Chapter Ten
King Beqai of the Qihin gave no answer. His eyes were open, but to all intents and purposes, he seemed asleep and lost in his own inner world. His chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm beneath his impressive beard.
“Guildmaster Xilarion sent me here,” I said, hoping the mention of his old friend would tear him back to reality as it’d done before. But he remained still and silent save for the motions and sounds of breathing.
My first instinct was to try to pull him out of his reverie. Then, I remembered that he’d managed to meditate through a whole battle in front of his face. A prod in the chest wasn’t likely to stir him any more than the lifeblood of his kin or the threat of bloodthirsty monsters inches away from his throne. Besides, I didn’t want to get too close to those strange tentacles that made up his legs.
I’d been part of diplomatic missions while working for Running Blade Security, so I knew that powerful political figures did things in their own time. These periods of meditation seemed vitally important to the king, apparently more so even than an invasion of his city. He might have been aloof and even a little bit crazy, but if I wanted to make a conversation happen, the best I could do was to respect his attempts to become one with the flow of the universe.
I pushed aside the body of an angler and sat down on the floor in front of the throne with the Sundered Heart Sword laid across my knees.
I sat like that for a while as I waited for the king to stir from his reflection. Servants came to dispose of the bodies, refresh the bloodstained water, and set the gongs straight. I thought I caught a glimpse of Labu’s form in the reflection of a waterfall behind the throne at one point. The prince looked livid, but I gave no sign I’d seen him.
After a while, new guards arrived to stand duty at the top of the stairs. A fishwoman in the livery of the royal court brought me tea and green biscuits with a strange, salty flavor. I took my time in eating them and felt my raging hunger settle down.
If anyone questioned my presence, they didn’t do it to my face. I figured word must have spread of how I’d helped clear the monsters from the city and the fishfolk were more than happy to leave me to my own devices. I sipped at the tea, meditated, and took the time to slowly apply Sunlight Ichor to my injuries from the fight against the vampiric anglers.
Hours seemed to pass by as Beqai remained in his philosophical reverie. I channeled Vigor and centered my being to hold any signs of tiredness at bay. A servant brought a folding table and placed it in front of the king. On it, they put more biscuits like those they had fed me, a jug of tea, and a simple clay cup.
Beqai finally stirred and turned his head to look down at me. “Thank you for your patience, Ethan Murphy lo Pashat. It warms the heart to share my throne room with someone who understands the importance of stillness.”
I kept any sign of irritation from my face as I answered. “It’s an honor. Might I ask the nature of your meditation??”
“I was considering the waves,” Beqai said. “They are both everything and nothing, the constancy of the world and its ever changing nature. They are the flow within and without, are they not?”
I considered his pronouncement. It sounded close to zen philosophy from my own world. Maybe there was a deep message behind them, or maybe they were utterly meaningless. I didn’t want to get into a philosophical debate, not when there were practical issues at stake. A debate with Beqai promised to be about as helpful as arguing politics on Twitter.
“I’m afraid my training hasn’t strongly considered the ocean, Your Majesty,” I said. “ Might I ask you about another matter?”
“Of course, my boy.” Beqai leaned forward to take one of the biscuits. His movements were slow, and his joints creaked. It was only now that I realized he was permanently hunched over. I would have pitied him in his infirmity, but he seemed at peace with it, as he did with all things in the world around him.
“Why does Guildmaster Horix object to your kind so strongly?” I asked. “You two were friends once, but now, it seems that he’s taken against you and your people.”
“The unenlightened typically cling to shades of power,” Beqai said with a frown. “It is their way of understanding their place within the multiple layers of existence. The dichotomy of strength from discipline and strength from natural realization plague the young.”
There was an element of truth in the king’s words. Horix had the air of a man who defined himself by what he could control, and that would explain his attempts to establish himself at the expense of the Qihin Clan. The Guildmaster’s prejudice against Wilds also rang true in Beqai’s words. On the other hand, it didn’t tell me what had actually brought them into conflict, or what had triggered the trouble tearing apart the Diamond Coast.
“Well, isn’t he marvelous,” Nydarth said inside my head. “Truly the greatest scholar that I’ve ever seen.”
“He’s not bad,” I thought back. “Kind and welcoming, at least.”
“He’s a senile old coot. It’s just a shame that so few people can tell the difference between deep observations and the ramblings of a fading mind. I’d hate to endure a conversation between Tolin and this distracted fish.”
The comparison with Tolin brought things into sharp perspective. Tolin’s pronouncements, though occasionally cryptic, always proved to be on the ball. He had helped me to make sense of this world and to find a way to channel the power within it. The old lo Pashat was sharp as a tack
