“And you can bring down the Arch-Rike?” Kiranrao asked with silk in his voice.
“When the Plague is conquered, the Arch-Rike’s power will fail. With no more threat of death, do you think people will willingly submit to living in that pus-pool of a city? It is truly a prison, Kiranrao, as you well know. Only those confined there are confined voluntarily. Fear keeps them inside its walls, nothing more. Remove the fear and you remove the prison. When the Arch-Rike falls, his power falls. And so does his grip on the King of Wayland’s leash.”
Kiranrao rubbed his finger on the edge of the wooden wall. “You know as well as I do that the Arch-Rike will still hold power even if the Plague ends. Men like us do not yield power. It must be forced.”
“How does it feel, Kiranrao?”
“You grow tiresome, Tyrus. Perhaps I will kill you now.”
“Your weakness is your lack of imagination,” Tyrus replied with a hint of arrogance in his expression. “You think that I am trapped here, come to barter with you for your aid but defenseless against you should you turn on me. I assure you I am not. My knowledge of the Paracelsus ways is invaluable to you. I know how to breach their defenses. More importantly, I know what the Arch-Rike secretly fears. I have a weapon against him.”
Kiranrao arched his eyebrows. “Another weapon?”
“This weapon is a person. You know of the Quiet Kishion. You abandoned us to him back in Silvandom.”
“What else did you expect me to do? Keep my word?”
Tyrus shook his head. “You did exactly what I did expect you to do. You took the blade far away. The Arch-Rike fears the Quiet Kishion. He fashioned that blade to defend himself against him. And I have turned that Kishion to my side. He aids in the quest.”
“You lie!” Kiranrao said, disbelieving Tyrus though the ring on his finger did not warn of any falsehood.
Tyrus leaned forward. “This is how it ends, Kiranrao. I have the Quiet Kishion on my side. He will dispatch the Arch-Rike when this is through. I have left nothing to chance. The last time I led a group into the Scourgelands, I was defeated by my own ignorance. I’ve learned much since that failure. I have everything I need to succeed except one thing.” His eyes narrowed. “You.”
“What?” Kiranrao looked at him in annoyance.
“You heard me, Kiranrao. I truly believe that we cannot defeat the Scourgelands without you. Every piece is important. But yours is crucial. You will not do it for the cause. You will not do it to save the world. You will do it because you stand to gain more wealth than anyone else should the Arch-Rike fall.”
There was a trick hidden inside the words. Kiranrao knew there was. He was determined to pry it loose.
“Back in Silvandom, you said that there was another to join the quest. You refused to tell me before who it was. Was it the Arch-Rike’s minion then? Was it the Quiet Kishion?”
Tyrus smiled in chagrin. “I see it is very difficult to hide the truth from you. I cannot succeed without your help. You cannot succeed without mine. We are bound together, you and I. If one of us stumbles, both of us falls.”
Kiranrao stared at the Paracelsus, feeling the sweet urge to kill him, to prove him wrong. Somehow their destinies had been entwined together. It was time to sever that tie.
“You are the only man I know of who has been inside the Scourgelands,” Kiranrao whispered. “What can you possibly have that can defeat it?”
There was a glint in Tyrus’s eye. From the folds of his robe, he raised the strange scepter he had been concealing. There were gems fastened inside it, scroll work and fluting that made the Vaettir’s eyes bulge. It was truly a rare specimen.
“I have this. It is called a Tay al-Ard. With it, I can travel to any place I have ever been. You arrive there instantly. Imagine having a magic such as this. There are only two in existence. The other one is held by the Arch-Rike of Kenatos. When he falls, his will be yours.”
There was a deep ache that started in Kiranrao’s belly. He stared at it, transfixed.
“I am going back to Silvandom now. Come with me.”
“Sometimes even the wisest of scholars and archivists are fools. They think much learning gives wisdom. They are doubtful of every person and argue over trifles. I have found the opposite to be the better approach. Stineo said it best: Seek not to understand that you may believe, but believe that you may understand.”
—Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos