Revelation (Seeds of Humanity: The Cobalt Heresy) (45 page)

I sat down in what I had oddly enough come to think of as ‘my’ chair, and Pryzius took a bottle of amber-colored liquid from a nearby mini-bar. He filled three glasses before giving one to his father, then offering me my pick of the other two.

I’d seen this movie, so there was no way I would sip even a little bit of the intoxicating stuff. For all I knew these two had developed a natural immunity to some sort of poison they had laced the bottle with, meaning it didn’t matter which glass I chose: I would die either way.

So I took the glass graciously and set it down on the table beside me, toying with it just enough to hopefully allay suspicions.

Rekir put his papers down, and Pryzius sat down in the same chair he had occupied the last time the three of us had shared this room.

“We appear to have a situation,” said the Arch Magos quietly, “and we should all count our good fortune that we were able to detect it before the matter got out of hand.”

That was sufficiently vague and ominous that I had no idea where he was going with it, but it was almost certainly intended to unnerve me, which it naturally did. But I didn’t want either of them seeing me blink, so I furrowed my brow.

“What do you mean, Arch Magos?” I asked, feigning surprise to the best of my ability, hoping my thinly-veneered exterior wouldn’t crack in the opening seconds of the meeting.

Pryzius leaned over and handed me a small folder. I opened it and looked at the contents, my eyebrows going up in genuine surprise as I read.

“Your herald,” said Pryzius, “Pi’Vari, I believe his name is…”

I nodded my agreement as I looked over the manuscript detailing a schedule of meetings between one ‘PW’ and another person, identified with the equivalent of a question mark.

“Pi’Vari,” confirmed Pryzius, “has been in constant contact with agents representing interests opposite our own.” He paused and looked at his father.

Rekir nodded. “Agents belonging to House Listoh, specifically,” the Arch Magos finished. “We believe,” he continued after a pause, “that he has worked to undermine House Wiegraf’s position by feeding sensitive information to The Guild, while simultaneously manipulating the actions of Magos Antolin in order to bring about a set of conditions which will ultimately lead to House Wiegraf’s demise.”

I was stunned at the ramifications of what this meant. I had known that Pi’Vari was less than trustworthy, and Antolin had even warned me about him in the coded message contained in his belongings, but to have narrowed down the list of who might hold his true loyalty to one was a huge relief.

“How?” I whispered, trying not to give anything away.

Rekir shrugged his shoulders, and Pryzius stepped in. “He is House Wiegraf’s chief researcher, is he not?” asked the younger Tyrdren. I nodded, and he continued, “Is it possible that you, or Magos Antolin, have assigned him to research sensitive subjects and depended solely on his conclusions rather than verifying them for yourselves?”

I nodded slowly, remembering just how many times I had done so.

Pryzius sat back slowly. “Then that is how he has achieved such a complete deception,” he declared. “We are almost certain that House Listoh already knows the location of your mythicite store, and will have an ambush waiting for you the moment you set foot in Coldetz.”

Now that was a shocker, and one I hadn’t even remotely expected. I looked at Rekir as something in the back of my mind screamed at me, but I didn’t know what to make of it so I pushed it aside. “You knew?” I asked bluntly.

The Arch Magos chuckled. “Of course, Jezran,” he replied amusedly. “Nothing happens in my city without my knowledge,” he added with that familiar twinkle in his eye.

He was probably right, truth be told, and that was what made this whole scene even harder to understand. “Why the clandestine meeting, then?” I blurted. “If you knew of the mythicite in Coldetz, why didn’t you just take it for yourself?”

Rekir smiled and ran his finger of the rim of his glass. “The mythicite will find its way into Veldyrian, one way or the other,” he explained. “The only question is: how quickly will it flow into the Great Tower’s coffers?”

 I leaned forward in defeat and placed my head in my hands. I thought of all the times I had been a fool in my life, and how humiliating it had felt. I let my thoughts turn to the loss of everyone, and everything, I had ever known and loved and tears began to stream down my face. “But if House Listoh gets the mythicite first…” I began, sitting back up with a look of realization as the first tears of shame ran down my cheeks.

“Then the only ones who benefit from its collection are members of The Guild,” finished Pryzius grimly. “Theirs is the sole application for mythicite which permanently removes it from circulation.”

I shook my head defiantly. “That can’t be—” I argued, only to be interrupted by Pryzius.

“My father tells me,” began the younger Tyrdren, “that this Coldetz Castle had been under siege, and that one such siege had claimed the life of your Master?” I nodded slowly, and Pryzius leaned forward. “There are precious few entities capable of defeating an Imperial Magos,” he continued seriously, “and the most likely culprit is always another Magos.”

I blinked disbelievingly, “You mean…House Listoh?”

Pryzius nodded emphatically. “Yes,” he agreed, “and when you consider the nature of the assaults on Coldetz, perhaps they make more sense when viewed in that context?”

Actually, he had a damned good point. Essentially, the attacks
had
been the type and scale that only The Guild could manage—at least among the Imperial Houses. I hadn’t given Rekir any such details so they were probably just fishing for information, but it still made enough sense that I sat back in disbelief at how I could miss such an obvious—potential—connection.

“Jezran,” interrupted Arch Magos Rekir, his voice full of concern and empathy, “I understand that this is difficult for you. Your Master is gone, your herald and most trusted advisor has been undermining your House for what may have been years, and you find yourself caught between two Great Houses engaged in a centuries-old struggle.”

I tried to stem the flow of my tears as I wiped my face with the sleeve of my robe. “It’s too much,” I agreed pitifully. It wasn’t one of those moments you would want someone to see out of context, that much was certain. At that moment, I wanted nothing but to get out of that room—and I was willing to do anything needed to accomplish that goal.

Rekir nodded gently. “I know it is, Jezran,” he said soothingly. “I know it is. But it is what you must endure, not only for your House, but for yourself.”

“But you need not endure it alone,” added Pryzius. “I know we have had our…differences in the past,” he continued after I looked at him harshly, “but ultimately, what we both want is a bright future for Veldyrian, yes?”

I considered deliberately for a moment before nodding.

Rekir smiled his broad, room-lifting smile. “Pryzius will arrange for transport to this ‘Coldetz Castle,’ so that you might secure the area against threats such as those which House Listoh might have arranged,” he concluded.

I nodded graciously. “When will we leave?” I asked, wanting to leave this room as quickly as possible so I could prepare my companions for the trip, which was apparently happening well ahead of schedule.

Rekir stood, prompting both Pryzius and I to follow. “You leave within the hour,” said the Arch Magos. “The trip should take no more than one day using our chosen platform.”

I reached my hand out, and the Arch Magos accepted it, giving new meaning to the term ‘iron fist in a velvet glove.’ He wasn’t wearing any gloves, but the man’s grip was inhumanly hard and strong, which took me by surprise.

“Thank you, Arch Magos,” I gushed as I wiped my face with my free hand. “I’ll go prepare my men for the trip.”

“As will I,” agreed Pryzius. “We will collect you at your estate within the hour.”

I nodded and made my way to the door, feeling like my heart was about to explode out of my chest. I had serious concerns whether or not I would make it to the elevator—let alone all the way to Wiegraf Estate—but I had to try. If I dropped the act before clearing the Great Tower, I probably wouldn’t make it out
to
the lobby, let alone out of it.

I turned before leaving. “I won’t forget this, Arch Magos,” I said in my most grateful tone.

Rekir nodded. “We are all guided by our pursuit of Enlightenment, Jezran,” he replied sincerely. “I only hope that I may play an instrumental part in your own journey toward that end.”

I really had no idea what that meant, but I needed to get out of there—and fast—so I nodded thankfully before swinging the door open and made my way hastily to the elevator.

I actually did manage to make it out of the lobby without collapsing, and the only question in my mind was whether or not Pryzius would wait until we reached Coldetz before trying to kill me.

Don’t get me wrong, I like to think that my little act in Rekir’s study was pretty good, but I couldn’t count on it convincing a lifelong politician with two centuries of experience.

That little nugget of wisdom regarding politicians had probably just saved my life, though. It went something like, ‘Whatever a politician tells you, believe the opposite and you’ll come out ahead of the curve.’

So, applying that particular piece of wisdom to what I had just heard, I could conclude that Pi’Vari was probably
not
working with House Listoh; no matter who he was working for, he probably
wasn’t
working against House Wiegraf’s interests, at least not to Rekir’s knowledge; and House Tyrdren wanted nothing more than to directly control the mythicite located at Coldetz.

There was more to be learned from the meeting, but I needed to focus on maintaining consciousness until I made it back to Wiegraf Estate. My legs ached, my lungs burned, and I was fairly certain that another dire cardiac event was nearing its final phase as my chest felt like it was being crushed by a dump truck.

It was possible that I had unnecessarily confirmed the existence of mythicite at Coldetz during our conversation, but that was a risk I’d had to take. My heart literally felt like it was going to burst less than halfway through the meeting because of anxiety, and I’d had to advance the conversation more quickly than it looked like would happen naturally.

As I approached the gates of Wiegraf Estate, it felt like my lungs had closed and wouldn’t allow me to take another breath. It had been a gradual thing, but I knew that if I collapsed on the streets of Veldyrian I was as good as dead so I had to keep going.

I just made it to the still-locked gate when I collapsed to the ground, the world spinning in my field of vision as the Wiegraf guards rushed to help me. I couldn’t make out what they said as the world got smaller and smaller, until I finally lost consciousness.

Chapter XXIX: Pain

I opened the door to the hospital room where I had spent nearly every waking hour for the last two weeks. My arm was still in a sling, mostly to protect the tissues from too much activity—at least that’s what the doctor had told me. The ragged gash caused by being impaled by the metal of the car door had required twenty two stitches, and the doctor was insistent that failure to follow his prescribed mobility restrictions could result in permanent nerve damage.

My head had required another two dozen stitches to re-attach the nearly severed flap of skin covering the right side of my skull, but at least it was feeling a lot better—even if the hair had yet to grow back.

The man lying in the hospital bed, however, wasn’t feeling better at all…and his hairdo was the least of his worries.

I set my burger and fries down on the bedside table and looked at his body, which wouldn’t even technically be alive if not for the multitude of hoses and tubes which forced it to go through the motions in the hope that his brain would eventually recover well enough to resume its usual duties.

The doctors had been purposefully vague in their prognosis, but I had managed to get them to admit that he currently had no significant brain activity. They backpedaled of course, saying that he could still recover given enough time and the proper care, but I was starting to come to grips with the fact that my brother Adam was as close to dead as a person could be prior to making it official.

I turned the portable stereo on and skipped ahead to song number seven—the same song we had been listening to two weeks before when the drunk driver had smashed into us and totaled the Mustang. I’d managed to figure out how to put the thing on repeat so that it played when I was in the room, but most of the time when I went out for food or something the nurses would turn the music off.

“You said this one made your brain relax,” I said, “and since the doctors want me to relax my arm so it can heal, I thought maybe your brain would work the same way.” I knew it wasn’t likely to be true, but I had heard that familiar voices sometimes registered when someone was in a coma. I had no idea if that was true, but I needed a little hope and it had been in pretty short supply to that point.

The woman’s voice came on, as usual, and she was talking about paper flowers of all things. I actually had difficulty processing most of her words, probably for a multitude of reasons, but I knew that at the beginning she talked about alarm clocks. I shook my head at my brother’s odd fascination with the song.

I sat down in the chair at his bedside and picked up the CD case to look at it, like I had so many times in the last two weeks.

The CD had been burned as a copy of someone else’s album, and for some reason Adam had gotten a copy of the cover art picture to put inside, but there were no names or words printed on it. There was just a woman’s goth-looking face bearing an expression that was somewhere between contempt and shared understanding.

Somewhere around the end of the first verse, and just as the chorus broke in, I fell asleep in the chair.

I was falling again, but this time I could clearly see the light. I’d had this same dream before waking up in the wrecked Mustang and finding Adam’s ruined, unconscious body.