Chapter 11

Old Hab, Adept Nord, Harlodeen and others plead their case to Lightlord Venyo. His is the only reluctance present, but it is soon dashed as a traitor is uncovered.

Chapter 11

           There was no place on the island more ideal than the throne room for watching lightning crack across the sky. Occasionally it struck on the waters of the bay to the north or the Shadowsea itself. More often, rhythmically really, the bolts found the Conduit Tower. It looked as though the fingers of an elderly lightning god caressed the top of the Stormcharge. The lighting disappeared in the blink of an eye, but the charged Conduit jutting out of its stone tubing would sparkle, and the lights would dance downward and southward towards their final destination at The Tear. It was a spectacle to behold. Unlike many other spectacles, however, it never lost its appeal to those who wholly served the light.

           The four men and one woman who gathered before Lord Venyo in his throne room at the had watched lighting strike the Conduit countless times, some more than others. Old Hab and Hammerveen made a life out of it, committed members of the Engineers’ Guild whose sole duty was the preservation and reparation of the Conduit. Lord Venyo spent the majority of his time on his throne within the Light Tower, perhaps more than Lord Constance. Such was the way of Lightwater lords. Young Venyo made a solid case for how detrimental a lord’s ways could be. His constant journeying of the grounds would make one think that he hadn’t a father at all. The boy’s fatherly guidance was certainly limited. Often one could find Queen Ambrosia by her husband’s side. On this day, the Lady of Light was absent from her throne. The urgency with which this group came to their lord was clear. Old Hab rarely bothered Voltaggio with matters of engineering. So when he begged an audience for not only his fat nephew, but also the esteemed Adept Nord and two of his most promising pupils, Voltaggio thought perhaps this was a matter best suited for the lord, and not necessarily the lady, of Lightning Bay.

           Harlodeen and Yayeena felt out of their element. That was the truth of it, but they faked the necessity of their presence so well that Voltaggio did not question it. It was the first time either of them had been so close to their lord, and it was a bit overwhelming until they realized he was a relatively short man of little consequence. His abilities as a light adept were unquestionable, but his presence left much to desire. He was quiet, or perhaps brooding. He was dull, or perhaps unimpressed. It was all a matter of perspective. And while he sat in his throne in front of the assembled group, he gave little attention to the two students. They spent more of their time looking out at lightning crackling over the cloudy canvas than they did at their lord.

           This did not bother Voltaggio in the least. He knew that light was the most beautiful of the elements, and it was common for young adepts to often see the beauty more than the danger. He had been the same way in his youth. Still, the majority of his life was lived looking out over the bay as it thrashed with the waters of Shadowsea, a constant battle that they brought upon themselves. The stairs along the walls of the throne room led to the parapet above it, where at least one conjuror was always stationed. Their duty was to bring the storms that often raged out in the unseen parts of Shadowsea right to their front steps.  These were the same storms that water and light adepts harnessed in battle, dragging them across miles and miles of land to drain them of their energy. It was Voltaggio’s duty to ensure the procuring of these storms. He had a front row seat to the endless onslaught of drear that was Lightning Bay. For a man known as the Lightlord, it had been entirely too long since he had seen the sun.

           “Lord Voltaggio,” Old Hab started with as much of a bow as his brittle bones allowed, “We come to you with a matter that we believe requires your immediate attention. We’re so thankful you offered your time to see us.”

           “It is no trouble, old friend. If you were not here, I’d only be looking out over the bay, watching the lightning course across the sky.” Lord Venyo shifted in his seat, a plush throne of gray velvet rimmed with ornate gold wiring shaped into eccentric bolts of light. “Still, the view now is not much different. I see the light coursing through you all, adept and engineer alike.”

           “Kind words, lord,” Perriodon Nord said. “But we come to you with an urgent issue.”

           “Then speak it,” Voltaggio said, looking at Old Hab, the presumed leader.

           “We have reason to believe there is an impending attack the Greatmage is orchestrating.”

           “He would have lost his sanity and good sense if he dares such a thing,” Venyo said dryly.

           “We also believe there is someone here in Lightning Bay attempting to aid him,” Nord said, “and provide information from within.”

           “You come with an accusation?” the lord asked, sitting up a bit. “This is a matter best treaded lightly. I trust every man and woman on these islands.”

           “As did we, my lord,” Old Hab agreed. “Carter Libson, however, is a treacherous man. He is bitter in his position in the guild, and was spotted tampering with the Conduit in the cave by the western walls.”

           “Seen by whom?” Voltaggio asked. He looked perturbed, offended, but also concerned.

           “My top two students,” Nord stepped in, “whom I have already submitted for a path towards leadership upon finishing their training.”

           “Yes, word of this has reached my ears. I often stay out of your affairs with the students, Perry, as I’ve always known you’re better suited than all others to train and prepare them for the brutality of war. But now, I have no chance but to wonder… just how much can you trust two trainees? One distant relative of our First Engineer, a boy who until recently has intentionally ignored said connection? And a young woman with no knowledge of the goings on of the Engineers’ Guild and the Conduit?”

            Yayeena looked at Old Hab before she spoke. It was clear that her tongue was set firmly behind her teeth, and she wasn’t sure if it would be proper to defend herself against her lord. His words stung, and she wanted desperately to extract the poison. Old Hab nodded.

           “Lord Venyo,” Yayeena said, bowing some, “my ancestors played a heavy hand in the planning and construction of the Conduit. And even as you just said, the light flows through me, perhaps more fiercely than one would assume based solely on a first impression. Surely you can understand that.”

           Voltaggio narrowed her eyes at the young girl. “You address me boldly.”

           “I believe there’s no time to do otherwise.”

           “So, you want me to arrest one of the most respected men in the north based on what the offspring and distant relation of former engineers has seen?”

           “He tampered with it, my lord,” Harlodeen finally spoke. He thought it wise to not let Yayeena’s response escape her mouth. “We were on our way to mend the wounds I’ve let fester between myself and Haberdeen. We walked along the soaked grounds, and we were nearing the cave mentioned earlier, used to inspect the Conduit before it leaves the castle grounds. A hooded man slinked down the steps.”

           “What convinced you that you were obligated or qualified to follow this man? Couldn’t it have been a routine inspection?”

           Harlodeen ignored his lord, perhaps foolishly. “Once we reached the end of the walkway, Libson removed his hood, and took pieces of the Conduit into his robes and scribbled notes noiselessly. We snuck into a dark corner of the cave before he left and stood there for some time until we felt it safe to emerge again.”

           “Where is your proof that it was Libson? Just how well do you know his face? Or, better yet, how well do you know his character?”

            Harlodeen paused. “It is only our word.”

           “Your word, yes. Forgive me, but that doesn’t hold much stock.”

           “I believe them,” Old Hab said. There was a bit of annoyance in his voice.

           “Do you?” Venyo probed. “You believe your great grandson’s accusation that a peer you’ve worked with for at least three decades is a traitor? This has nothing to do with your desire to grow closer with the boy? And what would it say about you, Old Hab, if for so long Libson was never the man he said he was? If this is truly an enemy, why have you not noticed?”

           “I believe them,” Old Hab responded, wanting to say more. “That should be enough.”

           “Hmph,” he snorted.

           “It… it’s all adding up, L-lord,” Hammerveen suggested. Beads of sweat had long been running down his forehead, which he often sopped up with his sleeve.

           “What is, dear Ham?” he beckoned. The pity in his voice was evident.

           “The… the men in-in Boltown. The m-mages. Firest-steeds they rode. Other… others have repor-ported similar si-si-sightings. Sss… scouts, my l-lord. From Sc-c-corchfort.”

           “And what do you suppose they’re scouting?” Venyo proposed.

           “Weaknesses, most likely,” Nord said, sparing Hammerveen. “If they do mean to strike, it would be common and logical strategy to send out these supposed scouts long before striking. They’re like bloodhounds.”

           “Where do you think these weaknesses lie?”

           “Boltown, for one. It is strategically placed between Lightning Bay and the Tear, the Conduit runs directly under it, and it is well fortified but poorly manned.”

           Lord Voltaggio only sighed. He had lost interest.

           “We are getting off track,” Harlodeen said.

           “Yes,” Venyo snorted. “You mean for me to give you permission to arrest Carter Libson.”

           “My lord,” Old Hab stepped forward. “As First Engineer, this conversation is not part of my duty. My duty is to ensure the continued effectiveness of the Conduit and put an end to any defaults we come across. I have found a default, in the form of a man, and I mean to put an end to it before he inflicts further damage. We came to you as a formality, and as a warning. I can do with Carter Libson as I please.”

           “I’m impressed,” Venyo said. “You’ve found your back bone.” The lord stood, and looked down on the group before him. “Adept Nord, take a trusted guard and bring Carter Libson to me. I don’t want him bound, and I want no commotion. This passing fancy of yours doesn’t deserve it.” He then looked directly at Old Hab while pacing down the five steps to stand level with him. Lord and engineer stood before each other. “And I appreciate the formality. But the folly you’ve chosen to pursue… this power you’ve finally decided to invoke on foolish whims… could very well prove to be your undoing as First Engineer.”

           Carter Libson dipped his straightedge into the porcelain bowl of steaming water his aging servant had brought a few minutes before. Now he was alone in his chamber with only the sounds of falling rain, rumbling thunder, and the occasional scraping of metal against his stubbly skin. This was his usual routine, but the rest of the day would hold something much different. He readied himself to journey out to the first Conduit checkpoint on the shores opposite of Lightning Bay.  Neither ancient Haberdeen nor pumpkin Hammerveen sent him on this mission. Nor did they know he was setting out on it. He had already swiped a few pieces of tubing from the top of the tower and the cave on the island grounds. Once he visited this first locale, he’d be able to carry out his final plan and gain the footing he’d always desired. The Conduit was not as well as anyone thought.

           He listened to the rain on the sill. It hit the stone and bounced off, spattering some water into his room. But it was never a lot, and it always rolled into the corner anyway. Thunder boomed from deep within the veil of clouds above. He didn’t jump at that, but he did when a heavy fist pounded on his door. It had caused him to knick himself on his last stroke with the razor. He set the blade next to the cooling bowl of water on his bureau. The small hand towel dried his face and served as a stopper for the blood that had started trickling down his neck.

           “Carter Libson!” a voice shouted.

           “Just a moment!” he shouted back as he started crossing the room in his thick robe. When he got to the door, the pounding struck again. Carter opened the door to find Perriodon Nord on the other side, an armed and armored lightguard by his side. “Adept Nord? Please, come in,” Libson said, stepping back and motioning the men to enter with his arm. “I’ll call for some tea.”

           “We aren’t here for tea, and we aren’t here to talk,” Nord said flatly, following the engineer into his room. Nord shut the door behind them.

           “Then what can I do for you, sir?”

           “We are to escort you to Lord Venyo’s chambers.”

           Libson looked perplexed, but understanding. “Very well. Let me finish preparing for the day first. It will be a busy one, and I won’t have the time to return here until nightfall.”

           “Make it quick, please,” Nord said, still standing close to the door.

           “Why would our lord trouble you with the task of escort?” Libson asked as he applied an ointment to his face. He wasn’t a fan of his developing wrinkles. “Surely there is a messenger or servant who would have sufficed. Your skills are better utilized in other ways, Perry.”

           “You had to know someone would come knocking soon enough. It’s time for you to answer for your actions.”

           Libson patted a scented, powdered towel against his face and then put it on his bureau. He looked intrigued, but also bothered. “What actions would those be?

           Nord looked to the man on his side, and motioned with his head to follow. The instructor made his way across the room, slowly inching closer to Libson as he talked. “Your attempts at sabotage have failed.”

           “Sabotage?” Libson asked, incredulous. “Choose your words better, Nord. I am no saboteur. What lies has Lord Venyo been told?”

           “No lies. Pieces of the Conduit have gone missing, and you were witnessed as the perpetrator. I will tear this room to shreds if you dare lie to me again.”

           Libson let out a breathy chuckle. “I took pieces of the Conduit, yes. Old Hab and Fat Ham wouldn’t have let me if I had told them.” He walked over to his armoire and let his morning robe fall before sliding into one of his more intricate and professional garments. “Did the old bag spot me going into the burrow?”

           “It doesn’t matter. To whom do you belong? What has the Greatmage promised you?”

           “The Greatmage?” Libson wondered, stepping to his bureau again, where he stood right in front of the two adepts. “I belong to myself, Nord, and no longer to Old Hab. He is not as vigilant as he should be. The Conduit needs to be inspected and repaired more than his crippled self can see or complete. I am taking the initiative that he won’t. The Conduit will be running smoother than it has in years when I’m done with my alterations.”

           Nord looked at the guard by his side. The man looked convinced, as if he thought his job was done. Nord took one step away from him and one step closer to Libson. “Your role in this treachery has come to an end.” In one fluid motion, he grabbed the straightedge and whipped his arm around, lodging the blade into the guard’s throat. The man tried to scream out, but all that escaped his mouth was blood and a few desperate sputters before he fell to his knees and then onto his chest. A red pool grew around him.

           Libson started backing up, terrified. Nord grabbed the engineer’s arms and shoved him against the bureau, knocking the bowl of water to the ground. It shattered, and the water met with the blood on the stone floor. With one heavy fist, Nord sent Libson to the ground, bordering on unconsciousness. The old man tried his hardest to get to his feet as Nord started ruining the chamber, tossing furniture to the ground, clearing the bureau, and ripping the bed linens.

           “What?” Libson whispered, weak. “Why?”

           “I let the smokescreen follow you long enough. And while the fire still burns within me, I must put yours out.”

           “You’re a demon, Nord,” Libson said, trying to find his feet again. “And no one will believe you. The fire will not help you. It will consume you.”

           “Perhaps I want to be consumed,” Nord said with a twisted face, and he pulled a dagger from his hip and stuck it into Libson’s gut.

           The old man let out a whimper, and with it came a bit of blood. It trickled out of the corner of his mouth, and down his chin, and onto his neck, and it met the trail from his nicked skin until they both dripped together under his robes. Nord dislodged the blade and let him fall to a heap. The bloodstain on the robe grew, and Libson let out his last desperate breath before falling to the floor with the guard, their heads mere inches apart.

           That was when Nord turned to face the bureau and dashed his head down with all the force he had, slamming it against the edge. The wood splintered, and his head split. The dagger in his hand was soon in his side. He knew where to strike to avoid any vital organs. Steel clattered onto some exposed stone flooring. Nord walked to the door with purpose. He stepped into the hall.

           “HELP!” he shouted, and fell to his knees, pressing his hands against the wound.

           A servant at the end of the corridor heard him and rushed to his side. “Healer! Someone, fetch a healer!”

           “No. Inside… the guard…” Nord said, and the young man passed him to step into the room and survey the scene. The man gasped as Nord fell onto his stomach to complete his treachery. He closed his eyes and waited to wake again in the Healers’ Ward.

            Harlodeen paced the floor anxiously, his leather boots clapping gently against the stones. He was upset that neither Lord Venyo nor Old Hab wanted him to accompany his Lightutor. The look on Libson’s face when Harlodeen told him what he had seen would make this whole ordeal worthwhile. Nord would be back soon, and Libson would stand before his lord and most likely lie to him. Harlodeen knew the truth, and the small group he had shared it with believed him. That wasn’t enough. Voltaggio was still in denial, and an hour of pacing wouldn’t change that.

            Old Hab and Hammerveen sat at the round table used for intimate dinners. While Old Hab watched young Harlodeen in his restlessness, Hammerveen traced his finger over the grooves in the wood of the table.  The Lightlord permitted them to stay in the chamber just outside the throne room. It was bigger in every way, except in view. Yayeena found one of the two small square windows that looked out over the bay and stood by it. She wasn’t looking at or for anything in particular. There was still a good amount of anger boiling inside her. Not only had her lord insulted her, but he had done the same to everyone in the room. No one else seemed offended. It was a small matter for a lord to insult a trainee with little to no standing. To insult the two highest-ranking engineers and mock the most respected trainer and battle expert in Lightwater was unnecessary. She was stewing, and she wasn’t the only one who knew it. Everyone let her keep to herself.

           And so they sat or stood or walked back and forth in silence for some time. It was nearly an hour after Nord had left when Queen Ambrosia paced into the room from the hall. She was in a skin-hugging dress of sun-kissed yellow satin with a brighter yellow ribbon wrapped around her waist. From the ribbon flowed a soft and near-transparent train that skirted across the floor. Handmaidens had braided her golden hair, the length of which lay over one shoulder and rested on a breast. The frail crown that rested on her head was one of pure gold, curved and molded to look as delicate and breathtaking as she. Even in the wet drear of Lightning Bay, it shone, and so did the Lady of Light.

           “Queen Ambrosia,” Old Hab said, getting to his feet to bow before her.

           “My lady,” Hammerveen said, doing the same.

           “My queen,” Harlodeen said, stopping in place and bowing.

           “She must have suffered the sharp tongue of my husband,” Ambrosia said, looking at Yayeena’s back after the young woman turned her head but offered no acknowledgment.

           “It was a laborious affair,” Old Hab said. “You look as radiant and timeless as always. How fairs our queen?”

           “She is well, in heart and spirit,” she answered, approaching the table. “But her mind aches with the thought of disloyalty. It seems our problems are intertwined.”

           “Word has reached your ears of Libson’s deceit?”

           “Yes. It is not easy for my son to keep anything from me. And when it is something I want to know, it is impossible.”

           “I apologize for involving Young Venyo. He has a curious mind.”

           “He was somewhere he shouldn’t have been. There is no fault on your part.”

           “What did your son tell you, exactly?” Harlodeen asked, still not moving.

           “That Carter Libson is supposedly tampering with the Conduit and offering information to the Greatmage.”

           “Supposedly? Do you not believe us?” he questioned, looking unsure.

           “Far be it from me to pass judgment on Carter Libson.”

           “So you’re here to mock and insult us?” Yayeena said, stepping away from the window. There was vinegar in her voice. “Just like your husband? He’s set to pass judgment on Libson when Adept Nord returns with him, but it’s likely to be little more than a nuisance to our lord.”

           “I am here, my dear, in hopes of being a better host than my husband. Can I offer any of you food or drink, until such time as Perriodon returns?”

           “Tea would be welcome,” Old Hab said. “My nerves have been quite frayed these last few days, dealing with such delicate matters.”

           “It is a fragile situation, yes. Libson is a good man. A good engineer.”

           “You truly have no stance?” Old Hab wondered.

           “Light shines the same on us all.”

           “But some men cringe under its light,” Yayeena said, stepping away from the window. “Libson is a good engineer, exactly the type of man the Greatmage would benefit from manipulating. I think his time as a good man has expired.”

           “Your spark is refreshing,” Ambrosia commented. “But sparks can often ignite into something you never could have expected.”

           Yayeena glared at the Lady of Light, who returned it in kind.

           Hammerveen cleared his throat. “T-tea sounds g-good. I think I’ll-ll-ll have a cup t-t-too.”

           “Yes, of course. I shall return shortly,” Ambrosia refocused.

           As she turned away from them, her son rushed into the room. Young Venyo was short of breath, and grief and uncertainty painted his face. “Nord… Adept Nord… he’s in the healing ward.”

           The queen gasped. The rest of the room stayed silent for a few moments.

           “Carter?” Old Hab asked.

           “He is dead,” Voltaggio said. “And the lightguard.”

           It was not what he expected, the sinking of his heart into his stomach at the announcement of Libson’s death. Old Hab pushed that aside, and he began walking towards the prince. “What is Nord’s state?”

           “He was stabbed. That’s all they’d tell me,” he answered, breath recovered.

           “We must be there to see him when he’s healed,” Old Hab said while passing Young Venyo. The rest of them, Hammerveen and Harlodeen and Yayeena, were not far behind him.

           “No,” the Lady of Light said in a velvet voice that still managed to stop them and turn them back to her. “When Nord is ready, your lord will see him, and likely no one else. Return to your routines, I say.”

           Ambrosia took swift steps towards her husband’s throne room, her train pulling up some dust that had settled on the floor. The five remained still, trading looks with one another, watching as the door between them and their lord and lady closed shut tight.

           Lord Venyo had visited men under the care of healers on multiple occasions. Some were near death. Others had already met it. Perriodon Nord had, in his earlier years, been injured in a number of battles. His lord had always remarked that his courage and skill were admirable, the stuff of legend. But as Voltaggio stepped into the ward on this occasion, it seemed the wound hit harder than any other had before. It had been some time since blood was spilt in the halls of Lightning Bay’s immense stone fortress. Not only was one of the greatest minds of his era dead alongside a valiant adept of the light, but Nord had also flirted with death. The lord felt hurt himself, betrayed, assaulted. It was hard for him to pinpoint his emotions, a raw mix of anger, bitterness and sadness that put some hesitancy in his steps towards Nord’s bed.

           There were only a couple of other patients, but they were in beds far away from Nord’s, and their ailments were unavoidable ones, a bug or a reminder of old age. Nord was alone. It was the situation Voltaggio had wanted. Even under his sheets, Nord’s breaths looked labored. His face was pale white. The dressing they had over his head was clean and thick. The Lightutor spotted him approaching and turned to offer a weak smile. Lord Venyo found Nord’s resting hand and wrapped his own around it. He squeezed.

           “My friend, how are you feeling?”

           “Like part of me has been bled out,” Nord replied. “I’m thankful someone was there to fetch the healers. Thankful and lucky.”

           “We are all thankful,” Voltaggio said, nodding. “Your strength…”

           “It will take some time to return. I imagine I will need some time off from training. But my mind, and my wit… they’re still as sharp as ever.”

           “Until your dying breath, I’m sure,” the lord quipped, and they both grinned.

           “I imagine you’d like to hear what unfolded?”

           “Only if you can�"”

           “It’s easier to hear than it is to believe.”

           “I’ve come to believe many a thing that should have shocked me to my grave.”

           “He was willing to come with me at first, playing ignorant until I explained to him the reason for his meeting with you. His defensiveness came as no surprise. He was a cornered rat. The fear that grew in his eyes made that much clearer. We were nearly shouting, he and I, until he spilled it all. The Greatmage, with some devilish sorcery, had manipulated him… through fire. Each night, he would stare into his hearth, and in his mind he heard the Greatmage’s gravelly voice… beckoning… commanding. Madness took Libson, my lord. Or so it seemed to me. He was coming undone, right before our eyes, whispering and then cackling and telling us everything he had done and still planned to do.”

           “What was that, Perry?”

           “He was studying the Conduit, taking tubes and samples, tampering with them and finding the easiest way to disable it.”

           “Disable? Could he?”

           “Not now, sir, no. And I told him as much… told him that he was under arrest by decree of the Lightlord… told him that his role in this treachery had come to its end. And then…”

           “You don’t have to�"”

           “The guard first. Libson dug a straight razor into the man’s neck. He gagged on his blood and suffered a gruesome death. And his name… I don’t even know his name. Did he have a family? I… I’d wish to be the one to deliver the news.”

           “It was Tulker. His wife has been informed. No children.”

           “That is a small relief. Quite tiny, indeed…” Perriodon let his chin drop to his chest then, closing his eyes tightly in remembrance, trying to maintain his strength. “His ceremony… I would wish to be there. If it could be postponed until…”

           “Until you are released, yes. Of course, Per.”

           “He was spry,” Nord said, looking down at his sheets again. “Libson. He was. It took us both off guard. After he lost the straight edge, he just barreled into me, at the same time I was reaching for my dagger. It fell to the ground with us, out of my reach. He scurried over my body and as I got to my knees, he stabbed… and then he shoved me backwards with a heavy foot, my head slamming into the bureau…”

           “How did you… recover?”

           “Libson took a bad swing. He was quick and insane, a deadly combination, but he was still not a trained fighter. He loomed over me, and held the dagger above his head with both hands, ready to strike me as lightning would the sea… with blind fury. I sent my boot into his gut and he keeled over, dropping his weapon in the process. I picked it up immediately, thinking there would still be a way I could subdue him… bring him to a justice different than death. He continued to fight though, barreling towards me again as I rose to my feet, one hand over my wound, the other holding the dagger in front of me… and he just ran. It was as though he thought he could run through the dagger as a fireball would and burn the life out of me. But he stopped in his tracks, and he looked down, and the blood pooled on his robes and he fell to his knees, and I felt pity.”

           “Pity?” Voltaggio asked, perplexed.

           “He had a strong mind… a strong mind which the Greatmage manipulated with ease. Libson thought he was finally a man with a duty and a calling… appreciated and needed.”

           “He was bitter and treacherous, just as I had been told and too fool to believe.”

           Perriodon nodded. “It was hard to believe. To see it unfold, as I did… was…”

           “I can’t imagine,” Lord Venyo said. They sat in silence for some time. “Your wife will be in to see you shortly. And a rider has been sent out to your son at his hold in the southwest.”

           “Have you sent another rider south?”

           “South?”

           “To The Tear. Lord Constance must be informed.”

           “Do you think there is more to this narrative?”

           “Would the Greatmage give up at the loss of one manipulated engineer?”

           “What do you think he intends?”

           “To disable the Conduit.”

           “By what means?”

           “Now… by force,” Nord said, meeting Venyo’s eyes. “We have seen and heard little from the mages. With the exception of rogue scouts and riders deep in our realm, there have been no skirmishes or infringements. The Greatmage is gathering his forces, I believe.”

           Lord Venyo took a deep breath, his brow furrowing as the corners of his mouth turned downward. “What steps would you suggest?”

           “I am but a humble old trainer,” Nord snorted. “You are our lord, and we will follow in whatever steps you take.”

           “I misplayed this Libson situation. It is time I open my mind as well as my ears. Speak.”

           “Send a small envoy to The Tear, with urgent business for Lord Constance.”           

           “Send who? Who will Quento believe? His mind is so preoccupied over his daughter. Men and women still scour our islands in search of her. And I can’t leave Lightning Bay now, not after something like this.”

           “Perhaps one of those who visited your throne room with me,” Nord suggested. “Their passion and trust cannot be questioned.”

           “Yes, very well. What should we expect from Quento?”

           “Action,” Nord said. “Swift action. A call to arms, even if it is only defensive. We must protect Lightning Bay, or all of Lightwater is susceptible to the Greatmage’s wickedness.”

           Voltaggio nodded, convinced. “I’m glad you’re still with us, Perriodon.”

           “As am I, my lord,” Nord said with a grin.

           Lord Venyo rose to his feet, and looked around the ward. The healers on duty had kept to themselves by the doors. “Do you require anything?”

           “Only your urgency,” Nord answered. “I wish to be of as much help as you’d allow once I’m back on my feet.”

           “You will be of great benefit, my friend. Now rest.”

           “And perhaps…” Nord began. “Perhaps the healers could tend for me in my chamber. I’d much prefer the comforts of my usual surroundings.”

           “Yes. Yes, of course. I will arrange it.”

           Voltaggio paced toward the exit, looking back at Nord just before leaving. The man’s eyes were closed, his head resting heavily on its pillow. There was weariness painted on his face, but it was veiled by the same concrete resolve that made him the man he was.