Moira watched him carefully. “Nobody cares whether you truly sought to aid House Kraken in confiscating The Coffer. Even if you convinced them of your innocence you’d only earn their contempt for being so easily manipulated. Your only hope lies in earning their respect.”
“By killing Dread Blazes.”
“By showing you can effect impossible change. I’ll be honest, Scorio. I don’t think you can do it. You had my assistance and incredible good luck in defeating Davelos. But Dameon? Ydrielle and Simeon? Evelyn? You might defeat one more, but luck will only carry you so far.”
“I don’t need your faith.” Scorio frowned at her. “What more can you do for me?”
“Dameon and Evelyn will gather here in seven days’ time to meet The Coffer. With Praximar’s favor they need no longer walk nor even ride by whale ship. Praximar intends to tender his gratitude for all they’ve done by having them teleported directly here. Which means you’ve seven days to kill them both. The best I can do is vouchsafe you Manticore’s whale craft.”
“The Sloop? You can help me steal it?”
“Easily. Davelos isn’t here to gainsay me. But even The Sloop will achieve a certain speed. It’s a three-day trip to the Chasm for a full crew. You should be able to make it five.”
“Three sounds about right.”
For a moment Moira looked as if she’d laugh, but then she grew solemn. “You’re serious.”
Scorio said nothing.
“What did happen to you below? It’s a Pyre Lord ability to disperse vortices that automate the collection of mana. You didn’t… no. You can’t have.”
“How do I get on The Sloop? I’ve little time.”
“I’ll have it brought to an out of the way location beyond the cliffs. You can obviously get there yourself without much difficulty.”
Scorio nodded.
“You’ve two targets. Dameon’s location is mobile; his island swings once around the entire plains every ten days. Evelyn, last I heard, was at the Chasm.”
“Can you pinpoint where Dameon’s island is now?”
“Not off-handedly. But.” She gestured for him to follow and entered her suite. Moved to her small collection of books and pulled down a scroll tube as long as her arm. Opened it and drew forth a heavy scroll, one edge attached to a slender pole. She spread this across her dining table. Scorio moved to the other side of the table and from there studied a map of the Plains with tables of figures inked in neatly along the margins.
His gaze wandered hungrily over the depiction. It was gorgeously painted, with deep, vivid colors and elegant brush strokes. Bastion at the center, the hub of the wheel, then the Ash Belt, the Rain Wall, the cliffs that led down the Farmlands, the sinuous rivers that ran toward the rim like spokes of a wheel, and the mountain chains that paralleled them. There were fourteen valleys in all, if you included the Fiery Shoals’ nightmarish realm. Each was numbered, with the topmost marked as 14, and the Chasm in the next one over to the left as 1. The numbers proceeded counterclockwise all the way round.
But the greatest attention had been paid to the eight islands that floated about the Golden Circuit. They were meticulously depicted, and ranged in size from a conglomeration the size of three of the other islands joined together to a single dagger of rock like a great tooth, a tower perched on its top.
“This one is gone,” said Moira, tapping the second-largest island. “The genesis of the Fiery Shoals. The rest remain trapped in their endless orbit. Dameon claimed the old castle on Azurith, the third largest. Now, as for where it is…”
Moira leaned over the charts and worked silently. She wrote her calculations out on a page covered in messy scrawls, and eventually straightened. “Azurith is currently passing over the mountains separating the fifth and sixth valleys.” She tapped the map. “All islands move at a set pace, crossing three valleys every two days. By the seventh day, it will have swung all the way around to the first valley which, fortunately for you, houses the Chasm.”
“Can’t be a coincidence,” said Scorio.
“It probably isn’t. I wouldn’t put it past Praximar to ask Evelyn and Dameon to gather before teleporting them to the Fiery Shoals. It may very well be seven days because that’s when next Azurith crosses the Chasm’s valley.”
“Then I make for the Chasm. I can be there in three, four days. I’ll slay Evelyn and be ready for Dameon’s arrival.”
Moira arched a brow in amusement. “His arrival, and that of Manticore’s school. He’s nearly doubled the number of recruits since your supposed death.”
“So he has nearly eighty followers?”
“At the school? Perhaps half that number. The rest are distributed amongst the remaining Dread Blazes. You saw, perhaps, a few of their adherents above when you fought Davelos?”
Scorio recalled the individuals wearing Manticore patches. “Yes.”
“Still, Dameon will be challenge enough. Forty more Great Souls would prove… well. You excel in defying the odds, don’t you, Scorio?”
“Sometimes.” Scorio stepped back. “When can you have The Sloop ready?”
“Before you go. An offer. Don’t reject it out of hand, but rather give me your answer when I see you next on The Sloop. Allow me to touch you.”
Scorio went immediately to protect but she raised one hand to forestall him. “The benefits are immense. I gain the ability to notify you of developments. You’ll be cut off from all information the moment you leave the Fiery Shoals. With my help, you can keep an ear to the ground and learn what forces move against you.”
Scorio laughed. “Right. I can see how well that worked for Davelos.”
“Davelos and I were irrevocably at odds.” She shrugged a slender shoulder, non-plussed. “He desired power and fame at the expense of the greater well-being. I’m sure I don’t need to point out Manticore’s hypocrisy in that regard. Whereas I—well. I’ve never made a great show of earnestly hoping we survive this Hell and defeat the Pit, but that’s truly all I care about.”
“Sure. Tell me. Does the name, ‘The Herdsmen’ mean anything to you?”
Moira’s expression flickered in confusion. “Is that a sect or…? No. I’m afraid not. Should I have?”
“No,” said Scorio. “Forget I mentioned it. The Sloop?”
“Yes. But I urge you to consider my offer.” Her smile was wry. “That being said, if you reach Bastion, you can contact me through your friend Ravenna.” Moira’s smile turned complicit. “She’s an ambitious young woman and is no friend of Praximar’s.”
“Ravenna?” Scorio stared at the Pyre Lady. “How did that come about?”
“She’s desperate to escape Bastion, House Kraken, all of this. She reached out to me when I was last visiting the city. A risky ploy, but after courting me with a fair amount of skill we met in private, and she made her offer: to assist me in whatever way she could if I in turn helped break her House oaths.”
“Why didn’t she go to Praximar?”
“Have you met Praximar? Precisely. I’ve held her in reserve till now, but I think she’ll be useful to both of us. Her indifference to her House’s politics has perversely resulted in her rapid rise through the lower ranks; with my aid, she has come to command much respect. She’ll be able to orient you to the realities of the city. If you get that far. For now, I’ll see to The Sloop’s removal myself. Come.” She led him back out into the orchard and up to the railing. “See that crest there? Beyond it is a small valley composed of a series of descending ledges. Wait till the next night cycle and fly out to it. I’ll bring The Sloop over the next sun cycle after.”
“Very well.” The small sun was already descending toward the cliffs. Shadows lengthened.