I, Dacien

A Story by Onyx Tao © 2014 Onyx Tao

I, Dacien by Onyx Tao is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International License. Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at onyx-tao.sofurry.com.

Chapter Twenty-Six: Serenity

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Every so often, the Imperial Household Guard staged a tourney, and every tourney required a judge. His Serene Highness, Prince Lyo Kelvin Nippon watched the current contest - the final sword competition between the Ebon champion Orona Custer Gozreh, and the Pristine champion, Dai Boudicea Oodaku. Fortunately, the merging of the warriors into a single house guard had made the more problematic issues of clan loyalty fade away; the guards identified not as Gozreh, or Mosura, or Baragon, but ... Imperial Household Guard. When his father had first explained this to him, Lyo had wondered why they didn't just adopt Nippon as their clan name.

"Because we are not a clan," the Emperor had said. "And the problem is solved."

Lyo had nodded his head and accepted his father's wisdom, but now ... he thought it was more subtle than that. Asking them to change their clan allegiance explicitly would have dissuaded them from joining the Household Guard, however much of an honor it was, and interfere with the slow shift of a bull's allegiance from his Patriarch and clan to his Emperor and clan. The Imperial family, of course, were every clan - and nobody pointed out that what that really meant was no clan at all. The Emperor's coveted appointments to the Household Guard was only one of the many, many ways the Newtons kept the peace in the Nippon Clans.

Still, having gathered the most aggressive bulls into a single place, even all the ritual and formality that surrounded the Imperial House wasn't enough to provide tranquility, andso the Emperor encouraged subtle and well-channeled competition. Curious, that the competitions between Pristine-on-Pristine and even Ebon-on-Ebon would resolve themselves without an Imperial touch - a Blue or Violet official was usually considered sufficiently impartial - but the matches between an Ebon and a Pristine required Imperial adjudication.

"Always," his father had said grimly. "The creators made caste allegiance ... very strong. The situation is best avoided."

Prince Lyo didn't have access to the archives that a Newton would - as a Kelvin, he was not in the Imperial succession - but in practice, he wasn't sure that it was entirely the fault of inbuilt caste allegiance. The warriors in the Household Guard were all tempus masters at the very least - and the contests Prince Lyo judged were always between tempus grandmasters. The contests consisted first of several long, long minutes as they jockeyed for temporal advantage, and then the exchange of blows would be over in less than a thousandth of a heartbeat. Following something like that was difficult enough for the opposing grandmasters, much less the spectators - nearly all of whom were less skilled than the contestants themselves. Lyo thought that the problem wasn't so much caste allegiance as it was simply trying to follow the bout with tempus. Tempus allowed one to act quickly in the moment - to speed - or retard - the flow of time. Tempus was about action.

Lyo instead was drifting in perfectus. Every indigo found perfectus, eventually, even if he wasn't shown, as they practiced tempus. It was so simple. So easy. So ... so beyond any of the other castes, apparently. Some rare Blues could, eventually, learn it, if they were coached, although Lyo had never received the Emperor's permission to teach the art to anyone.

It wasn't a question of mastering it. It was simply ... there. Instead of seizing time with one's will, instead of bending it as you chose, you simply ... drifted. It was, in so many ways, the perfect opposite of tempus. Either one was in perfectus, or one wasn't. Simple. Easy. In that calm perfectus state_,_ Lyo watched the bout unfold like a complex origami flower opening, with all the inevitability of knowing what would happen, as it happened, as it had to happen. The two were contesting for time, attempting to pull it faster, slow down the other, planning series of strikes - there were a hundred ways time could flow over this meeting, and Lyo watched with deep calmness as it did.

In one of those paths, Lyo himself would strike down Dai's blade before it crushed Orona's throat, but as the bout progressed from future to now to past that possibility faded. Swing met counter, feint met withdrawal with a meticulous artistry that only Lyo could appreciate - their respective mastery of swordplay was amazing and seen from the state of perfectus in which Lyo drifted, even more beautiful as the possibilities bloomed and faded like a complex dance of steel fireworks.

Only one of those possibilities could be real, of course, and so it was Orona whose blade forced Dai's aside for a quick and delicate touch. Lyo dropped the gleaming white scarf in his hand, letting it drift to the floor as he presented the charcoal scarf - embroidered with a single purple foo dog - to the victor, and began the long speech he'd prepared in honor of the victor, all while drifting calmly through the moments.

The words and gestured poured out of him; not by rote, but still without effort as Lyo allowed himself to move towards the end of the ceremony, let almost-invisible pressures of time guide him, while Lyo himself contemplated ... other problems.

Most immediately, of course, there was the black messenger - Shada - waiting anxiously for him to finish, and although perfectus didn't reveal the reasons that time might spill down one path in preference to another, it seemed most likely that the ugly disruptions of the ceremony that would follow an interruption (even though that interruption wouldn't actually happen) meant that Shada, one of his father's pages, had a summons for him. How urgent that summons was ... would be hard to gauge, even for an experienced page like Shada.

They were often difficult for Prince Lyo to gauge himself.

But even here perfectus supplied the missing cues. He would meet with his father; all the possibilities ran to tea in the wisteria-covered Moondance Pavilion. And stopped; that was interesting. Peculiar. A singular decision point. The first time he'd seen that happen, he wondered if it meant his death, but he'd survived and learned that it was a decision point; a moment that could change radically. He couldn't be certain, of course, but it seemed likely that this had to do with the overall ... change ... he'd been sensing for the past eight days. Something had happened, like a stroke of lightning propagating through time, and he'd been waiting for the ripples of that event to catch up with him ever since.

Five days.

Five days was about the time it might take a message to come from his brother's visit to the far West. Five days from Lycaili to Leviathan Port. The Shimmering Ocean took nearly a fortnight to cross, but there was no border between Leviathan Port and Mosura Port to impede a mage-sent message, so the two thousand or so miles of water meant considerably less than the ... Lyo searched back through his geography lessons, and realized he didn't actually know how many borders separated Lycaili from Leviathan. Didn't Lycaili claim six or seven realms all by itself, until it reached human-held lands?

So perhaps twenty or thirty borders, maybe more. And once the message reached Mosura Port, there were another fifteen borders for it to pass until it entered the Imperial Realm. A pity that no mage had every been able to reach beyond one or two borders at the very most. And, of course, any mage strong enough to work past even one border had far better things to be spending his attention on that couriering messages.

Another three days for the message to run from Mosura Port to the Imperial Palace.

Today, Lyo realized. Depending on what other messages might come to his Father's Minister of Relations ...

Today.

Shada's message proved to be nothing more - or less - than the simple thought that the Emperor would take tea in Moondance Gazebo, a half-hour before sunset so that the tea would enhance the sunset, and that the presence of Emperor Ota's youngest son would add further grace to the evening.

Simple.

The Moondance Gazebo was in the Imperial Gardens, not the Household gardens, so this was not a simple invitation from his father, but an invitation from the Emperor, and depending on what the Emperor had in mind, it might be an exceedingly formal tea indeed. Lyo turned the paper over. Plain paper with deep black ink, but there was no scribe's mark. In the Emperor's own hand, Lyo thought. That answered the question of how formal. Lyo glanced up at the sun, and then at the waiting Shada. He nodded to acknowledge the page.

"Does His Majesty expect your immediate return?"

"No, Your Highness," said the black minotaur.

"Tell my Master of Protocol that I will be attending the Emperor for a late afternoon tea," Prince Lyo instructed the page. "Kao may have other errands for you." A great many other errands, Lyo thought, since he'd have to cancel everything else. An Imperial summons, no matter how gently phrased, had an absolute precedence.

"Yes, Your Highness!" Shada bowed, and backed away the prescribed ten steps before he turned to the errand.

It would take Kao a few minutes to be prepared, but ... Lyo calmed himself, and tested the perfectus flow again. Ideally, he would precede the Emperor by about a hundred breaths or so into the gazebo ... and as he reached for that outcome, other things slipped into place around it. He had a few moments of light conversation with Grandmaster Orona and Grandmaster Dai, complimenting Dai on the rather unusual and surprisingly effective block he'd developed - although Lyo didn't mention the ripost-feint-strike combination that would have led to the unfortunate throat strike. It didn't take much to impress on them that he'd had no difficulty following the bout, and they left, backing away with five steps and six steps, respectively, as befit a champion and challenger.

Prince Lyo followed the gentle suggestion of perfectus back to his suite, arriving - of course - just as his bodyslave had finished drawing his bath. He stood in the knee-high water as Valet poured hot water over him, worked a fragrant nobo lilly soap into his pelt, and rinsed it out again. That took a mere ten minutes. Drying took longer - much longer. Lyo stood patiently while Valet rubbed him down with heavy towels, combed and brushed his pelt as he stood in the sunlight, turning every several minutes so he'd dry evenly as Valet combed and brushed and wiped a pelt conditioner into the almost-dry fur, and then there was nothing to do but stand in the sun while it finished drying.

Staying in perfectus let the time pass before Lyo could notice; step into the sun, step out out of the sun, and contemplate the upcoming decision point, if anything might be discerned ...

... but not so. Everything depended, then, on decisions in that meeting with his father. And ... yes. This was the source of the unease he'd felt and felt even now. Something was about to happen. He couldn't see what, of course. Perfectus was the art of now, spilling every so softly into the future, and of riding the spill. It was the nature of the thing that it was a passive art, possible only in contemplation. One seized time. One contemplated perfection.

The Plum Tree Gates led from from the private Oto Gardens into the Imperial Gardens, and were - of course - staffed by three guards at all time. Senior guards, as befit the warders of the private Oto spaces, and Prince Lyo inclined his head at the three Ebons as he walked through the gate. The plum trees that gave the gate its name had finished flowering, and were not yet in fruit, but at least the roses below them were still blooming, and a hint of their scent perfumed the heavy afternoon air.

The Moondance Pavilion was a simple structure; a few rough granite steps up to a polished slate floor. It had neither railing nor roof other than the carefully trained wisteria. The stairs and the view to the west were kept pruned clear by the gardeners, the long vines of wisteria being trained back and up to form a dense ceiling of leaves and flowers.

A small brazier sat to one side, filled with rough chunks of charcoal. A silver dipper sat in a slate bucket of water, and a kettle sat next to that. On a small table was a tiny covered dish of pale green twists of tea interspersed with a few dried blossoms. A plain unglazed teapot sat empty next to two small cups, each glazed with a swirl of blue and green, melding into a deep turquoise at the base.

Two swords lay with the tea things. Black leather-wrapped hilts with pommels tasseled with gold while the deadly steel itself lay concealed in white leather scabbards embroidered with the Imperial Dragon. Swords had no part in any formal tea service that Lyo knew of, but ... they could only be here by the Emperor's personal direction, and so they must play some part in what was to come.

His father slipped in a scant moment later, as clearly in the heightened state of perfectus as Prince Lyo himself, just a few seconds later, and they moved with the calm deliberation that only two perfectus initiates could, lighting the brazier, pouring the water, taking the simple equipment of tea, and laying them out. The dance was perfectly spontaneous, neither of them knowing what would happen next, and perfectly choreographed in perfectus.

Inevitably, the Emperor finished his tea first, and set his cup down as Prince Lyo took his last sip, and followed. The wave of time Prince Lyo had been riding didn't so much collapse as fade away as certainty gave way to not indecision, but decision itself, as his sense of what could happen shrunk, like gliding into a pitch-black tunnel.

"You will have felt it," the Emperor said, almost, but not quite, a question. "Entering into darkness."

That was accurate, so Lyo nodded. "Yes, Father. What is it?"

A moment later, the Emperor was standing, holding the two scabbards with their blades. "Initiation," the Emperor said, and tossed Lyo one of the swords, heavy as the younger bull caught it. "Or death." Four feet of slightly curved steel whispered out of the scabbard, which fell unheeded to the floor. "Perfectus is the starting point," the Emperor continued as he assumed a high-guard position. "Do you understand?"

"Yes," said Lyo, drawing the sword and taking a mid-guard position, feet apart and centered. He was in perfectus ... and cautiously felt his way forward through the possibilities ... but every path ended with his father's delivery of a killing blow. He drew back, choosing a defensive position that at least offered more time. But how was that even possible? How could ... every ... path lead to ...

And then the paths shifted with a disturbing wrench, realigned themselves, paths of time seemed to loop around and vanish as a new singularity formed - still a killing blow delivered by the Emperor, but the blow was now minutes off ... and again, all paths led to that.

Inexorably. How was that possible? Nothing was so certain! Every action Lyo could take led to his death, even fleeing, all led to the same blade-stroke, not just a death, but the same death - and in that moment, he understood. It wasn't tempus. It wasn't perfectus. No doubt it had some fine name but ... it was as much an inversion of perfectus as perfectus was the opposite of tempus.

Lyo wrenched the paths of time - or tried to, feeling them slip from his grasp ...

"This is not tempus," his father said.

Obviously not, thought Lyo. In tempus, one manipulated time. Here ... perhaps ... Lyo focused on his father's sword, visualized it laying on the floor, next to the teapot cracked from its fall ... and moved in some ineffable way, through the paths of time, across them, watched them from a new, different view, saw them shift and re-knit until -

His father dropped his sword, which fell - drifted, to Lyo's time-stretched perception - down, falling against the teapot. The fine ceramic cracked - just as he'd visualized - and the sword, deflected by the minor impact, skidded a few inches across the floor.

Just as he'd visualized a moment before, and just as something crashed into his sense of time, like running full-on into a wall, stunning him, and ...

...

Lyo shook his head, trying to clear it. Everything seemed ... off. Wrong. He was - laying on the floor, his head on his father's - the Emperor's - lap? He tensed in preparation to move, but his father's hand stopped him.

"Changing time always leaves one tempworn to some extent," the Emperor's - his father's - voice said softly. "The practitioner takes the full brunt of the broken possibilities. One learns to endure it. You did very well."

"What ... what did I do?"

"Something," his father murmured. "Something dangerous. We call it - your brother Noroma and I - mutatis. Temporal change."

Your brother and I ... "You mean we are the only three with this ... mutatis?"

"That I am certain of, yes," the Emperor said. "It may be that other indigo lines possess this power, but are as circumspect with it as we are. There is good cause for circumspection, Lyo."

"But ..."

"This power is fraught with danger," the Emperor warned. "You cannot guarantee an outcome against another mutatis adept, nor even against another bull. There is a ... less catastrophic way to employ mutatis, and now that you've experienced it, I can show you how to minimize the temporal distortion effects. But this is a power very much ... to go unused whenever possible. And there is ..." the Emperor sighed. "I believe it was dueling mutatis adepts that led to the Xarbydis disaster."

"That was magecraft!"

"Eventually, yes, but ... someone had to give the orders," the Emperor said softly. "Unless you think that mages on both sides simultaneously decided to throw terraforming spells at each other."

"Simultaneous? But Scylla went ..."

"No," the Emperor said. "Scylla's strong adjustment started within hours of the requanting composition zero-point moment. Both of those spells take days to set up and unleash. Both spells were - had to have been - deliberate decisions taken by Patriarch Jenson and Patriarch Caslon. I think - cannot prove, but believe - they were using mutatis to choose options that would lead to their triumph. At some point, the competing possibilities led them to ... destruction." The Emperor looked at the teapot for a moment. "Even when there isn't an opposing adept, mutatis can lead to unexpected consequences."

Lyo pulled himself up, a surprisingly hard task, and refolded himself into a sitting position across from his father. "Why have you initiated me into this?"

A tiny, tiny nod acknowledged the question. "I sent your brother to Lycaili, because ... I was concerned about ... events. I do not like the reports from the West, Lyo. Ninja. Invasions. Assassinations. Clan versus clan. This is what preceded the Scylla-Xarbydis war. And ... a roan as a clan Patriarch."

"He wasn't randomly chosen, Father. Surely he must be an unusually capable bull, roan or no, to succeed to the Patriarchy."

"True ... and yet ... Noruma says he's Tzara."

Lyo's muzzle went a little slack as he called up the various Roan bloodlines. Tzara? "I thought he was Caravaggio?"

"His son Chelm claims Caravaggio. After talking to him, though, Noruma places him as Tzara."

"What ... is there some reason they would entrust a Tzara as Patriarch?"

"No. I don't think the senior Lycaili realize what they've done. I doubt that even Patriarch Teodor understands what Tzara means. The West has lost - or never had - a great deal of lore. Most of it was entrusted to us - the indigo lines - and they've faded out in the West. Presumably most of the lore was lost, as well."

"Presumably."

"Even an Imperial Emissary can scarcely ask a reigning Patriarch how he's handling his nihilistic impulses," the Emperor said dryly.

"That would be a difficult question," admitted Lyo.

"A consort could ask such a thing - ask, and even expect an answer."

"Does he have a consort?" asked Lyo. "I thought that wasn't usual, out there."

"He does not," the Emperor clarified.

"Then -" and Lyo's thoughts caught up. "You offered me?"

"Indirectly," the Emperor said with a small smile. "I made Noroma my plenipoteniary - and he decided to offer you as consort."

"Why?"

"Because I sent him to make peace. To prevent clan conflict. To smooth over these difficulties. He used the lesser form of mutatis I mentioned - I'll show you how it works. But the most proximate way of doing all those things was to offer you as consort, then, and there. Lycaili has not yet formally agreed, but ..." and the Emperor sighed. "We think they will."

"We? With whom have you discussed this?"

"One other," the Emperor said. "I have an oracle."

"An ..."

"An oculus initiate."

Lyo nodded. "I have not heard of oculus."

"No. Again, like mutatis, it is lore reserved for ... those in the Imperial line who have need of the knowledge."

"Then you judge I have need for it? Or will have need for it? In Lycaili?"

"I do not know," the Emperor said. "But what I do know is that I do not know that you won't need it, and therefore I must ensure you have what lore you require. It may be - may - be that I will entrust a complete copy of the lore to you, to help you establish - reestablish - indigo influence in the West. But much of the lore is ... dangerous in the wrong hands, and the more copies of it there are, the greater chance one of those wrong hands will achieve it."

"Like ninja?"

"Exactly like," the Emperor agreed. "Unfortunately it seems to be making a comeback in the West. At least one clan - Ouroubourous - is actively attempting to rediscover it."

"That's ..."

"My advisers consider it likely to fail. Apparently Lycaili - or should I say, even Lycaili - opposes such a thing, and they are actively campaigning to add a codicil to the Xarbydis treaties to forbid it."

"So this Patriarch Teodor listens to his advisers," said Lyo. "That seems promising."

"The internal politics of Lycaili are murky," cautioned the Emperor. "Only Mosura has any insight into the West, and I do not think they have any observers directly in Lycaili itself. We do not know where this idea originated." He sighed, and then added, "Although it seems unlikely that a Tzara would propose such."

"Even so, it's a good sign that he adopted it."

"Yes," said the Emperor. "But a bad sign that when Nomura put forth his image of peace, his best step was to offer you as consort."

"I admit I don't understand why I would be the best choice," admitted Lyo. "I'm ..."

"I don't know either," the Emperor said. "That is not a reflection on you, just my own ignorance. I've only had a few hours to consider this, but ... I don't know that any of your brothers would have been less mysterious, either. Although ..." he paused, and Lyo let his father think. "I admit I have great confidence that you will use mutatis with the care it requires."

"Thank you, Father, I appreciate your confidence. Is there more you can tell me about oculus?"

The Emperor nodded. "It is an art possible only to those who have some degree of prescience already. Practically, it means copper. I know some mages experience prescience to some degree, but I have never heard of anyone deliberately attempting to initiate one into oculus."

"I know some copper have prescience ..."

"All copper are prescient to some degree," the Emperor said. "They downplay it, of course. And usually that degree is very small, and restricted in some way. Other times, the power can be diffuse to the point where it merely confuses."

"All copper?"

"All."

"Then oculus is ... what, exactly?"

"The ability to perceive through time. Visions of the past, the present, and the future. It is not easily controlled, and visions of the future are unreliable," the Emperor said. "They may be the most likely outcome, or simply an outcome the oracle favors - or disfavors."

"One of the coppers at court is an oracle?" Lyo said, thinking. None of the courtiers seemed like a good choice except ... "Yazuasha? But ..."

"No," the Emperor said. "None of the courtiers. About eight decades ago I bought a slave from Leviathan, to see to my private quarters."

"Yes ..." said Prince Lyo. "I recall that now. But I haven't ..."

"No," the Emperor said. "I don't permit him out of the wing. And he is not to be discussed, not by my servants, not by my guards, and not by you, once you leave here."

"He's copper, then," said Lyo.

"Yes."

"Your slave is your oracle. Someone only you have access to."

"Yes," the Emperor said.

Prince Lyo nodded. "I understand. How many oracles do you know of?"

"One," the Emperor said. "Again, I do not know what lore other indigo lines may have, or be using. We - the Newtons - have gone to great lengths to keep these things secret. I trust the Kelvins - your line, my son, will be as circumspect."

"My line?" said Lyo, looking startled.

"Of course. What other path could you be meant for, in the West, where there are no indigo lines?"

Put that way, it did seem ... "I hadn't thought of that yet, I suppose," he apologized.

"Why would you," his father asked. "I've just turned your life upside down. Give it some time to settle back down."

"Thank you," Lyo said, secretly relieved.

"I've already given orders to have your things packed, and Yaz is putting together an honor guard. I think it would be best if you didn't take your household with you - you'll want to fit into Teodor's household, and anything he lacks you can acquire. It's not entirely barbaric there, and if there's anything you can't get, you can send for it."

"I ..."

"The trip to Lycaili will take almost two weeks with the official delegation, and the honor guard will report to Noroma once you've arrived," the Emperor continued. "I'm not sure what formality is involved in your taking the consort's role in Lycaili, but you'll be in Prince Noroma's household until you join the Patriarch's."

"How soon will we know if he accepts this?" Lyo said while he thought how long do I have before I leave?

"He will accept it," the Emperor said. "Noroma has seen it. My oracle sees it. And even if Teodor is hesitant - you will win him over."

"I hope ... I know nothing of him," Prince Lyo said. "Tzara, and ... intent on stirring up the old wars ... that does not sound promising. And ... I make no accusation, but ... from what I hear, he is an air-mage."

"You wonder if perhaps he used coercion to become Patriarch?"

"Yes," Lyo said.

"I don't know," the Emperor said bluntly. "Noroma made no mention of that. Only that his offer was guided by mutatis, so ... whatever the facts, this remains our best chance of peace. You remain our best chance for peace."

"Yes, Father," said Lyo, somewhat chastened.

"Good. Now, you will need to know how to go about making the best use of mutatis ..."

Patriarch Teodor spent a moment to relax before he stepped into the conference room. All of his senior generals were waiting for him, or at least all of those within a day of Maze. All of them had been briefed six days ago - indeed, most of them had actually been present when His Imperial Highness Prince Noroma had made his unexpected offer. And now, he was going to go into the conference room, and once again try to get some actual consultation from them, as opposed to declaring what he was going to do. It would be nice if his advisers ... actually advised him, instead of just repeating back what he'd said with minor variants.

He toyed again with asking Xavien to take his seat with the seniors, but ... Xavien was still too stressed. Sasha was still working with him, to reduce the old bull's workload to something he could manage without driving himself into another episode. He felt a momentary twinge of guilt at his previous interactions - fights, really - with Lord Green. Xavien had been carrying a load that would, Teodor had to admit, break the ebon bull, and ... Teodor, mind-mage that he was, or at least, supposed to be, hadn't noticed. Hadn't wanted to notice. He'd failed one of the most loyal, stalwart, determined defenders of Lycaili. Not again. Not until Sasha tells me he's well.

At least Sasha and Osaze would speak their mind to him.

Teodor straightened his mantle, and signaled his guard, Bracchus, an ebon warlord he knew too little about (but then that was true of nearly all of his guard and would probably remain so for several years. He simply had to trust that Oz would do his job properly in selecting his guards) to open the door, and paused as one of the palace messengers came running up to him. It said something that Teodor knew the messengers better than his own guard, if only Teodor knew what that something was.

"Lord Teodor? Your Excellence?"

"Yes, Padma?"

"General Zachiah's compliments, Master, and he wishes to inform you that Diamont - your cousin, m'lord - has requested five minutes of your time at your first opportunity."

Not, Teodor noted, his first _ convenient _ opportunity. "Zachiah recommends ..."

"My Lord, Diamont says it is a matter of the gravest urgency."

Teodor reached out mentally for the General - he wasn't that far and ... Zachiah? What does Diamont need? Can you handle it?

He says not, My - Teodor, the bull caught himself. He says this matter must be placed in front of you instantly.

I can hardly run out on a meeting of the senior council, Teodor shot back. Is a life at stake? A livelihood?

There was a brief feeling of disconnectedness as General Zachiah's attention drifted from the connection - Teodor tried to follow it to his cousin, but ... he simply didn't know Diamont well enough to establish a connection unseen. When was the last time he'd even seen Diamont?

Twenty-three years ago at his father's annual harvest party. Diamont was his Teomas' younger brother's - Diomede's second son, not a warrior, but ... had he even exchanged more than a simple greeting? No.

No. It took Teodor a moment to realize that was Zachiah, answering his questions. The urgency is not that great, but ... almost. He begs your forgiveness, but he says he can only speak of it with you. He adds that he hates to impose on his family ties, but ... if that will get him to you sooner, he will do so.

Does he! Teodor quashed a stir of resentment. I will give award the benefit of the doubt this time. Find, oh, ten minutes for me after the council meeting.

I trust he is wrong. I've heard of nothing so urgent, Mas - Teodor. And Sasha would have warned me if he knew of anything. Are you sure?

Yes, Teodor decided. He may, after all, be correct. Tell him that he will have my attention after I'm out of this meeting. There's the smaller conference room across the way; the Trompoil room. Can he wait there?

Yes. I'll have a guard show him. Teodor caught something else with the thought.

And?

And wait with him, Zachiah said.

Teodor discarded the thought of arguing. Yes, Diamont was family, and should be trusted to that extent, but it simply wasn't an argument he could win. Zachiah would accept his command - and then find some way to let Osaze know. Either way, when Teodor arrived to see Diamont, there'd be a guard waiting with him.

Yes, very well, Teodor said, and severed the connection trying not to feel the clear satisfaction of his secretary.

"I am late, I do beg your ..." and the stopped as the senior generals looked back at him with quietly repressed horror. "... forgiveness," Teodor finished as he sat down. "As usual, something ... had to be dealt with. But, here we are, and we've had some time to digest the, ah, remarkable offer of alliance from the Emperor of Nippon. Your thoughts, please." Teodor looked out over the silent heads of his senior generals, and after a moment.

"Perhaps you could recap the offer, Master," one of the pristine generals.

"I suppose," Teodor said. "Emperor Hideyoshi Newton offers me his son, Prince Lyo, as consort, a non-political role. Prince Lyo would join my house, as well as pledging his allegiance to Lycaili - the Imperial Emissary was at some pains to explain that the Imperial Family is clanless - it has no clan allegiance whatsover, and that when an Imperial Prince - ah, I misspoke, a Prince of the Imperial Family, an Imperial Prince is in the succession, while Prince Lyo is not and has never been in that succession.

"Prince Lyo would retain his title of Prince, but no other honors." Teodor gave a quick and utterly false smile. "Nothing else. However, we can expect some ... other benefits. Trade with the Nippon Clans will undoubtedly increase, with benefits for Leviathan, Ancalagon, Ungoliant, and Venrir. Both Leviathan and Ungoliant are already close, in an economic sense, to Mosura, and we can expect tighter relations with both of them as well. To the best of our knowledge, no Emperor has ever offered a consort to any clan on our side of the sea since Scylla and Xarbydis warred."

"There is a Scyllan connection?" General Granthos asked.

"Perhaps," said Teodor. "Our archives do not reach so far back. We have uncovered suggestions - suggestions only - that Oodaku and Xarbydis had a close relationship, as did Boragon and Scylla." Teodor paused, wondering how much more he should say, and then plunged in. "Regardless, I asked His Imperial Highness Prince Noroma point blank if there were any Imperial relations with ... any groups representing themselves as Scyllan, and His Imperial Highness was good enough to answer me no."

"You asked the Imperial Emissary ..." General Un couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence, although Teodor couldn't tell if that was because it was such a breach of diplomatic courtesy, or because the Patriarch had so violated custom.

"It was unspeakably rude," Teodor acknowledged. "But it was something I - we - had to know, to understand his offer." The room did not seem mollified at that. "I will repeat myself_exactly once_," Teodor said, his voice hardening. "I had to know. We had to know." He swept over the room with his eyes. "Does anyone doubt that?"

Silence.

"Lord Teodor," General Un said, respectfully. "I ... some of us have been told ... that even a mage's ability to winnow truth from falsehood can be ... evaded, in some way."

"That is true," Teodor said, "but not for discussion outside of this room." Or here, he would have added seeing the surprise in the eyes of some of the bulls, but the words could hardly be unsaid. "But that secret is known only to a single bull."

"Lord Teodor," General Un continued, "with all respect, the Nippon Clans have a lineage stretching all the way back to the Creators. If such a secret was known to the Creators, it is most reasonable to think it may be known by the Imperial family. I beg your forgiveness, Master, but ... can we trust even that?"

Why was it, Teodor wondered, that his supposed advisers seemed to think that offering advice was somehow offensive? "We can," Teodor answered briskly. "His Imperial Highness was ... not evasive in that way. General Un," Teodor said, "questions such as that are exactly why I come to seek your counsel. Asking them is your duty, and your duties to me need ask no forgiveness. Quite honestly, I hadn't considered that His Imperial Highness might have been deceptive until you asked - and then, considering the conversation, it is clear that he was not deceptive in that way."

"But he may have been deceptive in some other way?"

"He's clearly not telling us everything, but I do not believe he is being deceptive," Teodor said. "He's an ambassador. He's here to advance his father's - the Emperor's - intentions."

"But what are those intentions?" asked General Un.

"I have some ideas," Teodor said softly. "I was hoping to hear yours." He looked out expectantly over the room, and waited. He let a minute pass, and then another, and a third. "I see. General Granthos, General Un - please leave us, you are dismissed."

"My Lord, if we've offended ..." started General Granthos, but Teodor interrupted him.

"The opposite, I assure you. Nevertheless ..." Teodor gestured to the door. "Please be about your duties."

Teodor waited for the door to shut behind General Un, and then for another long moment, before he rose from his chair. "My Generals. I am going to say this again. I am not Cresphontes, I will not govern as he did, because, not being him, I can't. I have lived, I admit, a somewhat cloistered life, both because of the nature of the gifts I have, and the duties I assumed, watching over the boundaries around Mistingrise. I do not have the experiences you do, among the army, among our allies and friends and other clans, and I ... I come here, meeting after meeting, hoping to receive the insights that experience has given you.

"What I have received, this time, is your silence. Every time, what I receive is mostly ... your silence." Teodor looked around. "I do not need that. I have no use for it. It does not help me. I have a thousand things that I must see to, that I must do. I do not have time to sit and hear your silence, hoping to tease out some experience or memory that might shed some insight into the clan's concerns.

"So I am going to leave you to your own deliberations for a time. Talk among yourselves. Consider the situation, and at our next meeting - tomorrow - I want advice. Your advice. If you have none to offer, if this council," Teodor said slowly, "is not a good use of your time - resign. Your place here is not an empty honor, it is not an award. If it is recognition, it is recognition only that your words and thoughts help me steer Lycaili." Teodor took another deep breath in the quiet.

"I do not know why the Emperor of the Nippon Clans would offer Lycaili a dynastic connection. I do not know if I should accept it, or reject it. What, if any, hooks are concealed in this offer? There are many advantages - but I find myself distrustful of the gesture when I don't understand the motives behind it. If anyone in Lycaili can winnow the meaning and reasoning behind this - it is you, collectively." Teodor was silent for a moment. "And if you cannot, then ... well, I don't know.

"Although I'm not sure how much longer I can put off answering His Imperial Highness as to whether or not I accept. General Un is doing wonders with protocol, but ... eventually, I am going to have to respond, officially."

Teodor hadn't expected a response, and so the question from General Clarence took him by surprise. "My Lord, have any of the other ambassadors advanced ... positions?"

A good question. "No," said Teodor. "Although Ambassador Corrigan ... skated around the issue, yesterday. He wanted to know if I would accept, and ... wondered what trade concessions I'd made and to whom." Teodor paused. "I didn't understand his questioning, either."

"My Lord," General Clarence said, "you are currently in negotiation with the humans. Perhaps they see a trade relationship developing?"

"What do they have worth trading?"

"I don't know, but they may have something, My Lord. If they did, if ... commerce or conquest were to happen beyond Mog Ford, Lycaili could change - would change, My Lord, from backwater to gateway. Ungoliant favors expansion, My Lord, that is no secret."

"True," said Teodor. "Thank you, General, that's the kind of contribution I ... I need. Do you think the Emperor would move so ... decisively on such little information? A month ago, when he sent this delegation, he could barely know of the contact, much less that we would entertain their delegation."

"It might have been a trigger, My Lord, rather than a critical event. One more thing, in a list of things, that moved him from concerned observer to ... participant," General Deomere suggested.

"I must disagree, that does not seem at all likely" another voice spoke up.

Teodor sighed, but he settled back into his chair, and listened - intently - to the ongoing debate.

The Trompoil Room sat up six bulls comfortably, leaving one seat for Teodor, although only one - Diamont - was sitting. The other four stood, comfortably in the case of the three guards, and uncomfortably, in the case of a small black minotaur. Teodor caught the senior guard's eye, and motioned him back against the walls. Diamont himself rose, and then dropped to one knee. "Lord Teodor," he said.

Teodor didn't let his surprise show, he just replied, "Cousin," reminding Diamont that he'd asked for this meeting partly on the strength of their familial relationship. "It's been some time," Teodor said, as he went to embrace Diamont, and the roan returned the gesture awkwardly at first.

"Thank you, My Lord," Diamont said.

"Teodor, Cousin," Teodor said. "Or just Te."

"I ..." and Diamont looked a little grim. "My Lord," he said, "I beg you to listen to me, and ... forgive me. But ..."

Teodor held up a hand. "Let us at least be seated. I do not know this bull," he said, gesturing at the black.

"My Lord, it is of a piece, and I beg you listen."

"Diamont ..." and then Teodor took a breath. Obviously whatever Diamont had to say - wasn't family business, and Diamont refused to pretend it was, and ... thought it important enough to bring it directly to him. "Clearly you have some urgency."

"I ... there is urgency, My Lord, but not mine," Diamont said. "I beg an audience - now - for this bull, Lysander Leviathan."

"You would use our shared blood to ..." said Teodor, surprised. "I'm ..."

"I owe his employer a great deal, My Lord Teodor," Diamont interrupted. "Guildmaster Iudas Leviathan sent him to me with a message he claimed was of paramount importance and imposed on the many favors he has done me, and the relationship we have, to present you with his messages at the first possible moment. My Lord, the Guildmaster does not use such language lightly, and ... I took him at his word, as I often have. My Lord, I have never regretted doing so."

"Very well. I will look at your dispatches."

The senior guard moved to take them, and Lysander turned them over. "The seal is Guildmaster Iudas', but the message within is meaningless, Great Lord. It is a complex business deal that would require your council's approval, and it is a cover for my message, not the message itself. I hold words to you from the Guildmaster, and would speak them."

"Do so," Teodor said.

Lysander bowed. "First, Great Lord Teodor, do you trust, with your life, honor, and blood, all those who may hear us?"

"My sworn guard and my own cousin?" Teodor asked, and looked for a moment at Diamont.

"I could leave ..."

"No, stay. You have staked your own honor on this matter, and you should see how it turns out."

Diamont nodded.

"From my employer, Iudas Leviathan, Master of the Banker's Guild, to Great Lord Teodor Lycaili," recited Lysander, "Greetings, Great Lord. Forgive my presumption; I know there are proper channels for these things, but I did not trust them even in my own clan. I have had dealings with Diamont Lycaili, and know him to be trustworthy, and even more happily, expect he can reach you quickly, without, I hope, suspicion.

"Twelve hours past from when I compose this, a Roan marque blanc who believed himself to be Dacien Lycaili asked me for sanctuary. With him were a Pristine calling himself Dusan, a Blue calling himself Bryant Lycaili, and several Pristine marque noir without names. All show signs of mindbending."

Teodor stared at Lysander in shock as the black continued. "I granted them sanctuary, only to learn that at least one of their pursuers, whom they claim to be Scyllan, is almost certainly a grandmaster I know as General Wolachya Leviathan. I do not know how far this corruption has spread in Leviathan. I do not know whom to trust, even among your own court and so I turn to my associate Diamont, to reach you directly, Great Lord Teodor.

"I have hidden them at my estate. Only a few bulls here know, and we continue as if nothing has happened, using concealment and routine to make all appear normal. It is my hope you will mount a rescue. I have sent along some business transactions with Diamont, and my messenger will have further dispatches in Ancalagon and Ungoliant to keep him out of Leviathan, so as not to alert our foes.

"Already, I have seen those whom I believe to be searchers - Ebon and Pristine whom I do not recognize, but wear - disgrace and dishonor, rather - our Leviathan livery. But for now, they found nothing, and moved on.

"I am sorry to send such tidings, and shamed to discover my clan's apparent complicity. I, Dellios, and Nils will all oppose this wrong to the best of our ability.

"We await your word and pleasure, Great Lord," Lysander finished, and looked down at Teodor, who had dropped to his seat. "Should I carry a reply, Great Lord?"

"Carry a ..." and Teodor shook his head. "Daimont, Courier Lysander, it is as wrong to credit the messenger with good news as it is to blame one for ill, and yet ..." Teodor gave a short laugh. "Why should there be an artificial restriction on joy? This is ... beyond mere good news. A million thanks for speeding it to me is sparse and miserly. Thank you, Lysander, I thank you as Teodor who has now real hope for the life of his son, I thank you as Lord Fog, whose promising apprentice you have returned from oblivion, and I thank you as Patriarch Lycaili, for the news of my lost children. And Diamont, for your role in this - my thanks."

"It was little enough. It sounds as if Guildmaster Iudas is a better friend than perhaps I knew," Diamont said.

"A better friend? Say, rather, a most honorable bull ... no finer compliment than that can I bestow," said Teodor. "I ... but ..." and Teodor drew a deep breath. "Let me save my rejoicing for our reunion; there is work to do. A moment, if you would, while I contact some others." He frowned. "The Guildmaster has gone to some lengths to keep this news concealed, and I will not question his wisdom." Teodor looked around the room. "You may all consider this a state secret. Courier Lysander, you are not bound to obey me ..."

"Great Lord, I am bound to my Guild and my Clan, and both bind me to equal discretion in this matter."

"I had no doubts of you, Courier Lysander, none," Teodor replied. "Still, my thoughts are so scattered ..." he paused. Sasha! SASHA!

What? came the plaintive reply with an odd quality. Now? I'm ... engaged. With Milos.

Dacien lives, Teodor sent, and then the thoughts and facts and news and persons, all as a collection of knowledge.

Sasha's return message was simply an incredulous, vibrant joy as acknowledgment, and then, a more subdued caution as he sent, Te, as welcome as this news is, couldn't it be in error? Or even - forgive me - a fabrication?

It could, acknowledged Teodor. But to what end? I intend to respond with force, given how you were ambushed at Xarbydis. This cannot be a Scyllan trick -

Sasha's reply wasn't verbal, just a sense of deep, deep mistrust.

• most unlikely a Scyllan trick, then. They must know something of mage-capabilities, yes?

Yes.

Then if this were their trick, they would have sent the one clinching impossible-to-fake detail: a hair from this alleged Dacien.

And why wouldn't Iudas have sent it?

For the simplest possible reason: he's not well-educated on mage-capabilities. What would a hair prove to him? Nothing_, that's what. Oh, he_ might have thought of it, and I wouldn't dismiss this report even if he had, but ... no council of crafty spies would miss such an obvious, simple enhancement.

I think that's reaching, Te, Sasha replied. Really. That's doublethink that makes my head spin. I know you're good at plucking clues from the thinnest details, but ... perhaps it is a hoax and the hoaxers do not have Dacien available.

Who would bother with such a thing? Teodor asked. What good would it do?

I cannot imagine an answer, and you cannot imagine an answer, but all that proves is we lack imagination, Sasha said. Really. For that matter, they may have mistaken your response, and expect something entirely different than what you're thinking of now.

Teodor considered that for a moment. And if you're right? This is some elaborate trick? What then should I do? Sasha, what else can I do? I have to respond.

True, Sasha said, thinking. I am not sure. Regardless I should be on that rescue mission. Perhaps I can make contact with some of our sources, and if Dacien's been hurt ... and then Sasha's tone turned darker, almost apologetic, as he considered that set of possibilities. We've seen what that mindbender can do, Te. It may be ... bad.

It may be. Or not. But whatever it is, I will take it in grateful preference to dead_._

Sasha's response was simply wordless support, and then, May I tell Milos? He's ... patient, but you did rather interrupt us. And he ... feels guilt over Dacien, too.

Regret, tinged with more guilt, filled Teodor's response. Only if there is immediate value. Iudas stressed that he did not know how compromised Leviathan was, and ... it seems to me that we might be compromised ourselves.

Unlikely, came the immediate, indignant response. I know who is spying on us ... and then, more thoughtfully, still ... and finally a repentant you are right, much I would like it to be otherwise. Where are you?

The Trompoil room.

I'll be there in as soon as, ah, I can. Five minutes. Who else?

Zachiah, Hector, Osaze, and ..._Teodor paused for a moment. _I am wondering if we should let Prince Noroma in on this.

Wordless bafflement radiated back from Sasha.

We need some excuse to move a small army into Leviathan. If Prince Noroma were with them ...

Sasha replied with instant negation. We are not using the Imperial Crown Prince as a decoy. And I should note that Milos is rather cross with us.

You mean, you?

Us. There's only one person who could contact me mind-to-mind, my friend. And I admit to some crossness myself.

On any other day, with any other news, I might be sorry, but ... I'm not, in the slightest, Teodor replied. _ The Trompoil room is a bit small for us. The mage's council room would be right, and ... it's close to your quarters. I assume you're -_

- yes -

Then there, in fifteen minutes. I'll gather the others. I am sorry about Milos. I will unbend enough to let you tell him to pack.

That is hardly a concession!

No, said Teodor with a certain amount of amusement, but it's what I can give you.

Sasha walked into the council room less than five minutes later, only to find Ruus, sitting - no, not sitting, slumped - in his usual Speaker's chair. Ruus shifted his stare from the empty table to Sasha as the brown minotaur paused at the door. "Ruus?"

"Lord Doze," the bull returned, almost uncertainly. "Not what I expected ... I suppose I should have consulted you earlier. Pride and foolishness on my part, I expect."

"I'm sorry, I don't understand," Sasha said automatically, although this once, he thought, he truly didn't. "What is wrong?"

"Insomnia, headaches, nausea ... all without any physical cause," the pale or minotaur said. "I am here because ... I have to be here. Prescience, even if ... I don't know ... didn't know," the bull corrected himself, "didn't know why. But it seems clear enough now; I must be here to encounter you."

A grimace contorted the mage's face, and even from where he stood, Sasha could feel the sudden throb of pain. "Right on schedule. The headache is back."

But I have not come here to see you, seemed - true and false. "I wish you had come to me," Sasha said finally, walking over to the bull. "For how long?"

"Six days. It started the day before Prince Noroma arrived," Ruus said. "Just a dull ache and I was able to quell it - but it kept returning. Stronger, each time. I nearly passed out near the end of the ceremony, right before His Imperial Highness' diplomatic sledgehammer."

"May I touch your mind?"

"Yes," sighed Ruus. "I wouldn't ..." and then he fell silent.

A touch, and then another touch, and another ... the pain was there, but it didn't seem connected to any particular mental state ... "You say you cannot find a physical cause?" Sasha asked.

"No. I can alleviate it for a few minutes, but ... regardless of what I do, it returns."

"Alleviate it," Sasha instructed, and watched as ...something happened. He could see the effects of what Ruus had done, but he hadn't linked himself closely enough to see with Ruus' own perceptions. The pain was real, but ... where was it coming from? "Has Trand or Xavien looked at this?"

"No, I did not wish to disturb either of them ... there," said Ruus said with a sigh of relief. "Ah. The problem is, it comes back ... worse when I do that."

That would have been good to know earlier, the brown mage thought, but all Sasha said was, "Thank you, Ruus."

"What is it? Can you tell?"

No. "I'm not sure," Sasha said after a moment long enough to be polite. "I am sorry, Ruus, but ... it's inobvious. Minds are not like bodies, I'm afraid sometimes I have to go ... exploring to understand what's happening."

"I don't have time for that just now," Ruus said quickly.

And you may well have less time than you suspect, but of course Sasha didn't say that either. "I would need to go in fairly deeply, I think, to make any progress," Sasha said, trying to sound regretful. "It's not a casual thing."

"I see," said Ruus, taking a breath. "I suppose that's a good thing, too. I need to speak with Lord Teodor, and ... I have allowed myself to put that off for too long."

Yes, thought Sasha. "Is it something I should know about?" the brown said with a smile. "Can I help you?" Please make a full confession. It would be so much easier for ... you, really. And me.

"Eventually," said Ruus. "I ... have acted ..." and then he sighed. "I have always tried to act in the best interests of Lycaili, Sasha, but lately ... I think I have lost my way. I need to talk to Te - Lord Teodor, first, I think. I'm afraid I would put you in an invidious position if I were to speak with ... " Ruus looked around, suddenly confused, "you before him," he finished. "How peculiar."

"What?"

The other mage shook his head a little, took a sniff, as if he could smell whatever had confused him. "I ... whatever is supposed to happen here, whatever I'm here for, hasn't happened yet," he said slowly. "So ... it's not my meeting you." Ruus grimaced as a spike of discomfort went through him, and Sasha, still lightly connected to him, felt it as well. "I am not sorry for that even so. If I was unaware I needed to ask for help - I know now."

"What has to happen?" asked Sasha.

"I have no idea. I've been waiting here for almost an hour ..." Ruus shook his head again. "Sometimes prescience is like that." He gave Sasha a half-hearted smile. "Sometimes the prompting is very clear. Sometimes it is ... unclear. Sometimes it is a ... niggling discomfort that one simply cannot evade or put to rest. This situation seems very much both."

Sasha gingerly looped a thread of magic out, and gave a small part of Ruus' mind a very small twist. "I've ... distracted you. You won't feel any discomfort," Sasha said. "You will have awareness of the pain, but ... it won't hurt."

"That sounds ..."

"It will be strange," Sasha said. "No question! But it's clearly bothering you, and the mental arts are best practiced as lightly as possible. This is the smallest possible help I can give."

"I ... yes. Thank you, Sasha." Ruus looked sad for a moment, and then looked up. "Now that ... but Sasha, what are you doing here?"

"A private meeting," said Sasha.

"A private meeting, with ..." and then a searing bolt of pain leaped from Ruus to Sasha. The brown gasped for breath as he fell to the ground, suddenly unable to stand. He was only on the ground for a moment before Ruus was by his side, lifting him back up, and into his seat. "Sasha!" Ruus said, alarmed, and then Ruus was helping the brown mage into his seat. "Are you all right?"

"I ... what was that? It felt ... it felt like someone stabbed a red-hot poker through my eyes, from the inside," Sasha said. "Is that what your headaches have been like?"

"Not quite that bad, but ... yes, something like that," Ruus said, sounding apologetic. "I'm so sorry I couldn't catch you - I had a premonition, and ... just for a moment, I was distracted. I beg your forgiveness."

"Yes, yes," said Sasha. "A premonition? Just now?"

"Yes, that private meeting - that's why I've been standing here. Only this time, the premonition was clear." A moment later, Ruus added, "Sasha, that's the first clear premonition I've had since these headaches started." He paused for a moment. "And the nausea is gone, too."

"Then you think this pain is connected to your prescience."

"I do now," Ruus said. "But that's ..." he paused. "I don't see how."

"If something were interfering with your magic?"

"If ... wouldn't that have to be mental? Your sort of magic?"

"I," said Sasha, and then, "Yes, I would think so. But ... I sensed nothing before, and nothing even as that pain hit me, and ... nothing now."

"But someone meddling with my thoughts might not leave an active spell," said Ruus.

"Ruus," said Sasha, "I assure you, if some mage tampered with your mind - touched it any way, I would know. It could not be concealed from me. You are untouched, I assure you."

"Could ... I beg your forgiveness, Sasha, but ... could you have done something to cause this?"

"No," said Sasha, "and I am not offended at the question."

"Lord Teodor hypothesized that some ... mysterious mage might have a method for blocking prescience," Ruus said. "Quite some time ago."

"Lord Teodor hypothesizes many things," sighed Sasha. "One could spend one's entire life chasing down the facts to answer his musings. To answer your unspoken question, I don't know. Are you suggesting he's experimenting on you, without your consent, in his free time?"

"He doesn't have free time," said Ruus, "and no, I wasn't. But ... I wonder if this is what it would feel like. It seemed like a reach when he first ... "

Ruus fell silent as the door opened, and General Osaze stepped in with a frown. "Lord Chimes?" he asked, which was echoed from the outside in Teodor's voice. The Patriarch and two other bulls - General Zachiah and General Hector entered as well, and regarded him with surprise.

"My Lord Chimes ..." said Teodor, and his gaze went to Sasha. "Did you invite him?"

"I invited myself," the bull said. "I have been waiting for ... some time."

"I do beg your forgiveness," said Teodor softly, "but this is a need-to-know business, and ... you don't."

"I ... do," said Lord Chimes. "I don't know why, but I have to be in this meeting. Prescience, Lord Teodor."

"I ..." and the gray minotaur fell silent for a moment.

"He's right," added Sasha. "He really does. And there's something odd going on. Something's interfering with his prescience. For the last six days or so, we think."

"I ..." and Teodor took a deep breath. "Is this a direct attack of some kind?"

"Not that I can tell," said Sasha. "Or at least, it isn't a direct mental attack."

"Or magical," said Ruus. "I would have sensed that. Whatever is happening might be more of a side effect of ..."

"Of what?" said Teodor.

"Something else?" asked Ruus after a moment. "I beg your forgiveness. Sasha and I had just worked out what was happening when you entered. We are hardly prepared to report it."

"That is alarming. Extremely so." said Teodor. "Ruus, you and I will have to figure out what's happening after this meeting." He turned to Zachiah. "Forgive me, General, but we seem to have found another priority."

"You said this was a critical matter, so I told Warlord Hallard to postpone everything - all but your dinner appointment with His Imperial Highness, but we still have a couple of hours until that. Aside from His Imperial Highness, your afternoon is now free," the General said modestly. "Will that do?"

"And I thought my council of mages worked magic," said Teodor. "It will."

"You may not be so pleased tomorrow," warned Zachiah.

"I am at the point where, if there be a tomorrow, I will be pleased enough," said Teodor. "If you would sit. I am sorry to rush through the niceties - General Hector, could you please close the door?"

"Of course, My Lord."

"My Lord Chimes, since you are so fortuitously present, may I impose on you to invoke the spells of privacy on the chamber?"

"I - yes, My Lord," and then, "it is done, My Lord."

Teodor took a deep breath as he sat down. "Thank you, all, for making this last-minute meeting. I have what is ... the most amazing news; my son Dacien lives, and is currently in hiding at the estate of Guildmaster Iudas Leviathan. I don't suppose any of us knows exactly where that is? General Hector?"

Only Sasha - who already knew - didn't react. Hector and Zachiah both started to say something, and then stopped, staring at each other. Ruus just nodded, as if he'd expected something so surprising, and it was Osaze who finally spoke. "My Lord? Is this ... credible?"

"Hard to know," said Teodor after a moment. "It is news I that I have wanted to hear, half-expected to hear, for so long that ... I do not know if I am the best judge." The gray minotaur sighed. "I discussed it briefly with Polychrome," Teodor said slowly, noting that Osaze didn't even twitch in Sasha's direction. "Our conclusion was that ... we needed to respond," and then Teodor corrected himself. "I needed to respond. So yes, it may be some kind of false report or trick, and I wish to react with sufficient speed and force that we catch any ambush off-guard and unprepared for the strength of our response. I regret that I cannot discuss the report further with you, My Lords and Generals."

"That is sufficient for us," sighed Osaze. "If it be true, then it is wonderful news, My Lord, but ... it just seems so ... unlikely."

"Yes, but ... doesn't all of this strike one as unlikely? What outcomes don't seem so, at this point," asked Teodor. "So, back to the point of this meeting for which I have disordered my schedule to the breaking point - do we know where this Guildmaster Iudas lives?"

"No, My Lord," said Hector, visibly forcing himself to focus. "Although the Guildmaster himself is not unknown to me; he runs his business from Leviathan itself, so his estate must perforce be within fifty miles or so of Leviathan Maze."

"You know him?"

"Of him, My Lord," Hector clarified. "I have never met him, and have no personal connection. My Lord, is there no detail of this report that you may share?"

"No," said Teodor. "There may be danger connected with the passage of that information, and so I do not wish any inquiry into it. The news may be false, but we will proceed as if it is so, every jot and tittle. That is not the only piece of information. The Guildmaster - and yes, this report is from him - believes that Leviathan clan itself is ... compromised by Scylla. He even names a single name - Grandmaster Wolachya Leviathan - as a secret Scyllan."

"Grandmaster Wolachya! But ..." and then Hector was silent. "Him, My Lord, I do know, if only in passing. He is an accomplished tempus master, and weaponsmaster and ... My Lord, what certainty do you place on this accusation?"

"Enough that I intend to demand his arrest and extradition from Patriarch Nahor," said Teodor. "Zachiah, draw up the documents and I'll sign them. Accuse him of ... ah, complicity in the various attacks within Lycaili, the assassination of Lord Cresphontes, and the abduction of Mage Dacien, and demand his extradition on each and every ground. I will send an Ambassador Plenipotentiary to present the document directly to Lord Nahor and no other, as ... the Guildmaster says he does not know how far the corruption goes."

"And if Lord Nahor is complicit in this plot?"

"Then we will be formally at war, instead of this shadow-boxing," said Teodor. "Or perhaps Nahor will surrender this Wolachya after some mental editing of his own. But if Wolachya comes to us with huge slices taken out of his mind ... well, that proves something too."

"And if, more likely, he escapes?"

Teodor shook his head. "I do not care about this Wolachya. I care about Scylla - having their clandestine links in Leviathan exposed will hurt them far more than the capture of a single agent, who probably has destructive mental triggers in case of capture. But all of that must wait on the recovery of Dacien. If we recover Dacien, and fail every other opportunity - it is still a win. I know some of you think I am simply being a doting father - and I suppose I am. But Dacien's magery is unique, and worth what we risk."

"What is so unique ..." started Zachiah.

"That is a need to know question," answered Teodor. "The answer would place Dacien in yet more danger. Even that Dacien is so valuable is a revelation that endangers him and harms Lycaili."

"Yes, My Lord," said Zachiah. "But, pardon me for asking - someone other than yourself is privy to these secrets?"

"Yes," said Teodor. "General Hector, I am charging you with putting together a ... call it a road patrol, nominally to ensure the safety of a coming Imperial delegation. Your actual task is to position yourself in Leviathan with a force of fifty warlords to retrieve Dacien and return him to Lycaili. You can leave patrols behind you both to secure your line of retreat, and as a reserve."

"That will take a lot of your Guard, My Lord ... may I activate some Reserve?"

"Yes," said Teodor. "Take enough warriors to extract Dacien. Please note that the Guildmaster has exposed himself to some danger on Dacien's behalf, and his position should not be compromised, either. If you feel you need to leave a detachment behind while he forms his own guard, then leave a detachment. Or invite - invite - him to Lycaili. If the report I have is correct, I and Lycaili are greatly in his debt."

"Of course, we hope it is correct. But if ... it is not correct?" asked Hector.

"I am placing Sasha in command, for ... a number of ..."

"No," Lord Chimes interrupted suddenly even as Sasha gave a gasp of pain. "You must not do that, My Lord!"

"I beg ..." and Teodor's eyes narrowed. "Sasha? Are you well?"

"I am well, My Lord. I ... I have ... I'm not entirely sure what I've been doing to Ruus, Te, but ... it seems to prevent the interference with his prescience. Unfortunately there's some kind of ... backlash. It's exceedingly unpleasant."

"I must not send Sasha," said Teodor.

"No, My Lord." Ruus swallowed, and then said, "There is more. You must send Lord Xavien."

"Impossible," Teodor said. "Beyond impossible. I cannot send Xavien, he's the last bull I could ..."

"It must be he, My Lord," Ruus said. "It must. I admit I am as ... dubious, call it, as yourself, but there is no doubt whatsoever that you must send Lord Xavien."

Teodor glanced around the room. "Xavien remains too fragile for such duties. He is still recovering from that disastrous stint as Regent."

"Then put General Hector in overall command. Xavien must go," Ruus said. "Sasha must not."

"My Lord," put in Sasha, "If Ruus says it must be ... it must be."

Teodor looked around the room. "Everyone in this room is aware of Xavien's condition. Is there anyone who thinks sending him is a good idea?"

"Ah, My Lord," said General Hector. "If Ruus' percipience says it must be Xavien, then ... however bad an idea sending him is - all others are worse."

Nods of agreement followed from Sasha and Osaze, and, after a long moment, Zachiah as well. Teodor reached up and rubbed his temple wearily. "Even knowing that," the Patriarch said, "how can I ask - order, really - Xavien to do something like that? It's ..."

"It's percipience," said Sasha. "It defies reason, Te. Cresphontes felt the same way, if it's any comfort."

"No," Teodor said. "It is not comfort. Ruus, would you be good enough to ask Lord Xavien to join us? Discretely."

"Of course. Xavien?"

"If it's not inconvenient, I was hoping you could join me in the council chamber." Ruus' eyes flickered over to Teodor. "Discretely."

"Ah ... I'm afraid even if it is inconvenient, I would ask you to join me."

"Sooner than that would be better, Xavien."

"Yes, that would be exactly the right response."

Not thirty seconds after that, the door opened, and Lord Xavien stared in at the group. "I trust this is soon enough, after all?"

"It is," Teodor said. "Please come in and shut the door. Lord Chimes, would you renew the privacy spells?"

"I will renew them," said Lord Xavien curtly. "Please you, My Lord Teodor," and with a gesture, the door shut silently behind him. "What is this? Lord Teodor - why I am summoned like this?"

"Because I have a credible report of Dacien," Teodor said. "He's hiding in Leviathan, and ... I'm forming an excursion to go get him."

Xavien looked around the council chamber. "Is this report as credible as Teodor says?"

"Lord Teodor informs us it was a secret report, but that Polychrome finds it so," Zachiah said.

Xavien stared at General Zachiah for a long moment. "This is an agent's report?"

"No," said Teodor. "I have, however, shared the specifics with Polychrome."

"You will forgive me my skepticism, My Lord," said Xavien.

"Forgive? I am relying on it," Teodor siad. "He's hiding for a reason. According to this report, Leviathan itself is compromised. He seems to have found a protector in Guildmaster Iudas Leviathan." Teodor paused as Xavien nodded. "You know him?"

"I've met him once," Xavien said. "Copper. I don't think we talked. I formed no opinion of him." The ebon yawned, and walked over to Lord Run's chair and sat down. "Then Scylla is hiding inside Leviathan?"

"I quite honestly have no idea," Teodor said. "Compromised, but how compromised, I do not know. We have a name, but only one: Wolachya Lev-"

"Grandmaster Wolachya?!" snapped Xavien. "I know him. Him? He is accused of this ... this ... perfidy?"

"Maybe," said Teodor, emphasizing the word. "The Guildmaster suspects him - well, reports near certainty in the matter, but ..."

"Wolachya is ... a vastly respected grandmaster. He provides private tempus instruction in addition to his family interests," Xavien said. "It seems ... unthinkable that such as he would be ... could be ..." and the ebon bull paused. "But then this entire Scylla situation is unthinkable. Very well. Although ... I have - could have had - a personal connection. We corresponded - discussed," and Xavien fell silent again.

"Yes?" Teodor prompted.

"We ... considered a bloodline exchange. Didn't happen, for ... it hardly matters why," the ebon bull said, sounding upset. "But if he's one of these ..." Xavien was silent for a moment. "I don't know."

"Even if he is corrupt, that hardly reflects on you, regardless of your connection or lack. And this brings us to you," Teodor said.

"Yes," nodded Xavien. "Why am I here? I scarcely know him well enough to judge."

"Ruus' percipience informs me that, instead of sending Lord Doze on this expedition, I must send My Lord Xavien. Even though - and I beg your forgiveness, Xavien - I am not convinced you are ready for this again."

"Truth needs no forgiveness." Xavien said regretfully. "I may not like it, but it's the truth. You cannot put me in charge of this, Teodor."

"I am going to put Osaze in charge, and attach you to his mission."

"But ..."

"Percipience," sighed Teodor, gesturing at Ruus, who returned an apologetic smile.

Xavien fixed a stare on Ruus. "Lord Chimes, is your percipience in the best interest of Lord Teodor's policies?"

"I ... what?"

"I believe you heard me, Lord Chimes. Suppose, Lord Chimes, that, hypothetically, you believed Lord Teodor should be replaced. Would, then, your percipience guide events to that outcome?"

"It ... I don't know, Lord Xavien," Ruus said, looking the ebon minotaur directly in the eye. "It could, I think. But I do not believe this falls into that category. I would never knowingly commit such treason. But ... unknowingly? I don't know. I have never known what or how my percipience chooses a particular action or event as better; it merely does."

"Exactly," said Xavien. "Can you imagine that it doesn't use your judgment?"

"My judgment? How? When sometimes it demands things I ... would never agree to without it? It may be," said Ruus, looking disturbed. "But ... my percipience so often knows, or seems to know, better than I do that even my ... impaired opinions, if I should have them, might not matter."

"A disturbing question, I admit," asked Teodor. "Lord Chimes, do you currently believe that Lycaili would be better off if I were to step down, and have no part in the choosing of the next Patriarch?"

"I ... I do not think so, My Lord."

"Have you ever held that opinion," asked Teodor.

"I ... I would ask you to withdraw that question, My Lord, and say that, if I ever held that opinion, I do not hold it now."

"I ask not to embarrass you, Ruus, but to determine if you've taken actions based on percipience while you did hold such a, ah, hypothetical opinion."

"I ..." and Ruus closed his eyes, and looked down. "I beg your forgiveness, My Lord, but may we continue this discussion in private? I swear to you, Master, this was a discussion I ..." Ruus paused. "I was preparing myself to ask for."

After a long, long, moment, Teodor nodded. "I will postpone the discussion, and the question of forgiveness. For now, let us return to our first priority - extracting Dacien from Leviathan. These other matters ... must wait."

"Thank you, My Lord," said Ruus quietly. "That is very kind."

"Don't thank me yet, My Lord Chimes," Teodor's voice held a hint of steel. "I do not know yet if Lycaili can afford kindness."