Killian smiled. "You're right about that, boyo. You just don't know how."
Gile rounded on him. "You stone-brained sard! Has that sinthium gone straight to your bloody head? Even a war-drunken Norlander would have more sense than that."
Killian wore a caricature of confusion on his face. "Why, whatever do you mean, boyo?"
Gile thrust an accusing finger. "You gave him everything. You're just as reckless as Alaric said you are. What will stop him from sending his Dhamphir straight over here to seize you? Don't think I'll lift a finger to defend your worthless hide. I'll be long gone by then, mark my words."
"If you don't like the way I run things, you should leave." Killian leaned against the back of the chaise and closed his eyes. "My directive was to smuggle you out of Aceldama. Nothing was said about wrapping you in swaddling clothes and rocking you when you sob for your mother's teat. Personally, I don't see that you're worth the trouble."
Gile felt a familiar surge of murderous rage. "I'll show you what trouble I'm worth." When he focused Scintilla, every torch in the room flared, and the flames in the hearth roared, licking the stone. Heat seared across his vision, blurring everything in rippling waves.
Killian lazily opened one eye. "Before you do something you might regret, best know one thing. Most times we Gifted brawl, it's a lot of flinging fire and hurling rubble until someone gets hurt badly enough to quit or yields. To me, that's not brawling. That's play."
His eyes glittered when he turned his head. "I don't play, boyo."
Soft laughter tickled the back of Gile's neck. "So much misdirected passion. It wouldn't do to tear each other's throats out before your tasks are complete, would it?" The voice from behind was instantly familiar.
Gile immediately dropped to his knees before his High Lady. "A thousand pardons, m'lady. I meant no disrespect." He had no idea when she arrived or how, but her presence demanded subservience, something he had learned from experience.
Masiki was nearly invisible because her feathered stole and woolen gown were dim as shadows. Her dark brown hair hung in unruly layers that nearly cloaked her face. Metallic bracelets clacked on both of her wrists, gleaming coldly in the firelight. "I'm sure you meant all the disrespect intended. As did Killian."
Killian rose and swiftly bowed. "High Lady."
Masiki's face was ageless, her olive skin smooth and flawless. She was favored with high cheekbones, a regal nose and comely lips that smiled easily. Combined with her tall, supple form, she was the type of woman that would normally stir Gile's arousal. But he wasn't fooled. One look in her dark eyes was enough to know that her striking form was just a guise, a garment she wore to hide the ancient and powerful being that dwelled within.
"The ego in this room is stifling. Cool your tempers and come with me. We have matters of import to discuss."
They obediently followed up the steps to the rooftop of the chamber. It was the highest point of the fortress, and one of the few towers left standing. Human eyes would only witness the darkness of the sea even from that vantage point. Their eyes saw much more.
Killian placed his hands against the crumbling balustrade and stared beyond. "The lights of Leodia beckon. So close. Close enough to strike and burn in one night, with all me clansmen behind me. So tell me, mistress — why are we being held back when war calls for us across the bay?"
"Haste will only bring destruction upon our heads." The briny scent of the sea was strong; the winds carried a chill that they barely felt. "The Guelph were hunted to near extinction before. I know because I was there. Only when the time is right can we strike."
"Do you truly think an army of domestics can be any more than an annoyance to Alaric?" Killian sneered. "They are weak. Their minds are dull, their weapons primitive."
"They are a merely a distraction. Something to hold Alaric's attention until it's too late. The Reaver is the key. Alaric thinks it weak for being tied to Marcellus. But it is the man that makes the Reaver powerful, as Alaric will find out."
Gile looked at her quizzically, but she did not elaborate. "And what would you have of me, High Lady?"
"Work with Killian."
The two men spoke in unison. "Impossible." They glared at each other, not liking that either.
Masiki merely smiled. "Impossible is a word I will not hear from either of you. Both of you are too wily by half. Neither of you will trust the other. That means you will both work to do what I have commanded, if only to spite the other."
Gile glowered at Killian. "Perhaps. Or one of us could kill the other just as easily."
"That would be inconvenient," Killian said with a thin smile.
"If either of you dies, the other will share his fate." Masiki's voice was sharp, and her eyes flared, exposing something inhuman behind them. "Mark me well. I will brook no insolence from either of you. There is no time for it."
Gile lowered his head. "As you wish, High Lady."
Killian barked a laugh. "I'll kiss Gile's ugly face and rock him to sleep every night so long as I get what is mine. But I hope the time will come soon. My people don't like standing still. We gain no satisfaction sitting here building bloody ships. My soldiers gather, but they grow restless. With no one to fight, they'll soon be at each other's throats."
Masiki's tone was unsympathetic. "Patience. Your task is dependent on the ships you are building. The Norlanders have demonstrated the usefulness of an attack by sea. When the snows break, Marcellus will march. Our time will then be upon us. This plan will only succeed if you hold your Sect in check. You are their Speaker. Act like it."
Killian's mouth tightened. "I will do my part, Mistress. Just make sure your pet warlord Valdemar does the same."
Masiki smiled. "It will be something to see, I promise. Alaric will fall first. Kaerleon will be next. And then who will able to prevent us from taking it all?"
Gile remained silent. He did not doubt that Masiki would throw away their lives like the most useless refuse should she deem it necessary. Normally he would scheme the best way to enrich himself before cutting loose on his own. But that was his former self. He had been nothing before she came to him. She had altered him, changed him into something greater than human. He owed her for that.
So he would serve. And he would enjoy it. The anticipation swelled, for like the sea, the tides of fortune were rising. He glanced at Killian, noting the calculated gleam in the other man's eyes. Killian had not yet learned that Masiki was always two steps ahead, always aware of any treacherous plots. Gile wondered how long it would be before Masiki ordered him to kill Killian.
Masiki turned to him. "In the meantime, I will need your focus upon your friend Marcellus Admorran once more. You will find him in Norland."
"What do you want me to do with him?" Gile hoped the order was to kill Marcellus. He had a bellyful of tracking his movements with nothing to show for it.
"The same. Observe and report. His usefulness is nearly up, but for now I need to know his every move. Now that his secret is out, our Thralls know what he is, and they fear to come close. I know such weaknesses don't hamper you."
Gile fingered the fading scratches under his good eye. "He knows me by sight, Mistress. How am I to get close without discovery?"
"You are not without a crude manner of cunning, Gile. I'm sure you'll find a way."
Gile grinned. Masiki was right, of course. There was always a way if you thought things through long enough.
Chapter 46: Rhanu
The caribou tore through the frost-encrusted thicket with frantic strides. Its eyes rolled in fear as the howls of the wolf pack approached. Shadows flitted through the trees in pursuit; bestial eyes gleamed in the dim light. The caribou's nostrils were thick with their scent, masking something else that hunted as well.