Eles. Though the Sammardach celebration had dwindled to small groups of partygoers gathered in nooks and crannies of the palace, talking earnestly, it still took the assassin some time to wander through the halls, searching. Periodically he would stop and ask guards if they had seen their lord about. He finally caught up with the man standing on a balcony on a high level of the palace, looking out over the gardens and into the warm, humid night.
Lavant was there already, and the look on the high priest's face told Darvin that they already knew at least part of the situation in Reth.
Darvin strolled up to the two men and cleared his throat. Lavant looked up with annoyance clear on his face, but when he saw who it was, his frown changed to a gleeful smile. "Have you heard?" the Grand Syndar asked, almost chortling. "It's begun."
"Yes," Darvin said, nodding. "I just came from there. But all is not shiny and wonderful in dear Reth," he said. "We have a problem."
"What problem?" Eles Wianar said, turning and scowling. "Now is not the time for problems."
Darvin took a deep breath. He did not relish bringing such unpleasant news to the most powerful man in Arrabar. "Rodolpho is not being as cooperative as we would like." Then he shook his head. With others, he could deliver bad news in a roundabout way, smooth the edges, sugarcoat the nuggets. But with Eles, it was better just to speak plainly. He had a way of seeing exactly what others did not want him to see. "He made the plague too virulent," Darvin explained, "and refused to create a cure. He apparently still harbors some resentment over his forced involvement with your plans."
Lavant clucked his tongue. "Not surprising," the high priest said. "There are ways around that. I can formulate a cure in a matter of hours. I'm sure of it."
Darvin shook his head, not so sure. "It may be too late in a matter of hours " he replied. "Half the city is engulfed in flames, and bodies are rising on the streets before they're even cold."
That description wiped the largest portion of Lavant's smile from his face. "Truly?" he said, his voice less exuberant than it had been before.
Darvin nodded. "As I said, I was just there moments ago. I saw it myself. And Rodolpho was painfully clear about his intentions."
"I'm sure he was," Eles said, though the tone of his voice was not terribly humorous. "He was the one biggest wrinkle in my plan," the Shining Lord mused. "I thought he might be reticent about cooperating. Twelve years is a long time."
Darvin started to ask Eles why he had chosen his cousin if he had had misgivings, but he thought better of it. Instead, he said, "In the interests of preventing a total disaster, I took the liberty of redirecting some of our forces a little earlier than we had planned. I had Havalla turn some of his troops around and lay siege to Reth. Maybe that way, we can contain the plague as long as necessary to devise a solution."
Lavant made a slightly strangled sound. "Why do you keep taking it upon yourself to change things without consulting us?" he demanded. "You may have just ruined our chances of swooping in at the right time."
Darvin shook his head again. "Trust me, there will be plenty for you and your temple troops to clean up. Even with that change, it may not be enough to keep the disease localized. All of Reth may be a graveyard or worse by morning."
"You exaggerate," Lavant said, his eyes wide.
It's about time you understood the true magnitude here, Darvin thought. "I don't," he said. "Half the city was in chaos, burning. This was a calculated acceleration on Rodolpho's part. He intended for it to get out of hand. I don't think he even expects to survive."
Lavant's loss of composure was brief. "Nonsense," he said, drawing himself up. "I will still arrive at the head of Lord Wianar's army, prepared to deliver defeat to Arrabar's enemies and blessed healing to the ravaged people of Reth. You will have your city back, my lord."
Eles shook his head. "Don't be cocksure," he told the priest. "I trust Darvin's judgment as much as I trust anyone with anything, and if he's concerned, then I am too."
Lavant looked wounded, but he recovered. "Then I am at your disposal to handle this however you see fit," he said, bowing slightly. "Though I still assert that I can generate an effective cure for the plague rapidly enough to prevent disaster."
Eles waved a hand, dismissing Lavant. "Then go and do so," he ordered, "and let me know as soon as you have something definitive."
Lavant bowed again and departed.
Once the Grand Syndar was out of earshot, Darvin turned to Eles and said, "He is too sure of himself, my lord. This plague that Rodolpho cooked up is horrific. I don't think you should place all of your trust in the Waukeenar. You need a second option."
"Of course I do," Eles answered, smiling that smile that always made Darvin's skin crawl. "You're going back to Reth to wring a solution out of Rodolpho."
Darvin sighed. "I don't know if that's possible. When he said he hadn't created one, I got the impression he was sincere. I think he somehow knew this was the last great thing he was going to do with his life, and he took great delight in thwarting you."
Eles's scowl became a glower. "Lesser opponents do not thwart me," he said. "Deal with this."
Darvin nodded in resignation. Somehow, he had known all along that it would come down to that. "All right," he said at last. "But I can't get back there on my own. Laithe will have to help me."
"Fine," Eles said. "Take your sister along."
"Half-sister," Darvin corrected, then immediately regretted it.
"Darvin," Eles said, his face a mask. "Don't think that just because you are my flesh and blood that you can fail me in this. I will have Reth."
Darvin nodded. "I know, Father. I'm on my way."
"Can you heal her?" Vambran asked.
Arbeenok shrugged, trying to imitate the human gesture. It still felt strange to him to do so, even after several years among humans. "I do not know," he said, "I can try."
"Do it," Vambran said, forcefully, but Arbeenok understood that he was asking, pleading, not ordering. The alaghi understood, and he did not object, but the man's intense drive was remarkable. There was a fire in his eyes, a fierceness to act, to succeed, burning inside him at all times.
And there was conflict.
Arbeenok could see that Vambran questioned himself with every decision he made. The soldier scrutinized all his choices, never satisfied that he had selected wisely or had done enough. Arbeenok wondered where in his life he had failed. He wondered what had convinced the man that he was not capable of choosing the wise course.
His passion is admirable, the alaghi thought, but he will burn himself up if he cannot find balance.
Arbeenok turned from the soldier and examined the woman, Elenthia. She stared back at him with wide, frightened eyes. He understood her fear, too. Hers was far more defined. She was dying, and she knew it. "Try to relax," he told her.
Then Arbeenok began to sing.
The druid sang to the wind and the stars, to the earth somewhere below, calling to the natural soil that lay beneath the carefully aligned stones, down past the unnatural layer of the garden. He sang to the ocean that he could smell but could not see. He sang to them all, asking them to restore the balance in Elenthia, to cleanse her of the perverse disease that infested her.