“The north is falling, Dukasti,” Pellin said. “I need whatever information I can get from Igesia to help me stop it.”
Dukasti shook his head. “No, Eldest. The north has fallen. When Cesla delved the forest, he loosed evil upon you. You and what survives of the northern Vigil will be welcomed here, but we will not risk ourselves.”
Before Pellin could respond, Mark’s laughter interrupted their conversation. Elieve, unable to understand the exchange, joined in anyway.
“You surprise me, Eldest,” Dukasti said. “I would have thought an apprentice of yours would be more politically astute than to laugh at such an inopportune moment. It is difficult to wring concessions from those who have been mocked.”
Pellin turned, anger and embarrassment heating his face. “Mark, you will apologize.”
Mark blinked, then turned toward their host. “My apologies for laughing at the crudity of your bluff, watchful one.”
Dukasti spluttered. “Do you not know, child, that it is within my power to expel or imprison you?”
Mark nodded. “I assumed as much. I also know that if you’re like most of the Vigil, you’ve been trained as a priest. Yes?” At Dukasti’s sharp nod, he continued. “Then you know the nature of evil. If the north falls, you cannot hope to keep it from your shores.”
Dukasti, taller than Mark by several inches, looked down upon him. “And how would a youth of ten and five know this?”
Mark smiled. “My education is more informal than yours, watchful one, but no less thorough. Evil is a hunger that consumes those who practice it. I know this because I’ve seen it in practice countless times. I’ve watched men and women sample the alchemist’s potions, consuming more and more of their art. I’ve seen men give themselves to their basest desires with night women until no amount of traffic or feigned intimacy could satisfy them. Evil is a fire, watchful one, that consumes all. When it has devoured the north, it will come for your continent, and you cannot win.”
Dukasti gazed at him, his expression no longer dismissive. “And are you a captain as well as a theologian, that you should know this? We can defend our shores.”
Mark shook his head. “No, you can’t, because you have no margin of error. You must win every time, but the evil of the Darkwater needs only to win once and all is lost.”
“There your logic defeats itself,” Dukasti said. “If that is the case then all is already lost.”
“Not so,” Pellin said, drawing Dukasti’s attention back to him. “There is a chance that we can kill Cesla and restore the north. I have something to offer the southern Vigil in exchange for your aid—information Igesia will want very badly.” He held out his arm and brought all his collected memories of the Fayit out of the depths of the sanctuary within his mind where he’d kept them locked away—his last bargaining chip. “Touch me once more.”
Dukasti’s delve was abrupt. Pellin didn’t bother to greet him as he had before. There was no need. When he withdrew, Dukasti’s eyes had widened until white became visible all around the blue. “Is this true?”
Pellin nodded. “It is. I wouldn’t risk a phantom memory here. Not now.”
His eyes narrowed. “You must get to the interior quickly. Igesia is old and his time approaches. He doesn’t travel anymore.”
Dukasti’s tone said plainly there was more he wasn’t saying, and Pellin asked for it.
“We don’t speak ill of the dying, Eldest,” Dukasti said. “Igesia hasn’t left the village of Oasi in years, and his habits have become strange. He spends much of his time gazing into the desert at night, speaking to his memories.”
A desperate fear wormed through Pellin’s mind, but he kept himself from voicing it. Dukasti’s aid held a tenuous air that one wrong word or comment might destroy. “Do the sentinels still patrol the outskirts?”
At Dukasti’s nod, Pellin’s fear eased, but then the southern Vigil member stepped toward the rest of Pellin’s company with his hand outstretched. “I am bound to delve everyone who passes through the gate, Eldest. Without exception.”
Pellin couldn’t protest without surrendering what he’d come to Erimos to accomplish. But he couldn’t allow Dukasti unfettered access to Elieve’s mind either—her importance to their mission couldn’t be sacrificed. He stepped in front of the girl while he delved Allta and Mark.
Dukasti rounded on him, his face livid. “You would knowingly bring this pestilence here?”
Pellin jerked his head at Mark and Allta. “Get her out of earshot.” When they were gone, he stepped forward to meet his counterpart’s anger with his own. “Don’t you understand what you’ve seen, Dukasti?” He pointed toward the door his companions had exited. “She lives.”
“And she shouldn’t!” Dukasti yelled. “She’s a creation, spawn of a war that should never have been. You took the gifts of domere and devotion and turned them into an abomination.”
“I know! Don’t you think I know?” He clenched his fists, but brought his voice under control. “But she’s more than that now. Willet Dura is the first man to come into the gift of domere who has a vault, and the Fayit told me there is knowledge within it that we must have to defeat Cesla.” He pointed toward his hidden companions once more. “She’s more than a creation, Dukasti. Elieve is the third person I know who’s survived a vault, but more, she’s the first dwimor ever who’s been restored.” He clutched at Dukasti’s arm. “You’ve seen her. As far as that girl’s mind is concerned, she’s been raised from the dead.”
Pellin watched a hundred different responses chase across Dukasti’s expression without finding voice. At the last, he shook his head. “No. This burden is yours, Eldest. My responsibility is to my people. I cannot grant you passage to the desert if she goes with you. There are no guarantees you can give that once out of my sight she will not kill you and yours and wreak havoc.”
“Then come with us,” Pellin said.
Dukasti’s eyes bulged, showing white above dark smudges
