Irmina narrowed her eyes, still confused.
“If you were able to go through the annals of all Ashishin who remained constantly under a Pathfinder’s protection, you would most likely notice one thing: beyond a doubt those Matii survived more years than any other before they succumbed to the madness.”
She felt her eyebrows shoot up at the implication. “Are you saying the Pathfinders were responsible for lessening the essences’ effects?”
High Shin Hardan’s smug expression spoke on its own, but he still answered. “Yes. There’s a reason why Pathfinders are required to wear the armor they do and be individually unidentifiable. Among every group of them is at least one netherling. Why? There are those of us, my caste specifically, whose ability it is to lessen the essences’ mental impact.”
“How many were aware of this?”
“Prior to the last several years? Only the Exalted and a few within the Assembly. A secret is no longer a secret if everyone knows.” Hardan smiled. “Besides the awe and fear associated with the Pathfinders served us well.”
Secrets upon secrets wrapped in lies or veiled truths. Irmina couldn’t help the loathing she felt for how much the Iluminus’ hierarchy kept hidden or had changed. So many people’s futures ruined.
A man stood. Irmina squinted as she recognized his face, her mouth opening, and then closing with her shock.
“Raijin Irmina.” Exalted Buneri’s voice carried its customary deep rumble. “He has told you this much to show his goodwill, to reveal truth as Quintess has done. She has been your contact so you know what is happening. Either we start trusting each other or we perish and our loved ones with us.”
Of all the Exalted, Irmina had disliked him the most. When she discovered they were behind her parent’s death, she pictured herself gutting the man. But he had been one of the two among them who had voted against their actions. It did not make her like him, but it gave her a measure of respect for him.
It didn’t help that he was correct. They had all risked this meeting in a city inhabited by Matii, many of whom belonged to the Tribunal. All of them had much to lose and more to gain by their success. Shoving her questions aside, she strode forward to the head of the table and stood next to Hardan and Buneri. She felt inconsequential next to an Exalted and a netherling. None of that mattered now. The one thing of importance was the plan and carrying it out perfectly. Expectant expressions greeted her as she gazed out into the crowd.
“Right,” she began, “you all know who I am. Each of you lead a sect or a division within the Iluminus where you command Matii or soldiers. And each of you are of the Gray Council.” She let that sink in for a moment. “You will have noticed those under you are being recalled to the Iluminus, and then massed here and at the Vallum of Light. The reason given is to strike at the uprisings in Randane and Barson, to quell the advance of the shade, and to retake Castere.
“I believe there’s more to this. Not all of the White and Shadow are at each other’s throats. Someone in the Iluminus, someone of power, wanted the Travelshafts open. Someone wanted the zyphyls woken so as to release the barrier they held on the shafts. Folly, many of you would agree, as it has allowed the Svenzar to once again raid. I believe the meaning is deeper rooted.
“The real reason was to give the shadelings a way to cross the Vallum without having to breach its power and so they could avoid the Heralds.”
Irmina gauged the shocked, outraged, and grave expressions across the room. “But they have also played into our hands. The shafts will be keys in our attack. You each have intimate knowledge of how your sections operate. Knowledge we will use.”
Silence ruled as she laid out her plans to escape the Iluminus. In the morning, she would send word via eagle to Torandil. She did not trust the Heralds. Jerem had shown how he could infiltrate the message maps through them. The possibility someone from the Tribunal Assembly did the same was too great a risk to overlook. She hoped her birds reached in time.
Chapter 43
No matter how many times he repeated High Shin Cantor’s words, and recounted the ensuing conversation, Ancel still found it hard to believe. The Pathfinders were his personal guard. That was their foremost responsibility. After all the time spent fearing them, Mirza’s stories about how they took his mother, praying they did not visit Eldanhill, now he was supposed to believe they were his to command? And yet, no matter how he tried, he couldn’t dismiss the claim as ludicrous. The affinity he felt to them spoke all on its own.
If that wasn’t enough, when he stepped outside his room, there they would be, standing guard outside his door, at least two of them. In their silversteel armor, its shine ever bright with their full plate helms hiding their faces, even their eyes. His personal guard. So what am I now? Some kind of king? No. Ryne and Galiana made it clear I have no such titles. What am I then?
According to them, he was hope.
Hope. It had been good enough to keep him going over the past year. He caressed Mother’s pendant. Now, with the advent of his power, he had something beyond hope, something real, physical, a reassurance against possible failure.
“I still can’t believe this.” Mirza scrubbed a hand through his red hair. He’d been repeating the same words most of the day and into the night. “I’m supposed to think my mother might be alive, but they won’t tell me where they took her.” He paced across the room’s lush carpets, his boots hardly making a sound. “Damned Ashishin.”
“I would think you’d be happy,” Ancel said.
Mirza stopped pacing, anguish contorting his features. “I am. I mean, I’m excited, overjoyed even, but at the same time, I’m frustrated. Every time I try to question the High Shin, I’m either turned away, or he says,” Mirza’s voice changed to match Cantor’s grim intonation, “‘If your mother is alive, it is beyond my power to reveal where she is. That, my son, is the reason we have secrets.’” Mirza shook his head. “I feel like telling him I’m not his damned son, but then what would I gain?”
“Nothing.”
“Exactly.” Mirza began to pace again, grumbling under his breath. He paused midstep, gray eyes pleading. “You could always try to order them to tell us.”
“No,” Ancel said. “Not that I haven’t considered it, but how would it make me look to them? Obviously, the reason it’s still a secret is due to necessity. I know you don’t want to hear this, Mirz, but I have an example to set, as do you. Galiana nor Ryne have led us wrong. I’m willing to follow until they believe it’s time for me to take things into my own hands.”
“Even though we both know they’re hiding things, maybe important ones? Like the fact that Galiana is actually one of the first Exalted? I overheard Ryne questioning her.”
Ancel mulled it over. In ways, Mirza’s thinking made sense, and it also confirmed his suspicion of their ages. They were thousands of years old, and yet they had not succumbed to the madness that killed most Matii. He glanced at Charra’s form and its lack of an aura. He had a theory on that himself, but he needed to see more. After another moment to ponder, he answered Mirza. “Yes. At this point, I trust them both. Look, I’ll be honest. There is going to come a time when all I’ll be doing is fighting. I can feel it. You are the one friend I have who has stuck by me regardless. You like to act as if it’s all fun and games, but I know you take the future as seriously as I do. I’ve seen you go from Mr.Wild-and-Carefree to what you are now.” Ancel gestured to Mirza’s uniform. “I don’t think I’m cut from the right cloth to lead the Setian when the time comes. Attack and defense are my strong suit. Yours is thinking, planning. I’ll need that from you.”
“Even after what I did, not telling you about Galiana’s orders in Randane?”