Jak Koke - The Edge of Chaos

He laughed. “Corporeal unity-always better than the alternative.”

She gave an amused snort. “Agreed.”

“Let me see if you’ve got any splinters,” he said. “The shards are so sharp they can be difficult to feel, and if left they’ll work into the skin. You don’t want that. Believe me, I know from experience.”

“Good to know,” she said.

And as he examined the exposed skin on her face, he discovered that he was touched somewhat by her story about being orphaned when her aunt had died in the house fire. Despite his dubiousness about the telling, Duvan felt sure there was a good deal of truth behind her story. Perhaps he understood her; he too had been orphaned.

Perhaps she could understand him.

He removed three shards from her face and neck. “Please check me,” he said.

Her head was close, her measured and even breath on his face. She smelled of lilac soap.

She pulled a shard out then looked into his eyes. “I–I think that’s all of them.”

Duvan looked away, but the look of concern or connection or whatever it was that passed between them stayed with him. He’d only ever felt that kind of connection for one other person-his twin sister, Talfani.

This look was fleeting and perhaps only imagined after all. “We’ll wear gloves and goggles and face scarves from here on in,” he said, and he heard traces of anger in his voice. Anger at what? he wondered, but now that he was aware of it, he recognized that he was truly angry.

“Done,” she said.

“Thank you.”

“I owe you my life,” she said. “I should thank you.”

At her gesture of appreciation, he felt the anger well inside. Why did she have to be so kind? Why did he care so much?

It was infuriating.

In the privacy of his office, Gregor scratched absently at the white hair over his spellscar and stared at Vraith. “You seriously believe this young man could be … what did you say? ‘A threat to your entire order’?”

Vraith gave a tight smile. She had sent her entourage into the courtyard while she and Gregor spoke of more sensitive matters. Kaylinn had excused herself. “I said he could be a threat to our operation-our plans for the ritual. It depends on what we discover about his powers.”

“He seemed to me to be unconcerned with the affairs of the Order,” Gregor said. “More interested in relatively petty activities, really. I wouldn’t concern myself with him.” Gregor didn’t despise small-time thinkers, but he certainly had no deep respect for them either. He was going to make an impact on this world; he would achieve greatness. Of that he was certain, and those who had no aspiration for deep impact on the world-for greatness-deserved little respect.

“I don’t take chances,” Vraith said, her tone serious. “Not when it costs me almost nothing to avoid this risk. We need to discover if his ability is controllable and how much power he has over it. His power is a threat, and we need to determine how much it has the ability to derail our plans.”

Gregor nodded. He didn’t really care about Duvan as long as he got his plaguegrass. Though he did worry about Tyrangal’s reaction if she learned of his complicity in helping the Order capture Duvan. He would have to do something to prevent her from finding out.

Still, it would not do to anger Vraith at this time. The Order of Blue Fire had its fingers in too many affairs in Ormpetarr. This situation would require finesse and diplomacy. Outright defiance had the potential for dire consequences.

“Duvan and one of our clerics left this morning on an important mission for me,” Gregor said.

“Where did they go?” Vraith asked.

“The Plaguewrought Land.”

“When-”

“And I am not certain when they will be back,” he continued, cutting Vraith off. Gregor was growing annoyed at being treated like a subordinate. “But it will be no later than noon tomorrow.”

Vraith frowned. “I’d rather not wait that long,” she said with a sigh. “But I see that I will have to. Very well, I will send Beaugrat and a party to scour the border. When they come out, we will take them by force.”

“I just need what they’re carrying,” he said. “They’re gathering a vital component of the resistance elixir.”

Vraith gave the slightest of nods.

“I would also like to have my monk, Slanya, unharmed and brought back safely. She deserves nothing less.”

“We only need the rogue-Duvan,” she said. “And your continued participation, of course, in the plans ahead.”

Gregor nodded. “As long as we are in agreement about the plaguegrass and Slanya.”

“We are.”

A grin spread across Gregor’s face. “Perfect,” he said. “I am excited about the festival. As soon as Slanya returns, I will have everything necessary to manufacture a batch of the elixir-enough to accommodate the thousands of pilgrims necessary.”

“Excellent.”

“We have an agreement then,” Gregor said. “Send your men after them, and you can do whatever you want with the rogue. I don’t want to know about it.”

Vraith snorted. “It’s insincere to get squeamish on me now,” she said. “I’m sure you’ve done worse to thousands of pilgrims by exposing them to experimental elixirs. We’re just going to test the extent of his ability.”

Gregor bristled. Vraith’s comparison was unfair and grossly inaccurate. Not only would the results of his research save vastly many more lives that had been lost, but every single pilgrim who had taken his elixirs had done so willingly . Vraith was not offering Duvan a choice here.

Vraith gave a slight bow. “May the Blue Fire burn inside you.” And without waiting for a response she turned and walked from the room.

Gregor followed. In the courtyard Vraith commanded her man, Beaugrat, to mount up and head out in search of Duvan and Slanya, with clear instruction to return them both here to the monastery when he found them. “Do not let them escape,” she said.

The sky lightened in the east just as they rode away south. Perhaps it was all for the best, Gregor thought. This way the Order would owe him a favor, and their partnership would be that much stronger. The arrangement would even be good for Slanya, because she’d likely get back faster and in more comfort.

In fact the only one who stood to lose from the arrangement was the rogue, Duvan, and his preferences mattered little in this. It was unfair, perhaps, but he would simply disappear, and for all important parties, that was for the best.

The only backlash for Gregor would be if Tyrangal learned of his involvement in Duvan’s capture. He couldn’t afford for the powerful woman to be his adversary. If only there was some way he could absolve himself of complicity in Tyrangal’s eyes or mitigate her anger.

This was a delicate dance. Gregor hoped his skills were up to the performance of it.

Letting his anger fuel him, Duvan picked his way down the steep incline and deeper into the Plaguewrought Land. He kept silent, focusing instead on the task at hand: survival.

The bare rock of the landscape gave way to a grove of rapidly growing maples. Duvan picked a quick path through the grove. Saplings grew into trees, and soon they were arching overhead, branches budding green leaves, turning yellow, and then raining down in a vermillion shower around them.

Slanya looked up from the fixed point on the ground. “It’s beautiful,” she said.

“Stay close,” Duvan said, breaking his silence. “It may look beautiful now, but it could change into something dangerous at any time.”

As they continued through, the trees aged around them. They shrivelled and died. Undergrowth of vines and bushes rapidly filled the space. Duvan took Slanya’s hand and pulled her. Fueled by the remnants of the Spellplague, this undergrowth could easily grow fast enough to trap and suffocate them.