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“He’s mad,” Shion whispered, despite the moans and thrashing from his captive. “Take it away. Take it all away.”
Tasvir’s eyes bulged as he saw her. He tried to reach out with his stump to grab her, but there were not fingers to do the work. He shuddered with violent spasms, unable to break the iron grip of his captor. Phae stared into his bloodshot, maddened eyes. With her Dryad powers, she could steal memories of the last few moments or his entire life. All she needed was to look into his eyes.
She blinked.
Nothing happened.
A cool, prickling sensation went through her bowels. It was unpleasant—almost painful. She had felt her mind grip his memories, but they were suddenly slippery. She swallowed and clutched her stomach.
“Try again,” Shion said, nodding to her with determination.
She looked into Tasvir Virk’s eyes once more. The prickling sensation went deeper. She blinked again.
The magic took hold that time. In an instant, she had his memories, mostly dark and terrible and full of violence. She let them drain from her like sand.
All the fight went out of Tasvir Virk. He slumped, drool dribbling from his chin. His brows knit in concern, as if he were struggling to remember something, anything. Shion released him and stood straight, still wearing the mask of Annon’s face as his own. The smoking light had vanished from the Black Druidecht’s cudgel. Shion saw the club on the dirt, stepped over to it and picked it up with both hands. Then with a powerful downward thrust, he snapped it across his knee and tossed it aside.
The disguised Shion approached the Empress and dropped to one knee in front of her. Phae followed his example, also kneeling in front of her. Phae risked a glance, seeing a look of honor and tears of relief glittering in the Empress’s eyes. Murmurs of celebration began to rumble through the huge chamber. All around, the Boeotians were shaking their heads, as if some bad dream had been dispelled. They too dropped down to one knee, bowing their heads to her.
The Empress turned and found Tyrus standing by the boulder, staring at it with grim respect.
“You defeated the stone carving,” the Empress said in a hushed voice.
“No,” Tyrus replied. “I merely silenced it. When I placed the last stone over there, the whispers all went silent. You noticed it, didn’t you, for you wear a talisman.”
She nodded eagerly. “Those whispers . . . have been so difficult to keep out of my mind.”
Tyrus smiled grimly. “This kind of spirit is called a Greilich. They are dark ones banished from Mirrowen. Their whispers are very subtle. They tease you with peeks of wisdom. But the wisdom can spoil like fruit. You would do well to no longer listen to it.”
“So it is not banished?” the Empress asked.
Tyrus shook his head. “It takes some time and means to trap a spirit such as this. I do not have either at this point. But if you keep those stones in place, they will quiet it. The spirit is angry, I assure you. Never remove those stones. Its influence will wane now that it cannot communicate with those who live in the caves. The Greilich’s influence is best felt in the shadows.”
“Your Druidecht surprised me,” the Empress said. “I misjudged him.”
“Indeed,” Tyrus said with a smirk. But he did not explain to her what he had done.
Phae had the feeling she was staring at two masters of manipulation who had managed, just barely, to avert a disaster.
“It is said that even the philosopher cannot bear to endure a toothache. Words contain great wisdom, but it is only in the manifestation of these experiences that the wisdom settles into our bones and guides us to act. You see, the words printed here are but concepts. You must go through the experiences yourself.”
- Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
X
Paedrin studied the Empress as he dipped his fingers into the bowl of mashed grain and scooped it into his mouth. The flavor of the mush was interesting and heavily flavored with a variety of ground spices. It was nothing he had enjoyed in Kenatos, and he found the dried fruit and figs sweet and pleasant to the taste. The Empress offered a steaming dish of some sort of sliced cactus to Hettie, who wrinkled her nose slightly and motioned that she was full. The Empress served each of them herself, bringing an assortment of trays and offering varieties, explaining what it was first before setting the remains in the center of the circle for all to enjoy.
He was impressed with her attitude of service. There was no throne she ruled from. There were no courtiers or banners or vats of spiced wine. She lived amidst a legion of suffering souls, and yet she tended to each of Tyrus’s band personally, offering her thanks and gratitude one by one.
