Not anymore, she thought.
She looked up to see Anders hurrying down the corridor, a satchel in hand. Thank the Great Spirit, he was back.
“How is he?” Anders said in his gravelly voice. He had donned a fresh suit–one with two sleeves.
“Fabulous,” Deirdre said. “In a screaming, thrashing about, throwing things against the wall sort of way.”
“I figured as much,” the Seeker said. “Big warrior types never have tidy little emotional outbursts. He’s got to be pretty broken up.”
Something thudded against he wall, rattling it.
“Him and the parlor,” Deirdre said. But that wasn’t fair. Beltan was just displaying what all of them were feeling inside. The Scirathi had taken Nim. Travis and Vani had followed through the gate, but there was no way to know if they had succeeded, if they had managed to pursue the sorcerers to Eldh, or if they had been lost in the Void between the worlds. Beltan had just met his daughter. Now he might well have lost her forever, and his life mate as well. Given similar circumstances, Deirdre doubted her outburst would have been very tidy either.
“I brought some of his clothes from their flat,” Anders said, hefting the satchel. “Maybe a shower will help settle him down and clear his head. Let’s talk to him.”
Deirdre was doubtful, but it was worth a try. “You go first.”
Anders opened the door, then ducked as a coffee cup whizzed over his head, past Deirdre, and shattered against the wall of the corridor.
“Hey, now,” Anders muttered under his breath. “I hope that wasn’t aimed at me.”
“You’re the one who wanted to go in,” Deirdre said, and shoved him in the back, urging him forward.
No more projectiles hurtled their way as they entered the parlor and shut the door behind them. The destruction was not as bad as Deirdre had feared, and was largely limited to their coffee cups and saucers from the night before. She made a quick survey of the room. There was a large Grecian urn on a pedestal next to the fireplace, looking both priceless and fragile, but it was untouched.
The same could not be said for Beltan. He stood in the center of the room, hands empty and twitching, staring blankly. An ugly bruise darkened his right temple. She had never known what a proud warrior defeated looked like; she did now.
“Good morning, mate,” Anders said, his voice a touch too far on the cheery side. “I brought you some fresh clothes. I thought you might like to get cleaned up.”
Beltan said nothing. He did not look at them.
Deirdre gathered her courage, then moved to him, touching his arm. He was shaking.
“Beltan, please,” she said, trying to meet his eyes. “Talk to us.”
“Why?” the blond man said, his voice hoarse. “What can you say that will change anything? Travis is gone. He has left me.”
Anders set down the satchel. “He didn’t leave you, mate. He went after Nim. I’d say there’s a pretty big difference between the two.”
“And yet either way I am still here, without him,” Beltan said. “I am alone. It is hopeless.” He turned away from Deirdre, scrubbing his face with a hand, but not before she saw the tears that ran down his cheeks.
“Well, now,” Anders said, “that doesn’t sound very warrior‑like to me. I don’t think Vathris would approve of that kind of talk.”
“And what would you know of Vathris?” Beltan snarled over his shoulder.
Anders shrugged thick shoulders. “Not much, I confess. Just what you wrote in your reports for the Seekers.”
Beltan flinched. “It doesn’t matter what Vathris would think. There is nothing I can do.”
“You sound pretty sure. But maybe for a moment stop thinking about what you can and can’t do. Why don’t you tell me what you wantto do?”
“What do you think I want to do?” Beltan clenched his hands into fists, advancing on the Seeker. “I want to go after them. I want to find them and help them!”
Anders was grinning. “Now that sounds like a man of Vathris.”
Beltan blinked, and for a moment shock replaced anguish, then shame. “You are right. As long as I am alive, I must try to find a way to reach them.” He gave Anders a grudging look of respect. “You would make a good warrior, you know.”
Anders winked at him. “Been there, done that, mate. I’m the brains now, not the brawn.”
“Warriors can have brains.”
“I suppose they can at that,” Anders said wistfully.
They sat down at the same table where they had gathered last night. Deirdre called for Lewis, and the butler brought a plate of sandwiches as well as coffee and new cups. He cleared away the broken shards of china without batting an eye, then silently slipped from the parlor. To be a butler for the Seekers was to quickly learn not to ask questions.
“I feel strange,” Beltan said. “It’s like I’m made of water inside, not muscle and bone. I want to swing my sword, but there’s nothing to swing it at, and my hands are shaking so much I don’t even think I could hold it. What’s wrong with me?”
Despite feeling watery herself, Deirdre smiled. “Nothing’s wrong with you, Beltan. You’re afraid, that’s all. Welcome to the club. It’s how a lot of us feel a lot of the time.”
His jaw dropped. “And yet you still keep on going? You must be very brave. I don’t know if I am strong enough to do this.”
“Maybe a sandwich will help,” Anders said, taking one and pushing the plate toward Beltan.
“I doubt it,” the big man said, then took three sandwiches at once.
The food did seem to help. Beltan’s color grew better, and as they spoke a fierce light ignited in his eyes.
“You’re right,” he said around mouthfuls of food. “I know I have to do something, and I will. Only I don’t know what it is, or even how to find out. All I know is that somehow I’ve got to get to Eldh.”
“There might be a way,” Deirdre murmured.
Only when she saw both Beltan and Anders staring at her did she realize she had spoken the words aloud.
Anders leaned over the table. “All right, out with it. What’s going on in that crafty little noggin of yours?”
“There’s only one way to get to Eldh,” Deirdre said, “and that’s to use a gate.”
“Only there aren’t any gates,” Anders said. “You can bet those sorcerer baddies took their gate artifact with them when they went.”
“You’re forgetting about this.” Deirdre picked up the newspaper the mysterious Philosopher had sent last night.
“All right, so there’s another gate,” the Seeker said, confusion on his pitted face. “But the sorcerers have the arch, too.”
“No they don’t. Not all of it.” Deirdre couldn’t believe she was saying this. “The arch isn’t complete without the keystone, and right now it’s still in the vaults below this Charterhouse. If we could somehow get the arch . . .”
She couldn’t finish the sentence. They had gone to a great deal of trouble to steal it; surely they wouldn’t leave it unguarded. However, she had said enough. Beltan leaped to his feet.
“We must take the arch from the Scirathi!”
Anders raised an eyebrow. “Now that’s a bit of a bold plan, don’t you think?”
“It’s not a plan,” Deirdre said, doing her best to backpedal. “It’s just one possibility, that’s all. One very ridiculous, stupid, unlikely possibility.” However, it was too late; the damage had been done.
“It can work,” Beltan said. “It has to–it’s the only way.” He locked gazes with Deirdre. “Promise you’ll help me.”