Craig Saunders - Tides of Rythe

He handed Klan a letter, in fine penmanship, and indicated a hard wooden chair with a low back for the Anamnesor to take.

Klan sat on the seat, which was uncomfortable, and read slowly. He took care to note the urgency of the letter, deducing much about the character of the writer from its tone, its language, and the penmanship itself.

“A proud, intelligent woman. Straightforward, without guile. Right handed, obviously, but the length of the down strokes indicates decisiveness. The hand is steady, indicating a brave heart. Here, on the third paragraph, she pauses, when she talks of an uprising, but the hand becomes firmer thereafter — she is resolve on this course of action. I would say from the hand that this is not the only letter she penned — you are sure it is her, of course?”

“You have an excellent eye, Klan. I believe there is little that escapes your attention, apart, obviously, from your inability to find that which I have bid you seek…”

“Brother, I have been hampered…”

“Spare me your excuses, Anamnesor!” The Speculate barked, but was disappointed to find that Klan did not squirm, as so many would when faced with his displeasure. Jek would not waste his time trying to cow Klan. He was astute, too, and understood that Klan feared little, but was wary of him. That would have to do for now. One day, soon, he would have to put Klan in his place. But that time was not now. Now, it was time to hold out a hand in friendship. Let him think he was trusted. But never would he let himself be deceived.

“Now, attend me. This is a letter penned by Tirielle A’m Dralorn that was intercepted when she fled from her crimes, not that those crimes matter any longer. Compare the hand.”

He passed a letter to Klan. Klan noted the fine paper, and the watermark — a Lianthrian stationer he happened to know. He read the letter, and compared the writing.

“It seems she has a soft heart, also. I should have noticed that from the original letter. She was fleeing, and still risked her life to inform a mere servant of her plans. Stupid, but touching.”

“And a weakness we can exploit. Now, as to other evidence. There are reports of a rahken uprising in the human city of Beheth, but the reports only speak of a single rahken ever being seen…I have heard of this rahken before — Roth. It destroyed a ten of particulates in the first battle against the rahkens, and tore a chanter’s head clean from its shoulders. I cannot even see into the city and have to rely on second-hand reports for my information, but I strongly suspect the beast that is attacking my tenthers — and destroying them — is Tirielle A’m Dralorn’s assassin. Your powers will avail you little there — it is warded against our kind, but I’m sure you could see your way to transporting a few of your men there? Tenthers seem insufficient.”

Klan suppressed the urge to smile. At last! The scent was fresh!

“And we are to hunt her through the city?”

“Oh, I can do better than that. I know where she is staying. I have had my spies watching all our human subjects, and one, Iriya Mar’anthanon, a counsellor of the Kuh’taenium, has ordered Tirielle’s death. Perhaps she will succeed, but if she does not, I will not be surprised. A’m Dralorn is far from defenceless. But I believe your soldiers can achieve that end, where so many have failed before.”

“I will not fail you,” said Klan, itching to be about his business. He did not show his eagerness in front of the Speculate, but realised this was his chance to advance himself in the eyes of the Speculatae, who had doubted him from the first and opposed his elevation. It would stand him in good stead in days to come. Plus, he thought with a secret smile, it would be a pleasant break from the wastelands.

“Do not be so sure, Klan. Powers we cannot understand conspire against us. Still she cannot be seen by the Prognosticators…I feel that there is some part of this hunt that eludes our understanding as our prey has eluded us. Be wary, and warn your men that she is no easy mark.”

“My soldiers are not careless.”

“Perhaps not. But they die as any other. If you fail me in this, I might have to have you punished…I have yet to decide on the punishment.”

Klan had no doubt his punishment would not be so pleasant as an evening spent in the care of Brother San. Klan was a blade, he knew. Jek would not hesitate to throw him aside should his edge dull.

“Go swiftly — there is no guarantee she will be there forever, and when she leaves we might not know where she’s going.”

“Your will,” said Klan, bowing low. He rose from the uncomfortable chair and headed the short distance toward the door.

Before he pulled it open, he paused and turned. Jek was watching his face with open curiosity, and scarcely concealed impatience.

“Yes?”

“What do your spies tell you she is doing, risking hiding to come out in the open in Beheth? If I may be so bold as to enquire, Brother…?”

Jek smiled, as an alligator smiles to its prey.

“Reading, it seems. She spends her evenings reading. Now what, do you suppose, would be so interesting as to keep a lady awake at nights?”

Klan could imagine, but said nothing. He was just as sure Jek knew.

“By your leave.”

“Yes, yes.”

Klan closed the door gently behind him and headed for his apartments. He checked to make sure his newest addition to his congregation was safe in his robe — a grinning, tortured face of a Teryithyrian, and turned his back on his door. The hunt was fresh, yes, but he still needed to make sure his latest friend was not left lonely. He pictured all his friends, faces torn in sadness, missing him as he had been gone so long. He could spare a little time for them. They gave him so much, and all they demanded in return was his love.

He strode purposefully down the hall, his companion wrapped tenderly in the comfort of his robe. His cloak billowed in his wake.

The messenger plucked at his collar nervously. The men were all staring at him, their strange golden eyes seeming to dissect his mind, able to see every guilty little secret he had ever held.

Go to the Great Tree, he had been told. No one had warned him he would be facing seven disgruntled warriors, shaking in his boots while they stared at him with those implacable, fearless eyes.

She came from the back stairs, and he gulped. It was true. She was a lady. Her hair was short, true, like a peasants, but it was neat and seemed to add to her beauty. She wore a soft pink dress, with flowing sleeves. Her hands were crossed, hidden in those voluminous sleeves. She granted him a smile. It was the only one he had had since arriving.

“You have a missive for me?”

One of those frightening warriors followed her down the stairs, and fixed him in his gaze. The messenger gulped before speaking.

“A message, yes, lady. I do not know who it is from.”

“Who gave it to you?”

“A boy, who told me a man had given it to him. I was given a silver coin to deliver it, my lady. I was told to give coin and letter only to you, and that I would, ahem, be taken care of…”

“Were you, indeed? Let’s see this letter.”

She seemed kind enough. She was smiling as one of the golden eyed warriors took the letter from his outstretched hand, the coin from his other, and took them to the lady.

She examined the seal, and broke it open with a quick snap of her wrists.

The messenger waited, looking longingly at the door, while she read slowly.

Her face darkened as she read, but she did not look up until she had finished.

He was sure he was going to die here. He would plunge his dagger into the first man to touch him, he resolved. He might die, but he would take one of them with him. It was troubling, though, that none of the men seemed armed, and they still hadn’t glanced at the dagger hanging from his belt.