“And that story!” Shirikant said, his eyes delighted. “You were bleeding your last on the edge of the woods when a Romani trader, of all people, rescued you, letting his fish spoil and losing a trade. Not only that, but he stayed with you for several weeks while you convalesced and then paid the innkeeper to care for you until word could reach us here in Stonehollow and I could send healers and horses aplenty. He refused to accept my rewards, which still offends me, for I suspect he is biding his time to ask for even more!”
“He won’t,” Shion said. “What he did for me, he would have done for any man. I can see why he hears the whispers from Mirrowen so keenly. His heart is right. His thoughts are determined. That is the kind of man I wish to become.”
“You already are, Isic.” He tousled the younger man’s hair. “You’re a better man than I will ever be. So you crave the daughter of the Seneschal of Mirrowen. I cannot say you lack ambition, boy.”
“I learned about ambition from you, Brother. I have heeded all of your lessons. We are a mastermind, you and I. There are others too, but together, we are our own. I want to help you accomplish your aim. I only ask that you help me accomplish mine, in my own way.”
Shirikant smiled deeply. “Lad, if she makes you happy, I will bless her for it. She sounds young.”
“She will be immortal, Brother.” He stared out the window again. “Isn’t that what we both desire? We’ll be the first, I think. The first two brothers who entered Mirrowen together. We must bring no weapons. No tricks. The Seneschal can read our thoughts like you can read a book from the Archives. There is no deception. He will know our true motives. While I grieve for the deaths I couldn’t prevent, I hope that the good I can do in this world will far outweigh it.”
The Seneschal put his hand on Phae’s shoulder. “Come, Phae. It is time to meet the brothers in Mirrowen. It is time for you to understand how Shirikant earned that name.”
“We captured a Rike today sneaking through the lower city. He was white with fear, saying the Arch-Rike has gone mad, that not only is the city doomed to fall to the Plague but that every race and kingdom will also fall. He described a series of magic portals in the Arch-Rike’s palace, connecting Kenatos to the furthest way posts. The Rike insists that Band-Imas intends to poison the lands and destroy everyone. The Empress says we must attack the Temple immediately, regardless of the casualties. There is a council gathering to prepare the assault. What fools we have been. What trusting fools.”
- Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
XLI
The magic of the Tay al-Ard sped them away from the gusting rain and when Phae blinked, she found herself back in Mirrowen. Huge thunderheads roiled in the sky and heavy surf pounded against the beach, which was clear of individuals. There were no children playing in sandcastles and nothing remained of their game. There was energy in the air, a frightening raw power that made Phae gape in amazement as the fury of the storm beat down on the hull of Mirrowen’s defenses.
“Peace,” the Seneschal said, waving his hand absently at the storm. “Enough. All is well. Be still.”
Phae watched as the brooding storm slumped in defeat, the waves receding back to the boundaries of the rocks. The clouds scattered, revealing ample blue sky, and a calm breeze flittered past them, replacing the stiff gale that had preceded it.
The Seneschal offered her his arm as they walked along the beach toward the magnificent dwellings built into the sculpted hill. Many from the city began to appear, coming out now that the ferocity of the storm had passed.
“Do the storms rage more fiercely when you are gone?” she asked him.
He nodded. “The waters of the Deep are always trying to destroy the world. They will never stop trying so long as time reigns in your world. Eventually they will all be tamed. I am patient.”
“You are,” Phae agreed. “What will you tell me about Shirikant?”
“His name is Aristaios. It is from the ancient tongue and it means ‘the best.’ He was the firstborn son of the King of the Moussion. His parents were loving and wise but both were killed on a storm-tossed sea returning from a treaty journey to the Vaettir homeland. He was seventeen when they died and inherited the kingdom after a brief interregnum from a steward. Some children drastically alter the affairs of a kingdom if they inherit too young, but Aristaios wanted to live up to the name he was given. He took the role seriously, as he did when he assumed the responsibility of being a brother and a father to Prince Isic and his sisters. The death of their parents impacted them deeply. Prince Isic turned inward, nursing a secret grief. He became acquainted with the Druidecht order, which was in its infancy, and sought the whispers from Mirrowen. Aristaios was handsome and charming and had the best advisors, and he hearkened to their counsel, winning himself esteem and respect. He was always ambitious and harnessed that ambition to be a great king. He did not marry for he was seeking a bride who was perfect. While he met many eligible maidens, none had the perfection he sought in a wife.”
“He won’t,” Shion said. “What he did for me, he would have done for any man. I can see why he hears the whispers from Mirrowen so keenly. His heart is right. His thoughts are determined. That is the kind of man I wish to become.”
“You already are, Isic.” He tousled the younger man’s hair. “You’re a better man than I will ever be. So you crave the daughter of the Seneschal of Mirrowen. I cannot say you lack ambition, boy.”
“I learned about ambition from you, Brother. I have heeded all of your lessons. We are a mastermind, you and I. There are others too, but together, we are our own. I want to help you accomplish your aim. I only ask that you help me accomplish mine, in my own way.”
Shirikant smiled deeply. “Lad, if she makes you happy, I will bless her for it. She sounds young.”
“She will be immortal, Brother.” He stared out the window again. “Isn’t that what we both desire? We’ll be the first, I think. The first two brothers who entered Mirrowen together. We must bring no weapons. No tricks. The Seneschal can read our thoughts like you can read a book from the Archives. There is no deception. He will know our true motives. While I grieve for the deaths I couldn’t prevent, I hope that the good I can do in this world will far outweigh it.”
The Seneschal put his hand on Phae’s shoulder. “Come, Phae. It is time to meet the brothers in Mirrowen. It is time for you to understand how Shirikant earned that name.”
“We captured a Rike today sneaking through the lower city. He was white with fear, saying the Arch-Rike has gone mad, that not only is the city doomed to fall to the Plague but that every race and kingdom will also fall. He described a series of magic portals in the Arch-Rike’s palace, connecting Kenatos to the furthest way posts. The Rike insists that Band-Imas intends to poison the lands and destroy everyone. The Empress says we must attack the Temple immediately, regardless of the casualties. There is a council gathering to prepare the assault. What fools we have been. What trusting fools.”
- Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
XLI
The magic of the Tay al-Ard sped them away from the gusting rain and when Phae blinked, she found herself back in Mirrowen. Huge thunderheads roiled in the sky and heavy surf pounded against the beach, which was clear of individuals. There were no children playing in sandcastles and nothing remained of their game. There was energy in the air, a frightening raw power that made Phae gape in amazement as the fury of the storm beat down on the hull of Mirrowen’s defenses.
“Peace,” the Seneschal said, waving his hand absently at the storm. “Enough. All is well. Be still.”
Phae watched as the brooding storm slumped in defeat, the waves receding back to the boundaries of the rocks. The clouds scattered, revealing ample blue sky, and a calm breeze flittered past them, replacing the stiff gale that had preceded it.
The Seneschal offered her his arm as they walked along the beach toward the magnificent dwellings built into the sculpted hill. Many from the city began to appear, coming out now that the ferocity of the storm had passed.
“Do the storms rage more fiercely when you are gone?” she asked him.
He nodded. “The waters of the Deep are always trying to destroy the world. They will never stop trying so long as time reigns in your world. Eventually they will all be tamed. I am patient.”
“You are,” Phae agreed. “What will you tell me about Shirikant?”
“His name is Aristaios. It is from the ancient tongue and it means ‘the best.’ He was the firstborn son of the King of the Moussion. His parents were loving and wise but both were killed on a storm-tossed sea returning from a treaty journey to the Vaettir homeland. He was seventeen when they died and inherited the kingdom after a brief interregnum from a steward. Some children drastically alter the affairs of a kingdom if they inherit too young, but Aristaios wanted to live up to the name he was given. He took the role seriously, as he did when he assumed the responsibility of being a brother and a father to Prince Isic and his sisters. The death of their parents impacted them deeply. Prince Isic turned inward, nursing a secret grief. He became acquainted with the Druidecht order, which was in its infancy, and sought the whispers from Mirrowen. Aristaios was handsome and charming and had the best advisors, and he hearkened to their counsel, winning himself esteem and respect. He was always ambitious and harnessed that ambition to be a great king. He did not marry for he was seeking a bride who was perfect. While he met many eligible maidens, none had the perfection he sought in a wife.”
