‘It matters not.’ He paused, considering, then asked, ‘What do you think of this Tallow as temporary high priest?’
She frowned, as serious as ever regarding temple business. ‘Well … it is good to have someone responsible in the interim. Things need to continue while the Council deliberates. And at least he’s younger and vital, more energetic. He has made quite an impression here with his decisiveness.’
‘Decisive. Well, I suppose he is that.’
Her gaze narrowed upon him. ‘You are not so sanguine?’
He could not tell her of the man’s words and actions in regard to himself, and so he merely shrugged. ‘It makes me uneasy … an outsider taking charge of the temple.’
She looked at her own bowl of thin broth. ‘He’s hardly taking charge, Tay. It’s a temporary posting only. And as to being an outsider – well, he’s the Invigilator. A trained investigator of the cult.’
He smiled thinly, for her benefit. ‘Of course.’
Chapter 7
Word came to Dancer via the tall and rather dour Napan, Tocaras, that Kellanved was ready. He still had trouble using the fellow’s new name, even though he was quite certain that Wu hadn’t been the lad’s real name to begin with, anyway, so it hardly mattered. He was almost ready himself. He wrapped the remainder of his equipment in leather, slipped it under a loose floorboard, then went up to the office.
The mage had a set of saddlebags over one shoulder, his walking stick planted before him. Dancer had armed himself with his best weapons and tools. His baldrics under his loose cloak hung heavy with sheathed blades. Rope and wire lay coiled about him, and he carried an emergency pouch of dried food and a goatskin of water.
Kellanved nodded. ‘Very good. Let us go, then.’
A new thought occurred to Dancer and he raised a hand for a pause. ‘One moment.’ The Dal Hon mage, in his constant glamour of a wrinkled old man, sighed and tapped the walking stick on the floor.
Dancer returned downstairs. The burly swordsman Choss, one of Surly’s lieutenants, sat at a table and Dancer asked, ‘Surly?’
‘Rear.’
Dancer crossed to the kitchen and pantries. He found her with the Crust brothers, taking stock. At least they claimed to be brothers; he could see no family resemblance beyond their blue skin. Cartheron was lean and short, while Urko was tall and as solid as an ox. Surly cast him one evaluative glance, raised a brow, and said, ‘Going somewhere?’
‘Exactly. You’ve noticed that W— Kellanved disappears sometimes.’
Surly did not appear pleased. ‘So I’ve noticed.’
‘Well, we’re both going to be gone for a time. So you’ll have to handle things until we return.’
She motioned the brothers out, waited for them to go, then crossed her arms, looking very like her name. ‘Is there a time when we can expect you back?’
He considered this, wondering whether to tell her the truth, or to try to string her along with some not too distant date. But because he knew what he and Kellanved were facing, and held no misconceptions about their chances, he decided to be frank.
‘I don’t know. We may not come back at all.’
She raised a brow once again, perhaps impressed by his bluntness. ‘I see. I’ll keep that in mind.’ She inclined her head, if not in gratitude, then perhaps in acknowledgement of the warning. ‘Thank you.’
He answered her nod. ‘Till later, then.’
‘Yes. Later.’
He returned to the office to find Kellanved fighting with his pet nacht. The mage appeared to be attempting to force the monkey-like creature to perch on his shoulder, but the beast was on his back, had hold of the lad’s short kinky hair and wouldn’t let go. Round and round the desk they careered, Kellanved muttering curses under his breath, the creature baring its fangs in a grin.
‘You ready?’ Dancer asked.
Kellanved froze, then turned to face him, his features composed; the nacht, too, peering over his shoulder, suddenly looked innocent. ‘Of course! What does it look like?’
‘Like you’re having some trouble with the help.’
‘Nonsense!’ He reached up and grasped the beast by the neck and yanked it from his back. ‘Ha! Got you now.’
The creature reached to bite his arm and he let it fall, yanking his hands away. ‘Now, now. Bad! Bad Demon.’ The nacht clambered back up to the rafters, hissing what sounded eerily like laughter.
‘I thought you were going to call it something else.’
‘Many things come to mind, I assure you.’
‘If you’re finished?’
Kellanved sent the beast one last glare. ‘Certainly.’ He motioned Dancer closer. ‘The shift should be smoother now.’
Dancer drew two blades and crouched into a ready stance. ‘Very well.’
Scarves of murky darkness coalesced from the air about them, spinning and twisting, and for an instant his vision darkened. He blinked, squinting, weapons raised. Then a tilt in the surface sent him forward and something struck him a blow on the forehead. He staggered backwards in loose stones and gravel, falling.
The darkness slipped away. He lay on his back staring up at the leaden sky of Shadow. All about them stood a forest of tall cylinders, broken off at various heights.
Kellanved loomed into his vision, peering down, concerned. ‘Sorry about that.’
Dancer jumped to his feet, rubbed the back of a hand to his forehead, slightly dizzy. ‘It’s fine. Never mind. What is this place? Ruins?’
‘Of a kind. Take a look.’
Dancer examined the nearest column – it appeared to have been carved in the likeness of a tree, complete with scabs of bark. Yet the placement made no architectural sense. Towers rose everywhere, in no apparent straight lines.
Kellanved had started off across the hardscrabble rock pavement that lay between. Dancer followed, marvelling at the scale and insanity of the gargantuan site. ‘Who would do this?’ he asked. ‘Do you know?’
‘No one did,’ the little mage answered, humming to himself once more and tapping his stick – a sure sign that he was pleased and at ease. ‘What do they looked like?’
‘They’re made to look like trees. Perhaps these Edur we’ve heard of?’
‘No. They are trees. I quite assure you.’
Walking between the countless trunks, Dancer couldn’t quite bring himself to believe it. ‘Real trees? Was it a curse? Who could possibly be so powerful? Anomandaris? Kilmandaros? Ancient K’rul?’
Kellanved waved his walking stick, chuckling. ‘No, no. No one is that powerful – at least, so I hope and believe. No, scholars argue that this is natural. That if things are buried and remain inviolate for long enough, then they turn to stone.’
This made a kind of sense to Dancer. He grunted, saying, ‘So, Burn’s work then.’
Kellanved tilted his head to one side. ‘Well. I suppose you could call it that.’