Two switchbacks later, the spike clusters suddenly reappeared with a vengeance. Another tall spike, even longer and more elaborately carved than the first one, was set back fifteen meters from the path on a small hummock. Nestled around it were at least fifty other spikes, again of varying heights, again with no pattern of size or positioning she could see.
From that point on the spikes never went away. Tall ones, short ones, occasional huge ones—they were all over the place, set back from the path or running right up beside it.
Two more switchbacks, she decided as she once again changed direction. Two more switchbacks, and if she hadn’t found a pattern by then she would head over for a closer look.
“Impressive, aren’t they?”
Thalias jerked, nearly twisting her ankle as she spun around toward the voice. Set back ten meters from the latest curve in the path, beneath the gently waving branches of a group of trees, was a carved wooden bench. Seated at one end was an old man, his skin pale with age, his eyes unusually bright as he peered out of the shadows. His hands were folded together in front of him, resting on the top of a walking stick that was as elaborately carved as any of the spikes Thalias had seen. “Yes, they are,” she replied, her heart beating a little faster. The first person she’d seen since Thurfian disappeared…
He might have been reading her mind. “No, I’m not part of the Trials,” he said with an amused and rather conspiratorial smile. “They don’t know I’m even up here. Probably tearing their hair out looking for me. But I wanted to speak with you in private, and this seemed the best way to do it.”
“I’ve been here for two days,” Thalias reminded him, trying to get a clear view through the dappling of light through the tree leaves. She’d seen that face somewhere before.
“Oh, I know,” he said. “I’ve been watching you. But while it may have looked like you were alone, you never were. Not until they sent you up here.” He waved a hand around him. “Besides, there’s such a rich sense of Mitth history on this mountain. Makes it the best place to discuss the future of our family.” His waving hand stopped at the group of spikes Thalias had just been studying and extended a finger to point at the largest one. “What do you think?”
“I—don’t know,” Thalias stalled. He looked so familiar. “It’s impressive enough. But I don’t—”
“Impressive?” The old man gave a snort. “Hardly. He was a grandstander who always put his own glory above the family. At some point, you see, bringing in Trial-borns and turning them into cousins becomes less about the family’s needs and more about impressing those who are dazzled by mere numbers.”
“Yes, of course,” Thalias said, an electric jolt running through her as she realized what she was looking at. Someone of Mitth blood—a syndic, Councilor, or some other upper-level Aristocra—was memorialized here. The large spike, surrounded by the memorials of those he’d brought into the Mitth from other families.
And with a second jolt she finally recognized the old man facing her. “You’re Mitth’oor’akiord,” she breathed. “You’re the Patriarch.”
“Very good,” Thooraki said. “You paid attention to the row of simulatings along the grand hallway. Impressive.” He shrugged. “Sadly, that level of observation skill has nothing to do with the Trials, or you’d have just earned yourself extra points.”
“Thank you, Your Venerante,” Thalias said. “But honestly, I don’t think you’re the type to be dazzled by mere numbers.”
“Very good, my dear Thalias,” the Patriarch said, his smile broadening. “Indeed not. I search for quality and cleverness.” He cocked his head slightly. “Speaking of which, I was called away as you were starting the water-channel challenge and haven’t had a chance to review the recordings. Would you be so good as to enlighten me as to your solution?”
“It wasn’t that hard,” Thalias said. “The channel’s only about a meter deep, so I took two boards, placed their ends together in the middle of the channel, then pushed one board to the opposite side and lowered the other to my side. With the two of them angled up against the channel’s edges, I laid another board horizontally across them.”
“I don’t believe that would quite clear the water,” the Patriarch pointed out.
“No, Your Venerante, it didn’t,” Thalias agreed. “So I added two more angled boards, these set into the center of the horizontal, and placed one final horizontal across them.”
“Very nice,” the Patriarch said. “I remember one Trial-born who began as you did, but then simply laid more boards across the first horizontal until the stack was above the water level.”
Thalias felt her lip twitch. Focused on angles and engineering, that solution hadn’t even occurred to her.
“Equally effective, but not nearly as elegant,” the Patriarch added. “I’ve always liked elegance, and your records during your sky-walker years suggested you were of that frame of mind. Indeed, that was why I made the decision to bring you in.”
“You brought me into the Mitth? You yourself?”
“Why not?” he said. “Watching over the family also means watching for those who will make the family stronger.”
“I’m honored,” Thalias said, feeling a sudden stifling sense of her own shortcomings and inadequacies. “I can only hope I’ll someday be able to live up to your trust in me.”
“Someday?” He gave another snort. “Really, child. You’ve already repaid my trust many times over. Even now you stand guard between my greatest achievement and those determined to destroy him.”
“I don’t understand—” She broke off. “You mean…Thrawn?”
The Patriarch nodded. “Another whom I personally chose to join us.”
“Really,” Thalias said, frowning. “I thought it was General Ba’kif who pointed the Mitth to him.”
“And who do you think pointed Ba’kif?” the Patriarch countered. “Oh, yes. Labaki—that was his name back then—Labaki and I have known each other for a long time. I’m the one who told him about Thrawn and encouraged him to point that fool Thurfian toward him.”
He sighed. “I saw greatness in him, Thalias,” he said, his eyes and voice going distant. “Greatness, and skill, and loyalty. He will be my crowning, the memorial staff that will someday stand close beside my own.” He tapped his walking stick as his gaze clouded over. “If he survives.”
“I’ve seen him in battle, Your Venerante,” Thalias assured him. “He’ll survive.”
“You think I fear his loss in war?” The Patriarch shook his head. “No. Barring something unforeseen or uncontrollable, he’ll never taste more than temporary defeat. No, Thalias, the threat to him comes from within the Ascendancy. Possibly from within the family itself.” He beckoned to her. “Come. Sit beside me, if you would. I fear I have but little time left.”
Carefully, uncertainly, Thalias walked across the grass and eased herself onto the bench beside him. “What can I do for you?” she asked.
“You’re doing it,” he assured her. “You’re listening to me, as few others in the family do anymore. More important, you’re watching over Thrawn, working with him as an unflinching ally and assistant. Guarding him against his enemies.”
He waved out over the mountain. “The transfer of leadership from one Patriarch to the next is designed to run smoothly. Usually it does. But sometimes it belies that promise. Even as we speak, there are several who are preparing their challenges and arguments, maneuvering for the moment when my walking stick is handed over to the historians and carvers for the version that will stand in the soil of the homestead. Some of those see Thrawn as an asset to the Mitth. Others see nothing but threat and danger.” He shook his head. “If one of the latter ascends to the Patriarch’s Seat…” He left the sentence unfinished.