CHAPTER 11 
CHAPTER 11 By the time Ferrin, Aram, and Jason had stashed their horses in the woods below the ruined castle of the Blind King, night had fallen. The glow of the waning moon provided the only light as they surveyed the silent hilltop.
“Very quiet,” Ferrin whispered, eyes intent on the dark castle from his crouched position behind a bush. “Almost looks abandoned.”
“They may be asleep,” Aram said.
“Something’s different,” Jason murmured, his gaze gliding from the crumbling walls to the single tall tower. “I know. There used to be two towers. One that looked ready to collapse. I guess it did.”
“Fortaim is in worse repair than on my last visit,” Ferrin agreed. “Shameful, really. The stronghold was once formidable.”
Staring at the dark windows, Jason bit his lower lip. If imperial troops had beaten them here, Galloran might already have been taken. Or worse. Trying to keep his composure, Jason told himself that they had no actual information yet. Hopefully, there was another explanation.
“Could this be a trap?” Aram asked.
“We’re being hunted,” Ferrin said. “Our enemies could have anticipated this destination, particularly if the lurker is still aiding them.”
“I haven’t noticed the lurker,” Jason said.
“That doesn’t mean it hasn’t been watching,” Ferrin said. “No spy is more stealthy. Then again, it had you in an excellent trap back at the ferry. It might have assumed victory and departed.”
Ever since sunrise, Ferrin had led them across lonely terrain, passing monstrous oklinder bushes and groves of tall, slender trees. They had glimpsed no other people, friend or foe. Ferrin had allowed only a few short breaks to rest and eat some of the greasy clam fritters prepared by Moira. Aram had acted a little sulky all day, but at sundown his attitude had improved with the return of his intimidating size.
“Do we go in?” Jason asked. They had been watching for several minutes.
Ferrin gave a nod. “I have a plan. If this proves to be an ambush, Aram will kill everyone. And their horses.”
“I love strategy,” the big man replied.
“Where does the Blind King sleep?” Ferrin asked.
“At the top of the tower,” Jason said.
Ferrin stared, as if trying to visually penetrate the castle walls. “If this is an ambush, it’s masterful. I haven’t seen a sentry. I haven’t glimpsed a flame or smelled any smoke. I haven’t heard a horse so much as snort.”
“No coughs,” Aram added. “No conversation. No footfalls.”
“Let’s have a look,” Ferrin said. “Stay ready to run.”
The trio slunk forward to a place where the wall had crumbled inward. After listening for a moment, Ferrin gestured for Aram and Jason to wait. Flitting from shadow to shadow, he explored the courtyard, passing out of view. After a few minutes, he returned and waved them in.
Jason and Aram caught up to Ferrin beside a mossy stone block. The displacer was examining a dented helmet. “This belonged to a conscriptor. It hasn’t been here long.”
Rubble from the fallen tower was strewn across the moonlit courtyard. Several wide, shallow depressions cratered the yard. Moving cautiously, Ferrin squatted beside a blackened pit and sniffed. “Orantium,” he murmured. “The explosion was recent.”
Jason felt deflated. This was starting to look really bad for the Blind King. He tried to detach from his emotions, but could not help quietly despairing.
Picking their way through the jumbled stones and timbers left by the toppled tower, Ferrin paused to indicate a dusty arm protruding from the rubble. Farther along, near the gates of the great hall adjoining the only remaining tower, they found a corpse pierced by arrows.
Jason recognized her. “She served the Blind King. She was part of the crazy group making up stories in the throne room.” Despite the rising nausea, he kept his voice steady.
“Imperial troops only leave enemy corpses behind as a mark of disdain,” Ferrin said. “They want the populace to view Fortaim as a monument of shame. I’m afraid the castle is vacant. The troops appear to have moved on.”
“Shouldn’t we check his room?” Jason asked. “He might have left a message.”
“We’ve come this far,” Ferrin said.
The door to the largest, most intact building hung askew on twisted hinges. Inside the great hall, they found the shabby throne overturned and the floor pitted from more orantium detonations. In a corner, Aram spotted a dead hound. Jason noticed dark smears of dried blood on the floor. A broken sword lay near the door granting access to the tower.
Mounting the winding stairs up the tower, they encountered a second cadaver on a landing. “He also served the Blind King,” Jason confirmed, examining the mustached face, struggling to keep his emotions clinical.
At the top of the gloomy stairwell, the door had been forced open. Inside the room, a dark, spindly figure crouched on the windowsill, backlit by the moon.
“Who goes there?” Ferrin challenged, drawing his sword.
“I was here first,” the figure countered, twisting and coiling as if prepared to leap to his doom. “Who are you?”
“Travelers,” Ferrin said. “We seek the Blind King.”
“Poor timing,” the figure replied, voice anguished.
“What happened here?” Aram asked.
“Did a crow peck out your eyes?” the figure cackled. “There was a massacre.”
Jason resisted a vision of Galloran dead alongside the rest of his servants. Stepping around Ferrin, he stared hard at the lanky figure. “Your voice is familiar.”
“Jason?” the figure replied doubtfully, his posture changing. “Is that you?”
“Ned?” Jason gasped. “What are you doing here?”
Ned’s posture relaxed a degree. “I found him,” he said softly. “After all these years, I found him. But I may have lost him again.”
“We’re looking for him too,” Jason said.
Ned’s feet came down from the windowsill. He closed the shutters, then twisted a short length of seaweed, which began to emit a purplish glow.
By the violet light, Jason recognized the strange freckled man who had aided him and Rachel months ago in a seaside village. Then, he had worn a sack with holes cut for his arms and head. Now he wore a soiled shirt and trousers. He remained tall and gangly, with disheveled hair. A long knife hung from his belt, as did several pouches. He still wore a glove on one hand.
The luminescent seaweed also revealed a pale corpse on the floor: a wiry old man with a long ragged beard, lying supine. Jugard, from the sea cave.
Jason closed his eyes for a moment. When would this parade of familiar corpses end? Opening his eyes, Jason considered the body once more. It was unmistakably the wily old man from the sea cave.
“That light might be visible from below,” Ferrin hissed.
Ned muted the seaweed under his shirt, then glided sideways on the balls of his feet, moving in a slight crouch, as if ready to bolt. “All the windows are shuttered,” he replied. “They work, I’ve checked.”
Ferrin, flanked by Aram and Jason, came farther into the room.
“Why is Jugard here?” Jason asked.
“I was sent to fetch him from the sea cave.”
“By the Blind King?”
“Who else would I obey?”
“How’d he die?”
“He was a corpse when I found him in the sea cave,” Ned claimed. “It didn’t seem right to leave him there. He’d been stabbed in the back. A lot.”
Jason gritted his teeth. “Who did it?”
“No friend of ours.”
Jason scowled. “How’d you get past the crab?”
“Didn’t. I scaled the cliff with Jugard on my shoulders.”
“Climbed a cliff with a corpse in tow?” Aram challenged. “I’m not sure even I could manage that.”
“I never claimed you could,” Ned muttered.
Ned seemed tense, jittery. Then again, he had always behaved oddly. Ned had given help in the past, but Jason questioned how much to trust him. “You work for the Blind King?”
“Not when I first met you,” Ned explained. “I do now. You and Rachel left a trail. I backtracked and found my former master. I hadn’t seen him in years.” His voice had an edge that suggested he was about to burst into either hysterical cackles or uncontrollable sobs. “Who are your new companions?”
“Ferrin and Aram.”
“Are they trustworthy? Loyal to our cause?”
“I think so.”
Ned dipped his head. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Nedwin, the Blind King’s new squire. And also his former squire.” He interlocked his long fingers and rapidly twiddled his thumbs. His unsettling smile showed crooked teeth in the muted purple light.
“Did Tark make it here?” Jason asked.
“Three days ago, filthy and half starved.”
“He delivered my message?”
“That was why I was dispatched to retrieve Jugard.”
“You returned tonight?”
“Shortly before you three came blundering through the courtyard.”
“Blundering?” Ferrin repeated, mildly offended.
“Noisily and sloppily. Mostly the big one, subtle as a church bell rolling down a stairway. You didn’t appear imperial, so I allowed you to find me.”
“And your backup plan was to leap from the tower window?” Aram asked.
“Maybe,” Ned said, one eye twitching.
“He wouldn’t have fallen,” Jason said. “He can climb like a spider. Ned, do you think the Blind King was captured?”
“I hope not. Sightless or not, he’s sly. He always has an escape planned. Those who assaulted Fortaim probably paid sorely for the lives they claimed. The crooked tower was rigged to collapse, and he maintained an impressive stockpile of orantium.”
“We noticed the damage,” Aram said. “That much orantium would have been worth a fortune.”
“Irreplaceable,” Ned agreed.
“Do you know where he might be, Ned?” Jason asked.
“I prefer to be called ‘Nedwin.’ It evokes happier times.” Nedwin motioned Jason toward him. “A private word?”
Jason glanced at Ferrin and Aram. They shrugged.
Jason walked over to Nedwin, who leaned in close and whispered softly, “You’re really with these two?”
“Yeah,” Jason whispered back.
“If you’re in trouble, I can get us out of here.”
“I’m good.”
“All right. If you’re sure.” Nedwin straightened up to his full height, nearly half a head taller than Jason, though unimpressive when measured against Aram. “This room is smaller than it should be,” he announced.
“What?” Jason asked.
Nedwin turned, gesturing. “After viewing the tower from without, the observer would expect more space over here. Instead we have a premature wall.”
“Secret passage?” Ferrin asked.
Nedwin was already running his palms over the snugly mortared blocks. Behind a tapestry, he found a trigger that opened a small door constructed to blend with the masonry of the wall. “This way.”
Nedwin turned and dragged Jugard’s body into the secret space, leaving him on his back against the far wall. The others followed Nedwin into a cramped hall almost too low and narrow for Aram. Nedwin closed the hidden door and then removed the glowing seaweed from his shirt. He led the way, and Aram brought up the rear, moving in an awkward, sideways crouch. Curving around the perimeter of the round room, the claustrophobic hall became a narrow stairway that spiraled down directly below the regular stairwell.
They descended until emerging into musty tunnels in the bowels of the castle. Jason heard rats chittering and scampering beyond the violet glow of the seaweed. Nedwin navigated down several passageways, doubling back from empty rooms, dead ends, and collapsed corridors. At last they reached a cluttered storeroom.
“Ah,” Nedwin said. “Feel the draft?”
“Now that you mention it,” Aram said, licking a finger and holding it up.
Nedwin’s freckled hand glided over the surface of a bare wall. Before long he tripped a mechanism that revealed a secret closet. On the floor of the closet awaited a trapdoor. Nedwin crouched and opened it.
“Who trespasses here?” inquired a gruff voice from the darkness below.
“Nedwin and Lord Jason,” Nedwin answered. “Accompanied by two friends.”
“You may pass.” The dark hole filled with light. Jason judged that it was a twenty-foot drop. Buttressed by heavy beams, the dirt walls and floor beyond the trapdoor lacked the masonry of the finished corridors above.
Nedwin signaled for Jason to descend a rope ladder. Jason had some trouble getting started, backing hesitantly through the trapdoor, but climbed down easily once his hands and feet found purchase. Ferrin and Aram came after, and finally Nedwin, who closed the trapdoor and sped down the ladder, dropping the final eight feet.
The voice down the hole had belonged to the gatekeeper who had first admitted Jason to the ruined castle of the Blind King. Laying aside a crossbow and a halberd, he greeted Jason heartily, then turned a wary eye to Ferrin and Aram.
“Who are these two?”
“Ferrin and Aram,” Jason answered. “My friends. I wouldn’t be alive without their help.”
“I’m Vernon,” the gatekeeper said.
“We must consult with His Majesty,” Nedwin said.
“Follow me,” Vernon said, leading them along the subterranean passage.
“Is Tark here?” Aram asked.
“Yes,” Vernon said. “Would you like to see him?”
“A superb idea,” Nedwin interjected. “Vernon, see that Ferrin and Aram get to greet Tark after you deliver us to the king.”
Vernon stopped at a sturdy door built into a crudely excavated wall of natural dirt and stone. As he lifted a fist to knock, the portal opened. There stood the Blind King, his hair and beard long and gray, a dingy rag binding his eyes, a grimy robe hanging from his broad shoulders.
Before Jason had last met the Blind King, he had never heard the name Galloran. As a newcomer to Lyrian, he’d failed to grasp the significance of the grubby king’s secret identity. He hadn’t known how many still reverenced him as the greatest hero in Lyrian. Without any flashy pretense, here stood the true heir to Trensicourt, the strongest human kingdom not directly controlled by Maldor. Jason felt honored and relieved to be back in his presence.
“Did I hear Nedwin?” Galloran rasped with his damaged voice.
“And Lord Jason,” Nedwin said.
The king’s mouth spread into a wide grin, forming deep creases in the whiskerless skin around his eyes and cheeks. “Is that so?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Jason said. “Along with two new friends.”
“Wonderful, come inside.” Galloran backed away from the door.
“You may want to first talk with Jason and me in private,” Nedwin suggested. “His friends are anxious to greet Tark.”
“By all means, go find him,” the king grated.
Jason shared a glance with Ferrin. He could sense that the displacer resented Nedwin not wanting him in the room. Vernon closed the door, leaving Jason and Nedwin with Galloran.
Dorsio, a slender man with a shiny scar down the side of his face, sat unobtrusively in one corner. Jason knew that Dorsio, unable to speak, communicated with Galloran through touch and a system of snaps and claps.
The underground chamber was more storage room than sitting room, but had a cot, a wooden bench, a table, and a couple of chairs. The rest of the space was taken up by stacked barrels, crates, and sacks. Galloran sat on the cot, motioning for the others to sit on the bench.
“You two are well?” Galloran asked.
“Yes,” they both responded.
“What of Jugard?” Galloran asked.
“I found his corpse,” Nedwin replied. “He was stabbed to death no more than a day before my arrival.” Jason noticed that Nedwin suddenly seemed calmer and more coherent.
Galloran pounded a fist against his palm. “I feared as much. Jason unraveled the deception, and word of the false quest is now spreading, so Maldor is retaliating with violence. Did you have to slip past soldiers to get in here?”
“No,” Nedwin said. “They’ve abandoned Fortaim.”
“Then it was recently,” Galloran said. “They’ve been scouring the area for the past two days, trying to figure out how we slipped away. The time to act is upon us. Perhaps we can still save some of the other guardians: Trivett, Malar, the Pythoness and …” The king paused, unable to continue.
“Corinne,” Nedwin supplied.
Galloran nodded silently, his chin briefly trembling with emotion. “How could I have forgotten her for so long?” he rasped softly.
“What matters is that you have remembered.”
“You have your memories back?” Jason asked.
“Many of them, thanks to Nedwin.”
“I’ve been giving him small doses of a peculiar variety of snake venom,” Nedwin explained. “Comes from a canopy cobra, a furtive species found high in the trees. I’ve spent the last few years collecting rare specimens from the southern jungle. Too solitary and dangerous a job for most, but perfect for a man with keen senses and a defective personality. The right plant extract or spider poison can fetch a princely sum.”
“The cobra venom is sometimes employed by Maldor to extract information,” Galloran added.
“They used it on me!” Jason said. “Blue and purple snake?”
Nedwin bobbed his head. “That’s the one. I routinely kept some of the more interesting samples I gathered.” He patted the pouches at his belt. “I recalled how the canopy cobras were used inside of Felrook. When I captured one in the jungle, I milked a vial for my own use.”
“Nedwin talks to me about my past while administering doses of varying strengths,” Galloran said. “After the effect of the venom wanes, he reminds me of all we discussed, adding details that he personally recalls. In a matter of weeks, most of my mental barriers have been torn down.”
“You mentioned Corinne,” Jason prompted.
“Yes.” Anxiety colored his words. “You must have met her.”
“I did,” Jason said. “I can’t remember her directly. The weird round mushrooms in her tree blocked our memories. But she was alive. The Pythoness was Corinne’s mother, right?”
“The Pythoness was her great-aunt,” Galloran said. “Inside the tree, she raised Corinne as her own. Outside of the tree, Corinne understood the reality of the relationship.”
“We promised Corinne we’d return if we found the Word.”
“It may be too late,” Galloran said, striving to sound detached. “Jugard’s death proves that Maldor is moving against the syllable guardians. Thanks to protective spells woven into their sanctuaries, the emperor can’t use magic against them, nor can he send wizardborn races like displacers or manglers. But I’m not sure much besides secrecy ever guarded them from simple human assassins. The thought of Maldor sending troops to harm her …” Veins stood out on the back of his fists.
“It sounds like you know Corinne well,” Jason said, trying to fill the silence.
“She is my daughter,” Galloran answered, his voice hollow. “My last living child.”
“What?” Jason exclaimed.
“Maldor went to great lengths to target the royal family of Trensicourt. He slew my brothers, my son, my wife. In her youth, I hid Corinne with her great-aunt for her protection. After all these years, that decision may have fatally exposed her.”
“We’ll rescue her,” Nedwin vowed. “We’ll hurriedly recover all the remaining guardians.”
“We needn’t fret for the Prophetess of Mianamon,” Galloran said. “She has enough protection until Maldor triumphs in the east. And I do not expect Maldor would target the loremaster Bridonus, given his attitude and connections.”
“He’s Copernum’s father,” Jason remembered.
“And Damak’s son,” Nedwin added.
“Damak?” Jason said. “The torture guy?”
“Bridonus lacks their ruthlessness, but he is essentially a puppet of the emperor,” Galloran said. “The three other remaining guardians must be rescued.”
“I’ll see to it,” Nedwin said.
Galloran nodded slowly, placing his palms together at his lips. “Trivett on the Isle of Weir will be the hardest to reach. Perhaps we’ll dispatch Vernon.”
“Have you heard anything about Rachel?” Jason asked, internally crossing his fingers.
“Tark related how he left her with Drake,” Galloran said. “He is a seedman of no small reputation, though by my day he had already withdrawn from the rebellion against Maldor. I have heard no tidings regarding Rachel, but if Drake meant to disappear with her into the wilderness, the lack of information is encouraging.”
“I have to find her,” Jason said.
“We’ll make every effort,” Galloran promised. “Nedwin, have you anything else to report?”
“Not at present, sire. You’ll want to interview the men Jason brought.”
“Naturally. Begin preparations for us to depart in the morning. We will all require horses. I wish to converse with Lord Jason in private.”
“Certainly, sire.” Nedwin rose and exited the room.
“I never expected to see Ned again,” Jason said once the door had closed. “When I first met him, he took my knife and threatened me.”
“He related your first encounter,” Galloran said. “Nedwin is doing his best to cope with deep scars.”
“He used to be your servant?” Jason asked.
“My squire. When I was blinded and captured by the conscriptor Grollis, Nedwin was apprehended as well. He was a bright, sensitive young man with enormous potential. That was about fourteen years ago. After six years of torture I was released—a blind, enfeebled mockery of my former self. During the first few years of my incarceration, I was near Nedwin on occasion. He had an unconquerable will and remained fiercely loyal to me even after I was reduced to a babbling wretch. Because of his strength, the tormentors pushed the limits with Nedwin, experimenting with untried toxins and procedures.
“After I was released, I assumed Nedwin had perished. His fate remained a mystery until he located me by following your trail. I’ve learned that he remained imprisoned more than five years longer than I, enduring excruciating reconditioning the entire time. When he first arrived here, wearing only a coarse sack and a glove, he seemed beyond the brink of madness. But in a short while he has come a long way. Once he was the clever and articulate younger brother of the Earl of Geer. Maldor’s tormentors shattered him, deformed his mind, but he is battling his way back toward sanity. Never have I witnessed a more valiant spirit.”
“I had no idea,” Jason said.
Galloran rubbed the side of his cot. “I know firsthand how thoroughly the tormentors can annihilate a person. Even disregarding my eyes, I do not yet feel like the man I was. It has been an arduous process of long, anonymous years, gradually overcoming fears and frailties to reassemble my identity. My memories regarding the Word were the hardest to recapture, though I’ve finally enjoyed major breakthroughs of late.” Galloran sniffed, adjusting his blindfold. “The time to reconstruct myself has now passed. The hour to act has arrived. Do you intend to continue with us in this cause?”
Galloran sighed. “Difficult times have befallen us. You’ve already endured many hardships.”
“I’m lucky to be alive.”
“Luck only carries any of us so far. You’ve achieved much more than mere luck would allow. You’ve made smart choices, forged strategic relationships. Tell me about when you used the Word. Are you certain you said it to Maldor in person?”
“Yes,” Jason said. “He didn’t know I had the whole thing, so he admitted me to his throne room with a big crowd there. The Word vanished from my mind when I spoke it, but it didn’t bother Maldor. He later explained that it was actually the Word to destroy some other wizard named Orruck.”
“Orruck?” Galloran repeated, stroking his beard. “Intriguing.”
“Maldor told me that years ago you spoke the Word to him in person. Since you were blind, he pretended you were talking to a decoy.”
Galloran steepled his fingers. “I only recently remembered that episode with help from Nedwin. So I was actually in the presence of the emperor.” A small, sad smile appeared on his lips. “He is a truly gifted liar. Thank you for the vital knowledge that the Word itself is fraudulent. It sickens me to consider how much time and effort has been misdirected. The knowledge you sent with Tark taught me that I remain capable of outrage. As soon as I learned of the elaborate deception, I sent Nedwin to retrieve Jugard from his pointless guardianship, and then I began concocting a plan.”
“Can you tell me?”
“It continues to evolve, but centers on uniting all who continue to oppose Maldor in a desperate gambit. It was a course of action I considered long ago, but Kadara still imagined itself untouchable, and too many kingdoms denied the urgency of the situation, preferring to pretend they could somehow appease Maldor and avoid war, so I elected to hunt the Word instead. Hopefully, it is not too late to atone for my folly.”
“I’ll help if I can,” Jason said.
“That would be most appreciated,” Galloran said. “Tark told me that you escaped from Felrook. How did you manage such a feat?”
“A displacer rescued me and then forced me to return to the Beyond.”
“A displacer?”
“Yeah. When I first arrived here, I had no idea that displacers served Maldor. A displacer befriended me and Rachel to observe our actions, but we sent him away once we learned he worked for the emperor. He must have taken some genuine interest in me, because he smuggled me out of Felrook after the Word failed against Maldor and I was captured.”
“He returned you to the Beyond?”
“Yes, using a gateway near Felrook. He only released me from Felrook on the condition that I would go directly home. Despite my promise, I tried to escape, so I could warn you that the Word is a fraud. But he overpowered me and sent me away.”
“And you came back to Lyrian?” Galloran said in disbelief.
“Believe it or not, I came through the same hippopotamus that brought me here the first time. Jumped into the tank on purpose. I wanted to keep others from wasting their time pursuing the Word. And I couldn’t just ditch Rachel.”
Galloran smiled. “Truly, you are possessed by that species of madness that begets heroism. You have performed an invaluable service. Tell me about your new companions.”
“One is a mercenary named Aram.”
“Aram the smuggler? A mountainous man?”
“I know of him. He has never displayed any willingness to resist the emperor. How did you retain his services?”
“Tark recommended him to me, then I got in good with his mother, and she convinced him. I’m not sure whether he’s fully committed yet. He’s getting there. You should see him fight!”
“That might prove difficult.”
“Whoops, I meant—”
“I’m jesting. Who is the other?”
“Ferrin the displacer.”
Even with most of his face concealed behind a blindfold and a beard, Galloran looked alarmed. “He has a deadly reputation. A foe most devious and capable. Young for a displacer, he was just rising to prominence back when I was completing the Word. My sources have followed his career. If his character were less capricious and his methods more orthodox, he would already be a candidate to lead the displacers. This is the displacer who freed you?”
“Yes. According to him, Maldor discovered his participation in my rescue, and he now wants to join our side.”
“How convinced are you of his sincerity?”
“Not completely certain. He’s been really helpful so far. And he’s already passed up a bunch of chances to betray me. Without his help, I doubt I’d be here.”
Galloran took a deep breath. “Giving him our trust could prove ruinous. I’ve learned never to underestimate the deceptive abilities of our enemies. Malar is the only displacer I’ve ever met who truly joined our cause, though plenty have pretended. Summon your new comrades, and we’ll see what I can discern.”
As Jason rose from the bench, Dorsio crossed the room and opened the door. Down the hall, Aram and Ferrin stood conversing with Tark. When the short musician saw Jason, he broke off the conversation and sprinted down the passageway. “Lord Jason!” he cried. “I’m sorry I was unable to meet you at Potsug.” He looked distressed.
“It worked out,” Jason said. “You recommended a good bodyguard.”
“All they wanted was you. Our enemies, I mean. Soon after you left me, a group of soldiers began hunting me in earnest, ready to dispose of me after I had led them to their true quarry. It was quite a chase. I killed a few of them. It took me longer than I had anticipated to work my way here.”
“I’m glad you made it. I was worried about you.”
Tark beamed, then scowled. “The evening I arrived, the castle came under assault. I feel like a token of foul luck. All around me suffer.”
“It had to be the information you carried,” Jason said. “They must have found out what I told you.”
“I revealed nothing until I arrived here!” Tark swore.
“They may have guessed. Maldor knows what secrets I carry. Or the lurker could have overheard us.” Jason turned to Aram and Ferrin. “Galloran wants to talk to all of us.”
“Galloran is here?” Tark exclaimed.
“He didn’t tell you?” Jason said. “Come with us.”
The four of them entered the room with Galloran. Dorsio closed the door, remaining inside.
“Do you mind if Tark joins us?” Jason asked.
“Not at all,” Galloran said.
Jason sat on a chair off to the side. Ferrin, Aram, and Tark sat on the bench.
“You’re Galloran?” Tark asked in awe.
The Blind King snorted. “Is this becoming common knowledge?”
“I know how you feel,” grumbled Aram.
“Ferrin deduced it long before we got here,” Jason said.
“Ah, yes, the master spy,” Galloran said. “I have heard frightening reports about you from my sources.”
“Likewise,” Ferrin said.
Galloran chuckled. “I’m sure the gossip about me was terrifying. Were you warned that I was a blind pauper serving as an arbiter in a ruined castle?”
“You’ve only been lionized into the greatest hero of our time,” Ferrin responded. “I expect the reputation is well deserved.”
Galloran appeared thoughtful. “An inflated reputation can be useful when inciting a revolution. Aram, am I to understand you have enlisted in our cause?”
The others all looked to the big man. He swallowed. “Do we have a chance of success?”
Galloran crinkled his brow pensively. “A succinct and important question. The situation is dire. Our first order of business will be to investigate our assets. Without some key alliances, we have no chance. Even if we manage to unite the remaining free citizens of Lyrian, it may be too little, too late. But this effort will certainly represent our last opportunity to prevent an age of tyranny that will endure for many generations. I will not give up the cause until I am sure we cannot prevail.”
“Then I will join you until the cause proves unwinnable,” Aram said.
“You’re a mercenary. I have little to offer you at present. Should we succeed, you will receive a barony.”
“You’d make a fine baron,” Tark encouraged.
Smirking self-consciously, the big man looked around the small, dusty room. “We can discuss payment once you’ve been restored to your throne.”
“Fair enough.”
Aram cleared his throat. “I may as well tell you, since the secret is out: I’m half giant. My usefulness fades each morning at sunrise and does not recommence until dusk.”
“Half giant?” Galloran said. “How did you come to be?”
Tark gaped at Aram in astonishment.
“My mother is human; my father, a giant.”
“No magic?”
“Just nature.”
“Fascinating. Welcome, Aram.” Galloran turned his head, as if looking at Ferrin. “Back to the matter of the famed Ferrin, son of Baldor. Am I to believe you honestly mean to join our rebellion?”
“I do,” Ferrin replied. His voice and expression seemed relaxed, but Jason sensed a nervous tension underneath.
“You desire this alliance because your impulsive rescue of Lord Jason offended Maldor?”
“And he must know I’ve learned about the fraudulent Word,” Ferrin added. “Maldor has irrevocably become my enemy.”
Galloran frowned. “A common enemy is not necessarily a reliable basis for friendship.”
“The circumstances have compelled me to take a step I have long contemplated. Even when I served him, I quietly yearned to see the emperor overthrown.”
“You did not believe it was possible,” Galloran said flatly.
“I still have my doubts, but I’m willing to try. I know much that could be of service.”
“Undoubtedly. How can I know you will not betray us?”
“I could give you my word.”
“You’re a displacer! Your people have sworn fealty to Maldor. You have personally vowed to defend and uphold his rule. Your presence here makes you a traitor to your kind and an oath breaker to your liege. A tarnished word is of little value.”
Ferrin had grown rigid. “Your honor is renowned, and you’re right that mine is blemished. Perhaps the truest pledge I can offer is that I understand how the emperor functions.”
“Do you?”
“Maldor never forgives treachery. Especially from a steward of my rank. Regardless of how substantially I might aid him in the future by subverting your efforts, I know I can never regain his confidence. He would gladly reap the reward of any betrayal I enacted, but regardless of any good I do for him, death and worse await if ever I come within his reach.”
“You speak the truth. But do you realize it?”
“Maldor is my eternal enemy, because no matter what I do, I am his.”
Galloran leaned forward. “But what if Maldor already forgave your indiscretion? Or even planned it? What if you are not a fugitive as you claim? What if this is an elaborate scheme?”
All eyes regarded Ferrin.
“Has the emperor orchestrated more subtle and complicated intrigues than you are describing? Absolutely. But if I were a spy, I would not know my trade had I waited until now to act. An hour ago, while exploring Fortaim, I had enough distance between myself and my comrades to easily slip away and lead an army to your doorstep.”
“The emperor is patient,” Galloran replied. “The emperor treasures information. The emperor might want to investigate how far our budding conspiracy reaches. He might want to root out everyone involved, not just snatch Jason or me. I have some well-placed sources, and I have heard nothing about a manhunt for you, Ferrin. Not a word about your defection.”
Ferrin shook his head. “If it could be avoided, Maldor would never announce that a high-ranking displacer had betrayed his cause. He has kept the search for me quiet. But keep your ears open. After my treasonous activities early this morning, in front of imperial witnesses, my defection will become common knowledge. I’ll be nearly as wanted as Jason.”
“What about the betrayal of your people?” Galloran wondered. “The displacers are well acquainted with the price of failure in wartime. If Maldor falls, the displacers fall with him. You can live with that?”
“I detest the idea of hindering my kind,” Ferrin admitted. “We’ve dealt with more than our rightful share of persecution. But displacers are already doomed. Fearful of natural humans losing dominance, all of the wizards who founded races included safeguards to limit breeding. As you’re aware, when displacers were first created, the odds of having a male child were five times greater than a female. That disparity has increased over time. Today not even one in thirty displacers born is female. Yes, our race lives longer than regular humans, but our ultimate fate is sealed. We were condemned by our founder. We’ll cease to exist within three or four generations.”
“So why not rise up against the apprentice of your founder?” Galloran summarized skeptically. “Punish him for the sins of his master?”
“It wouldn’t have been my first choice,” Ferrin said frankly. “However deranged Zokar may have been, or how oppressive Maldor could prove, at least they were on our side. They didn’t hunt us. They never openly despised us. Not as a people. My personal story is different. I’m being hunted by Maldor. I’ve earned his enmity. In return, he has earned mine. I wouldn’t be here if not for extenuating circumstances. But I’m at peace with my decision. I am wholeheartedly committed. I would be happy to do whatever you’d like to prove myself.”
Galloran let a pregnant silence draw out. All eyes watched him intently. “Two requirements. First, you will take credit for all the harm we do as we make our way across Lyrian. ‘Ferrin, son of Baldor, was here.’ You get the idea.”
“Make my betrayal public knowledge. Defy Maldor openly to ensure that he could never take me back.”
Galloran nodded. “And I will need you to detach a small segment from your neck. The divot must include part of your carotid artery. Dorsio will keep it safe.”
Ferrin grinned darkly. “You could use the piece of my neck to poison me at will. If I choose to let go of the connection, I bleed to death.”
“I harbor hope that you are sincere,” Galloran said. “If I didn’t, I would execute you. Tonight we stand at the outset of the last serious rebellion against the emperor. At present it is desperately fragile, little more than an idea. Without great care and effort, it will amount to nothing. I would welcome your help, Ferrin, but I will not risk treachery. Accept my conditions, and I will extend my trust.”
Ferrin pulled a chunk from his neck and handed it to Dorsio, who studied it and snapped three times.
“I’ll spread word of my involvement at every opportunity,” Ferrin said. “I pledge my abilities, my knowledge, my resources, and my life to the cause of deposing Maldor. My allegiance is to rebellion.”
“Welcome,” Galloran said. “We can use your expertise. If you prove faithful, you will have my everlasting support and protection when this conflict ends. I need information. How closely were you followed?”
“We seem to have distanced ourselves from our pursuers,” Ferrin said. “The majority of those chasing us came from north of the river, and we sabotaged both ferries at Potsug.”
“What about the lurker?” Jason asked.
“Tark mentioned that a torivor might be involved,” Galloran said grimly. “You’ve had contact?”
“Yes,” Ferrin said. “We saw the torivor last night. It has been trailing Jason since he parted from Tark.”
“Lurkers have not ventured abroad in years,” Galloran said.
“Not since you were captured,” Ferrin agreed. “The creature may have returned to Felrook. After spotting us, it prepared a trap that should have resulted in our capture. Once we dodged the trap, the chase became sloppy, making me wonder whether the lurker remained involved. It taxes Maldor greatly to keep them abroad.”
“There is no lurker currently in the vicinity,” Galloran said with confidence. “My family has a history of Edomic aptitude and other unusual mental faculties. I am no wizard, but as much as torivors can sense our minds, I can sense theirs.”
“Fascinating,” Ferrin said. “Can you hear their thoughts?”
“It depends. I can discern certain types of thoughts more clearly than others. But I can always sense their presence. For now, we have no lurkers in the area.”
“That’s a comfort,” Aram said. “But we do have a large force of more conventional enemies in pursuit.”
“All the more reason we must depart in the morning,” Galloran said. “Rest while you may. Tark, you told me you had sworn fealty to Lord Jason.”
“I am his man,” the musician replied solemnly.
“Then I have acquired four unexpected allies of diverse talents. There is little I can bring to our venture at the moment save knowledge and connections. Hopefully, in time, I will regain my kingdom and bring its resources to bear. We must first journey north, to the Sunken Lands, on our way to the Seven Vales. At the Sunken Lands, we will try to rescue my daughter and supply ourselves from a lost stockpile of orantium. At the Seven Vales, we will strive to enlist the Amar Kabal in our rebellion, the most powerful fighting force yet untouched by the emperor. Without their participation, our insurrection will lack any real promise.”
“You think you can rouse the People of the Seed?” Ferrin asked.
“We shall see,” Galloran replied. “Our first obstacle will be crossing the river. I recommend we make for the bridge a day east of Potsug. The troops pursuing Jason from the north will probably cross that bridge tonight and head west. If we move in stealth, we should miss one another.”
“The bridge will be heavily guarded,” Ferrin warned.
“We have a capable team,” Galloran said. “And some orantium remains. Do you recommend an alternate route?”
Ferrin considered the question before answering. “The bridge will be quickest. No crossing will stand unguarded.”
“The bridge it is,” Galloran said. “Eat your fill tonight. We have far more food stored here than we can carry. Sleep all you can. We depart at dawn.”