What?
Elene took Vi’s right hand with her left. Then she stood, shoulder to shoulder with her, looking at the newborn sun. She held Vi’s hand firmly, but with nothing vindictive or tense in her grip. There was an aura about her of tremendous peace, peace so thick it slowly calmed Vi’s taut nerves.
After a few minutes, Elene turned to her. Vi was surprised to find herself brave enough to meet the woman’s eyes.
“I believe the God has a purpose for me, Vi. I don’t know what it is, but I know it isn’t murdering you.” Elene threw the knife aside. “We’re in a big mess, but we’re in it together. All right?”
50
Vürdmeister Neph Dada sat beneath an oak at the mouth of Quorig’s Pass, awaiting his spy. He hadn’t brought any of the two hundred Vürdmeisters he’d gathered to the meeting. If his spy was caught, he didn’t want her to be able to tell the Chantry anything useful. Of course, the catatonic Tenser Ursuul and Khali had traveled with him, and he kept them close—but hidden.
Eris Buel arrived at moonrise. She was not an attractive woman. Her eyes were close-set, her nose long, and her chin weak. She looked rather like a rat in makeup. Too much makeup at that. And she had moles. Everywhere. Garoth Ursuul had long let it be known that his female progeny were worthless to him except as killing practice for the aethelings. It was half true. Most of the girls served to weed out boys too weak to murder their own sisters, but Garoth sent wytchborn girls away at birth.
Few became as valuable as Eris Buel. Years ago, Garoth learned that Eris had roused the Speaker’s suspicions. Rather than lose her, Garoth had shipped her off to Alitaera and arranged her marriage to a nobleman. Eris had then caught the crest of a rising tide of resentment among the Chattel, the former magae who’d left the Chantry to marry. She was now poised to head that movement back to the Chantry, demanding recognition. Eris might even overthrow the Speaker.
“Eris,” Neph said, dipping his head.
“Vürdmeister.” Eris liked to think too highly of herself, but she could obviously feel the nearness of Khali. That was enough to put anyone off-balance.
“I have a task for you,” Neph said. “One of our spies tells me a woman named Viridiana Sovari has bonded a man with a set of compulsive earrings. Given the bond, we expect he will come to the Chantry soon.”
“I know the girl. She’s the talk of the Chantry,” Eris said.
“She doesn’t matter. Let me be blunt. This man, Kylar, may hold Curoch. We’ve hired an extremely skilled thief to take it from him. We have reasons to trust our thief, but Kylar is very resourceful. He may track our man down. So as soon as our man steals the sword, he’ll signal you by raising two black flags on a fishing boat visible from your room in the Chantry. Check three times a day. When you see it, collect the sword and leave the city immediately. The thief is not to see your face or know anything about you, just as you know nothing about him. You’ll pay him. He knows how much to expect.” Neph handed her a purse full of Alitaeran gold. She looked startled at the weight.
Neph was lying to her, of course. He did believe that Kylar had briefly held Curoch, but he’d also seen how Ezra’s Wood changed on the day that Vürdmeister Borsini had gone to his death, trying to take Curoch from Kylar. The Sword of Power was gone; once something went into the Wood, it stayed there.
What Neph’s thief was trying to steal was a normal sword, with one difference: it had been reported to Neph that Kylar’s sword had a black blade. Kylar was hiding his ka’kari—the black ka’kari, the Devourer of magic—on his sword. Neph was certain of it. If he was wrong, he would likely be dead by spring. He was running out of options. The things he’d thought would be easy had turned out to be viciously difficult.
With two hundred Vürdmeisters, Neph had attacked the weaves Jorsin Alkestes had laid on Black Barrow hundreds of years ago. Even together, they’d only broken the first spell: now it was possible to use the vir within the Dead Demesne, the unchanging circle of land around the dome of Black Barrow. Before, anyone using the vir there would die instantly. It was better progress than anyone before Neph had made, but in itself, it accomplished nothing. All the millions of krul around Black Barrow were still magically sealed. No one could raise them. No one could raise the Titan Neph had found beneath the mighty dome of Black Barrow itself. With Curoch, Jorsin Alkestes had been more powerful alone than Neph was with two hundred Vürdmeisters.
Neph’s few successes seemed like nothing. He’d stirred up the wild men in the Freeze. He’d taught their shamans to raise krul, though he’d deliberately taught them imperfectly, in case he ever had to face them himself. He’d sown rumors about the weakness of the new Godking among the highland tribes.
It would be enough to distract the new Godking, but not enough for Neph to take the chains of office for himself. The Ursuuls had long claimed that only an Ursuul could take the vir from a meister. That claim had meant the meisters and Vürdmeisters had never been a threat to a true Ursuul—any magical fight would end instantly. Neph had been certain it was a lie. He had staked everything on the belief that once he held Khali, it would be a simple matter to learn to remove the vir from whomever he wished. But so far, he hadn’t even come close.
If Neph didn’t figure something out soon, any of the aethelings could show up any day and remove the vir from Neph himself.
There were ways out, but none was likely. If Neph actually recovered Curoch, of course, he could shatter Jorsin’s work and anyone who rose against him even without the krul or the Strangers or Khali. If he could steal the black ka’kari, he could make it devour Jorsin’s magics, raise the krul, and the krul would crush anyone who rose against him. He could use the black ka’kari to walk into Ezra’s Wood and steal Curoch and everything else there. His last hope was to raise Khali herself. It had been Khali’s wish for as long as she had been worshiped. It was enshrined in every Khalidoran’s prayer: Khalivos ras en me. Khali, make your home in me. If Neph could give Khali a body, she would give him everything. Neph was preparing the magic and trying to find a proper host for Khali in case he needed to do it, but it was a last resort. Khali would surely teach him how to deny the vir to the Godking if Neph gave her true embodiment. But if Khali had a body, if she could give him everything, could she not also take everything from him?
Neph turned pensive eyes toward Eris. He needed, as always with these arrogant children, to seal the lie. “If it is Curoch, Eris, I’ll give you whatever you ask. But there are two things you should know. You have not the power to wield it even for an instant. It will kill you if you try. Second, I will kill you if you try.” His vir squirmed up and down his arms as he laid a tiny weave on her. “I know you can untie that weave, but one of my other spies at the Chantry will be checking on you. If you tamper with it, she has instructions to kill you. Don’t worry, the weave is small enough to escape any but the closest magical examination.”
Eris’s face paled. It would, of course, be her death if any loyal Sister found that weave. But Neph had also revealed that he had another spy close enough to her that the spy could check on the weave regularly. “How likely is it that Kylar has Curoch?” she asked.
“Not likely. But the prize is worth the possibility of losing you.”