“Yes, you are,” he argued lightly.
“No, I’m not,” Rexei asserted, sitting up a little.
Re-lacing his fingers together, Alonnen shrugged. “Yes, you are.”
“It’s coincidence, nothing more,” she tried to dismiss him. That only earned her a chiding look.
“We have exactly one kingdom between us and Fortuna, and that’s not far enough away to escape the Threefold God’s sight. Even nations on the far side of the world have heard of Fate and acknowledge Them as the oldest and strongest of all the Gods.” Alonnen reminded her, “You are the Gearman in question.”
“I’m just a journeyman!” Rexei protested, throwing up her hands as she sat forward. She dropped them onto her knees, so used to pretending to be a half-mannered youth that she didn’t bother with sitting decorously. “There are hundreds of master-class Gearmen all across Mekhana. Or whatever it is we should start calling ourselves, now. Mekha was nothing more than a False God, propped in place by false priests, refusing to die even though He was struck dead with the collapse of the last Convocation two hundred years ago. I refuse to call myself a Mekhanan now that He is gone. I want nothing to do with Him, not even my nation’s name.”
“Well, if you believe the guilds should have a Patron Goddess named Guildra, then it only makes sense to call ourselves Guildarans or something, and thus Guildara for the kingdom,” Alonnen agreed. Then pointed a finger at her. “And no getting us off the subject. You are the Gearman of the prophecy. Which means, if we’re going to scrape together enough of what used to be Mekhana to be strong enough to stop demon-summoning priests, we’ll need your promised strength.”
“That’s just it!” Rexei exclaimed, agitated enough to shove to her feet as she spread her arms. “I don’t have any! Strength implies standing your ground—I run from confrontations! Strength is all about facing down your fears. I bolt at the first sign of trouble and pick out a new name and a new life at the drop of a knitted cap! And I’d have done it last night, if there’d been any way to avoid your brother.”
Alonnen remained sprawled in his chair, but he did dip his head in acknowledgment. “That’s fair. Your plethora of Guild apprenticeships are a clear sign of just how many times you’ve run. But Rexei, dear,” he told her, giving her a pointed, level look, “you’ve also stood your ground.”
“When?” she asked, though even as she spoke, she recalled a few times from the last full day.
“When you questioned me, for one. Admittedly, anyone who actually knows I’m a Guild Master wouldn’t have dared contradict me or demand answers before obeying—and even now that you do know it, you’re still saying no to me,” he said a touch tartly. He softened it with a wry look. “Not that I’m going to object. It’s good to hear a flat-out No every once in a while, and several sessions of Why per week, for that matter. But from the sound of it, you said you had to stop playing a dull-witted Server on the temple steps so that you could stop a riot. If you truly had no strength to stand your ground, no strength to insist that everyone hold it together and act in a lawful manner, you’d have scuttled off and fled. Right? . . . Right?”
Defeated by his logic, she sank back down onto her chair again, elbows braced on her knees. The position always reminded her of how tightly she bound her breasts and of the padding wrapped around her waist. It was comforting, yet restrictive at the same time. Sighing, she scrubbed her fingers through her short-cropped locks. “I don’t even have the courage to say the M word out loud.”
“Well, it’s not like I’ve had a choice,” Alonnen shot back. At her skeptical look, he rolled so that he slouched on his elbow and his hip instead of his back. That left him angled just enough to give her an earnest look. “I am the Guild Master of the Mages Guild, Rexei. I have to be able to say the M word, and say it so comfortably and easily that it puts other M types at ease,” he half teased. “As the Guild Master, I cannot be afraid of who and what I am. Besides, I only ever say words like mage and mages while I’m in the Vortex, within its protections. I’m not a fool. Outside of the dam’s vicinity, I’m just the Guild Master of the Lubrication Guild, a subset of the Hydraulics Guild. But if Mekha is gone . . .”
“Don’t risk it,” Rexei found herself ordering. He blinked at her, but she lifted her chin, standing her ground on that point. “If what you implied is true, that the Convocation of the Gods was indeed restarted, and that Mekha was . . . I don’t know what happened . . . but one hopes by the pricking of our thumbs that He was revealed as a False God and struck down by the other Gods and Goddesses. If all of that, then m-mages might be safe,” she managed to say without tripping too much on the M word. “But we also don’t know what it takes to bind a demon, or even if they will bind a demon. The priests might just go back to snatching up our kind and sucking the energy out of them again, and you’d be the juiciest goose in the butcher’s shop.”
He tipped his head, acknowledging her point. “That may be an actual problem . . . and that may be why not every town with a temple in it has reported seeing its prisoners being released. I could almost wish they would turn to demons instead of our fellow mages . . . but Guardian Kerric of the Tower has repeatedly seen prophetic scryings of a Netherhell invasion. Demons fighting warriors and mages and everyone else.” He sighed heavily, slumping a little more in his chair. “And I wouldn’t wish that on anyone else, save that most of the visions seem to have the invasion starting from here.”
Rexei frowned in thought. She rubbed her forehead, then stroked her palm over her short, dark locks. “That prophecy you gave me to read . . . you mentioned something last night when you handed it over about ‘the others.’ I presume the Guardians we spoke with think that the demonic problems will spring up in several nations?”
“This one and five more to come, yes,” Alonnen said. “The first verse of one of the prophecies seems to have come true in Guardian Kerric’s homeland, and we think the second was about Guardian Saleria. She’s off at the Convocation of Gods and Man, though, and there’s no easy way to chat with either her, Guardian Dominor, Guardian Serina, or Guardian Rydan right now. If we’re the third verse, then the fourth of eight will probably be Mendhi, far to the east and south.”
“Since the lines mentioned a Painted Lord, yes, that makes even a Mekhanan think of the Painted Warriors of Mendhi,” Rexei agreed. Clasping her hands between her felt-covered knees, she gave him a keen, penetrating look. “If we can send them on their way, if the prophecy is about sending these demon-minded priests on their way to their prophesied point of doom . . . then how do we go about it? What little I overheard made it sound like they come in different strengths. One mage can hold one or two minor demons, but if they summon a major demon with the aid of many priests—and they’re far more trained in magics than we are—then how can we stop them?”
The lad—the lass was a lot smarter than she looked. Not just educated, but smart, able to cut to the heart of the important questions. Alonnen slipped his right leg off the armrest and pushed his body upright with his left arm. Echoing Longshanks’ pose, he rested his elbows on his knees as well. “This has actually come up in some of the discussions the other Guardians and I have been holding over the last few weeks. And oddly enough, you just might have the best solution.”