38: THE EYE OF FIRE
Jorat Dominion, Quuros Empire. Three days since Jarith Milligreest chose option two
“So … are those wives still locked away?” Dorna asked. “Someone should go free them.”
“Don’t be lecherous,” Janel said. “I know it’s hard, but try. Also, trust me when I say they don’t need to be rescued.”
“And your third meeting with Teraeth confirms who Elana is,” Kihrin said, shaking his head. When Janel looked at him, he said, “Remember you said I kept calling you Elana in the Afterlife? That was the only Elana I could recall. Atrin Kandor’s wife: Elana Milligreest.”
“Milligreest?” Janel looked quite surprised.
“Yeah, after Kandor died, she went back to using her maiden name.” Kihrin paused, blinked, and then started rubbing his thumbs into his temples.
Apparently, the Goddess of Death had a mean streak so vicious it left Kihrin open-mouthed in awe. Thaena had taken two infamously mortal enemies—Atrin Kandor and Terindel the Black—and had reincarnated one of them as the other’s son.
That was just … mean.
And it didn’t even begin to explore the part where Atrin’s widow—Elana—had later married Terindel.
Yes, the same Terindel.
Kihrin found himself grateful he could watch that tangled knot from a safe distance. Well, mostly. Given his feelings about Janel, he couldn’t claim impartiality.
“Are you … all right?” Qown asked.
Kihrin looked up. “Sorry. I just, uh … I was just thinking about how Janel also has a ‘type.’” Teraeth and his father, Terindel, both possessed a certain resemblance, after all. Just like Terindel probably resembled his father—Mithros.
“Oh, that’s true,” Dorna said. “I never really noticed before, but you’re a damn close match to Oreth’s coloring, aren’t you? I mean, not the eyes, but … everything else.”
“No,” Kihrin said. “That’s not what I—” He pressed his lips together and looked over at Janel. “Seriously?”
Janel raised her hands helplessly. “Similar, yes, but I like you a lot better than him.” She shifted uncomfortably before she turned to Qown. “Would you mind? Please?”
“Not even slightly,” Qown said.
Qown’s Turn. The Ice Demesne, Yor, Quur.
Brother Qown waited in the library, staring at the agate sitting in its box. Its raw edges glittered, light flickering over them as though he held the stone before a fire.
Relos Var walked back inside the room. He carried a stack of books, ink, brushes, and probably an inkstone—which he dumped on the table.
Qown frowned. “Why will I need this?”
“You’ll see.” Relos Var pulled up a chair next to him and sat down. “Pick up the stone and concentrate on it. It may help to close your eyes.”
Brother Qown hesitated.
Relos Var just raised an eyebrow. “Second thoughts?”
Qown grimaced and picked up the stone.
And … it didn’t feel special. His arm didn’t burst into flame. He felt no strange energy flow through him. Nothing about it felt special at all. He held a normal, if exquisite, rock.
He closed his eyes and concentrated.
“Now I want you to picture a fire. There’s one burning in the fireplace in this room.”
Brother Qown did.
He felt a rushing sensation and found himself standing near the end of the table, looking at Relos Var sitting next to … himself. All the colors looked wrong. Brother Qown appeared warm red, the table looked colder, and Relos Var shone with a great white-hot fire.
He gasped, dropped the stone, and opened his eyes.
“What—”
“Worldhearth, as you may have just surmised,” said Relos Var, “allows you to see clairvoyantly, using fire as the focus point. It takes time to master the ability and longer still to learn how to use it to spy on others. Yet since there is no fire in existence immune to divination, anyone—mortal or god—who is standing next to flame is vulnerable. The trick is finding them.”
“I thought you could use the Name of All Things to spy on people.”
“You’d think that, wouldn’t you? But the Name of All Things just answers questions. A powerful ability, but you must know the specific question to ask. The answers too will be literal. If I asked if you had eaten this morning, it would provide a yes-or-no answer. That isn’t helpful if what I should have asked is who ate breakfast with you. This is much more flexible in its use, or at least, has different restrictions.”
Brother Qown reached for the stone. “I see. And I assume you want me to write down what the people I spy on say to each other.”
“As well as any other details you think are pertinent. I know you’re more than up for the task. You have always had a keen eye for detail.”
Brother Qown nodded. It’s not like he had a choice, if he hoped to throw off the gaesh and help Janel. He looked at the stone again. “Do you have a list of ‘targets’?”
“Let’s not jump ahead. What I want you to do right now is concentrate on learning to use the stone. It can be tricky to find the person you’re looking for and difficult to find a person who is thousands of miles away. The stone will allow you to hop from one fire to the next, but it takes practice to master. Best you start now.” Relos Var paused. “I’ll have someone bring in some food for you and hot tea. You’ll also want to make yourself take regular breaks. It’s easy to become so caught up in the stone you forget what’s happening to your physical body.”
“Is that what happened to the last person who used this?” Brother Qown asked.
“In a sense,” Relos Var answered. “He used the stone while walking and stepped off a balcony. Took the duchess two weeks to find the stone in all the snow drifts.” He stood up from his seat and walked to the door. “That should be enough to get you started.”
“Wait, that’s it?” Brother Qown fought panic. “That’s all the instruction you’re going to give me?”
Relos Var paused at the door. “I’ve known you since you were a boy, Qown. You’ve always learned best when I let you figure things out for yourself. I’ll check in on you later to see how you’re coming along.”
Var had been clever not to explain how the stone worked. By forcing Qown to research the stone’s abilities for himself, Relos Var had ensured Qown wouldn’t have time to think about his situation. Qown latched onto that life raft with the enthusiasm of a man who had never been able to resist solving a mystery.
Worldhearth did indeed focus on fire, as Relos Var had explained. Clairvoyance played a part too, since Brother Qown could focus the stone on a fire he had seen before, say, a hanging brazier in the Temple of Khored in Atrine. But he couldn’t start with the hearth fires inside the Atrine palace, which he had never seen. However, once he had the hanging brazier in his sights, he could goat-leap to a nearby fire, and then the next, and the next, shifting directions as appropriate. He managed to find a candelabra in the dining room and from there make his way to an oven in the duke’s palace in Atrine.
Doing so, however, took him almost an entire day. When he tore himself away from the stone, his body was in total rebellion: hungry, thirsty, and in desperate need of a bathroom. Which he had known on some level; he’d just been too caught up in solving the problem to care.
The challenge proved to be discerning his scrying location quickly enough to jump to the next fire. He had no idea how, but if he wanted to find people within a reasonable time, he needed to become efficient at scanning for them.
When he next returned to practicing his scrying with Worldhearth, however, he saw something that made him stop cold.
Ninavis.
The former bandit leader sat next to a small coal brazier inside an azhock, warming her hands. She wore a hooded cloak and kept glancing over her shoulder at the soldiers.
Not just the Markreev’s people but also the duke’s men, all spread out in a search formation. They were moving from azhock to azhock as they hunted. Hoods were pulled back, hair swept away from eyes. They inspected each person, one by one. Eventually, they’d find the tent where Ninavis waited. Every few minutes, she put a hand on her bow, as if to remind herself it was strung and ready. She wasn’t going down without a fight.
The air smelled like fire from more than just the cooking pit, and the sky above the city looked like a dirty smudge.
Brother Qown didn’t recognize the other people inside the azhock, but they all wore red, presumably members of Mithros’s Red Spears. They held themselves with the tense air of soldiers waiting for the fight to start.
Then the ground began to shake.
Brother Qown didn’t know what the sound meant, but everyone reacted immediately. “Stampede!” someone shouted. People began running. Indeed, a large horse herd, gathered on the Green for the tournament, now ran in panic.
The azhock’s back panel moved, and Dorna stepped inside, holding a large bag hoisted over her shoulder. “There you are. Been looking for you.”
Brother Qown exhaled—she was alive. So Relos Var hadn’t been lying about Dorna at least.
“What are you doing here?” Ninavis snapped. “The Markreev promised he’d get you out of town.”
“I ain’t leaving without the rest of you. Besides, Mithros has a plan.” The old woman tossed a large bag down next to the fire. “Put that on right fast. Arasgon and Talaras can only keep the horses riled up for so long before another fireblood settles ’em back down again.”
“They’re arresting any Marakori they find, Dorna, and they have my description. What can you do about—” But she stopped talking as she finished opening the bag and pulled out Mithros’s black enameled helmet, armor, and raven feather cloak.
The Black Knight’s costume.
“Mithros swears it will fit you. He changed it up special. Now hurry.”
Brother Qown turned away as Ninavis stripped off her clothing. He instead watched Dorna wander about the tent. The old woman seemed healthy enough. She nodded to the Red Spears who hadn’t left to watch the stampede. While she walked, a variety of small, valuable items disappeared into her skirts, but never when anyone but Brother Qown was paying attention.
“Help me with this cloak, please,” Ninavis said.
The black armor hid her general size and gender, with sinister-looking pauldrons and a chest plate whose ornate design obscured her bosom.
A horse whinnied from outside; Brother Qown saw Arasgon’s red tiger-striped legs at the entrance to the tent.
“We’re almost done!” Dorna shouted. She lifted the raven-feather cloak over Ninavis’s shoulders. “Arasgon’s ready for you. You head to Khored’s Temple. The others are already there. Mithros will smuggle you out of the city.”
“What about you? The duke’s not going to just let you stroll away…”
The old woman waved a hand. “Oh sure. Rise from the dead before a couple of nobles and they label you witch before you can fill your lungs. Don’t you worry about me. I’ll meet up with you in the caves.” Noises interrupted them: soldiers returning, horses trotting back to their corrals. “Hurry now. They’re expecting you.”
“Who are?” Ninavis asked.
“Your army.” Dorna wagged a finger. “Best not keep them waiting.”