No ashy footprints led away.
He moved closer, placed his boots in the footsteps and pushed out of the world a little. As he’d guessed, a new path led away from the palace.
Let’s just see…
He hadn’t followed it for long before it was clear no ordinary ally had made it. It remained new, not joining the well-used path through the six dead worlds. Instead, whoever had made it had cut a new path into another world. A landscape of grey, twisted rock surrounded Tyen. As he arrived he was knocked to the ground by a deafening, powerful wind, so he pushed straight out again. The new path led on through several more worlds, all devoid of both life and magic. By the time Tyen finally arrived in a world with magic, on a smooth hill in sight of a small village, he had begun to worry that he was pursuing someone with a death wish. He wound up curled on the ground gasping for air and his head pounding.
Once he had recovered he pushed on and picked up the trail again. A few worlds later the arrival place was within a busy city, and he scanned the minds around him until he found two children keeping watch in the hopes of seeing someone famous. They had seen the previous traveller.
A lone man. Not one Tyen recognised, though. He continued his pursuit.
He couldn’t be sure how far ahead the man was, so he increased his speed. That proved to be a mistake, as his quarry had started using tactics to hide his passing. Tyen had to retrace his steps several times but, since he had used such tricks himself often enough, he managed to pick up the trail again.
Then, in the space between, he sensed a shadow ahead.
It stilled for a moment, then vanished.
Tyen gave chase.
He expected more manoeuvres as his quarry tried to evade him, so when the man flashed into sight within the whiteness, grabbed his arm and pulled him into the nearest world he was too surprised to resist. By the time air surrounded them, he’d recovered enough to shield, force away the man’s hand, and brace himself for a fight.
The man was furious, but his mood quickly shifted to horror as he realised he couldn’t read Tyen’s mind. He resolved not to think of the precious thing he carried in…
“Who are you? Why are you following me?” he demanded.
“I am Tyen. Who are you?”
“Nobody you wish to know.” Dahli, the man’s mind whispered.
Tyen had heard the name before, but it took another few heartbeats before he remembered the context. Then his heart skipped a beat. Dahli was the strongest of the Raen’s friends. He was the one known as the Most Loyal.
And Dahli had now realised that he knew Tyen’s name. The spy! Valhan said I should find this one, as he’ll want to help. He relaxed, and at once his mind returned to the secret he carried.
Tyen learned the Raen’s reason for dying, and it stunned him.
The rebels had not won.
The worlds had not changed very much at all.
The Raen had not failed to uphold his side of their deal, and Tyen was not free of his side of it. He recalled the man’s words at their first meeting, when asked how long it continue: “Until Vella is restored or I am convinced I cannot help her.” Not until he was dead.
“So Tyen,” Dahli said. “Why are you following me? Or would it be better to ask: what do you want?”
Tyen suppressed a sigh. “To join you,” he lied. “How can I assist?”
Dahli held out his hand. “Come with me.”
PART NINE
RIELLE
CHAPTER 23
The paintbrush hovered over the board, then descended. Just before it touched the surface it shook a little and landed exactly where Rielle did not want it to, placing a splodge of red in the middle of Sesse’s nose.
Sighing, she dropped the brush in a cup of thinners, grabbed a rag and dabbed at the painting. It only made the situation worse, blending the red in and spreading the paint, so that Sesse’s nose grew wider. Rielle muttered a curse in Fyrian and reached for the brush again.
“Are you sure you want to start with a portrait?” Sesse asked. “The other artists say that portraits are the hardest. I could bring you some fruit or flowers and a pretty bowl.”
Rielle wiped the brush and set about returning the nose to a true and more flattering colour and shape. As a former servant of an artist, Sesse’s advice was often very good. Rielle had resisted it this time, impatient to produce something that would impress the other artists in Cepher.
“I suppose I should,” Rielle replied. “But first I’ll fix this bit…”