Serenity might field a mob twenty thousand strong.
“We aren’t known for that, I admit.”
“But that’s your recommendation. And I agree. Much as I’d like to go whooping through the hills and vales toward Brothe, setting fires and ruining Patriarchal vineyards. That’s why I have all those scouts out. They’re looking for a place to make a showing if we’re forced to. That’s why you’re all supposed to be thinking about ways we can protect ourselves while we wait for our friends to show up.” Twenty thousand. He could not get that number out of his head.
“Will she be patient?”
“She’s impulsive but she isn’t stupid. She’ll listen.”
Drago Prosek asked, “You think we can count on the Grand Duke to answer her summons?”
The key question, perhaps.
“I do. For reasons to do with his character rather than his notion of an obligation to the Grail Throne.”
Consent inquired, “So now we buy time?”
“Aggressively. As aggressively as we dare. Making Serenity focus on our trivial force while the real storm gathers behind him.” Twenty thousand.
Prosek said, “That’ll be easy. All we need to do is what they did with Sublime, back when. Destroy his family stuff. Whatever he sucks money out of.”
Sedlakova did not like that. Neither did he like Serenity. But he could never be comfortable while hearing a Patriarch accused of corruption, even obliquely.
“Come on, Clej. Even you got to admit…”
“Never mind,” Hecht snapped.
Kait Rhuk, who had just arrived, settled next to Hecht. “I found the place. It’s perfect. I’ve got people moving up there already. Hey! You all right, boss? You don’t look so good.”
Hecht muttered something about the pain from his wound. Then he fell asleep right there, in the middle of the meeting.
He dreamed unpleasant dreams.
35. Realm of the Gods: Triangulation
Heris guessed right, first try. The entire brain trust of the divine liberation expedition had assembled in the Aelen Kofer tavern on the waterfront to refine nebulous plans by lubricating them liberally. Cloven Februaren started barking the second she stepped inside. “Where the hell have you been, girl?”
The Ninth Unknown was not a happy man. There had been no mischief whatsoever for him to get up to for however long he had been confined to the Realm of the Gods.
With no clear proof Heris could not be sure, but after her several passages to and fro, she suspected the time differential between the middle world and the Realm of the Gods was inconstant. There might be a predictable cycle, though time would never pass slower here than it did at home.
She told Februaren, “There were things going on in the real world, Double Great. None of them happy.” She offered a synopsis. The old man plucked additional meaning from between her words.
He and Ferris Renfrow immediately insisted, “I have to get back there.”
Heris said, “I’m only an amateur observer but I thought the great horse of chaos was galloping along just fine without either one of you yanking on the reins.”
Neither was in a mood to be chided. Each wanted to drag her off for a private interview.
The ascendant, who never spoke, had a glint in his eye, too.
Heris ignored them all. “Iron Eyes. I came up with an arsenal of the kind of weaponry we ran into at the Bas… At Ferris Renfrow’s palace. Plenty enough to give us the edge with these Instrumentalities. I need Aelen Kofer help getting them here, though.”
“Indeed?” Sourly. Then, “Really?” with more enthusiasm, as some stray thought wandered through his head.
Which Heris identified in one.
The Aelen Kofer were the artisans of the gods. How hard could it be for them to improve the new weapons? Dramatically?
Might not be the best plan, letting them get intimate with such deadly but essentially simple tools, the efficiency of which was limited only by the difficulties inherent in casting them.
Clever artificers like the Aelen Kofer would be quick to find alloys, casting and cooling processes, and spells that would help them create bigger, lighter, more accurate, and more deadly falcons. Especially when they had the temporal advantage of working under the hill.
Februaren and Renfrow went on fussing about their obligations in the middle world.
“So go!” Heris growled. “Asgrimmur and I can manage things here.”
It turned out that there would be serious problems. The Aelen Kofer could not reach the Krulik and Sneigon works directly. There would be a lot of walking the middle world needed. Though, Heris discovered belatedly, that would not require the whole dwarf race to go traipsing across the Grail Empire in a loud, gaudy mob. One skilled magic-using dwarf could do the walking and opening of the way. Which, evidently, was an escape skill many Aelen Kofer learned early.
Of course, a gang would be needed to haul the weapons away. But they, and their goats, could make the journey in lazy stages on the other side. The dwarves never mentioned their rune-laden standing stones.
“Double Great! Before you bail out on me. You heard what we’ve been talking about.”
“No. I wasn’t listening.”
“Listen now. I have a cache of weapons over there with nobody guarding them. I didn’t think about that when I asked… for them. You understand me?”
The old man sighed and nodded. “Give me the gruesome details. I’ll take care of it.” Like Pella, she reflected, when he was asked to do a chore. Totally put-upon.
Cloven Februaren was an eternal adolescent. Incredibly powerful, a genius-with all the acquired personal skills of a spoiled fourteen-year-old.
With all that talent and genius he had no need to be mature.
Cloven Februaren and Ferris Renfrow went away. The Aelen Kofer followed, leaving only a skeleton crew. In time, Heris had only the ascendant and three sour, elderly dwarf women for company. And, occasionally, a young mer who called herself Philleas Pescadore. The mer thought that was funny but never explained. She shifted shape and left the water, stark naked and achingly beautiful, only when Asgrimmur was around.
Heris knew she was imagining actions and motives because the fact was, Philleas needed Asgrimmur to translate in order to communicate.
Philleas was both intensely curious and deeply naive about the world above the waterline. For her that world was more mythical than was hers to humanity. Only a few mer in any generation, most female and young, could change and pass for human, briefly. Naked young women who dared not venture far from the sea would not see the best of land dwellers.
Philleas was doubly ignorant. Her entire world had been the harbor. The dangers she knew were shark and kraken.
Heris found the girl more irritating than interesting. She never stopped asking questions.
Out of the blue, a few days after the old men left, Asgrimmur announced, “I’m not interested in Philleas the way you think. She isn’t interested in me that way, either.”
“What?” Taken completely off guard.
They were on the quay. The ascendant wore his most manly man form. He stared through the portal at the brilliance of the middle world.
The gateway was open so Heris could go if she must.
“Her people have found the survivors of another pod out in the Andorayan Sea. They mean to merge pods by uniting Philleas and Kurlas, a mer her age in the other pod. That should be interesting. Philleas has picked up a lot
