Chapter 17

“Let’s give him a few more minutes,” Rome said. “He’s probably just finishing up with something important.”

The delegates from Managil exchanged troubled looks but said nothing. They were sitting in the audience hall, a vast chamber with a high ceiling, its walls covered with the filigree that Rome so loathed. The long table was inlaid with gold leaf, the windows were covered with heavy, velvet curtains and there was a massive chandelier overhead that probably took an army of servants to light.

Rome sat at the head of the table and the three delegates were seated to his left. Hoping that Quyloc would show, Rome had arrived late, but there was still no sign of his adviser. He’d been stalling them for some time and it was starting to look like he’d have no choice but to start the meeting without Quyloc.

Rome drained his wine glass and reached for the bottle, but the servant waiting behind him was faster, snatching it up before he could get a hold of it. Rome suppressed his irritation and set his wine glass down so the man could refill it. “Have some wine while we wait,” he said to the delegates. They nodded and raised their glasses to their mouths but, as before, it didn’t look like they were actually drinking any. Rome frowned. Did the people in Managil not drink wine? He tried to remember if he’d ever heard anything to that effect, but came up with nothing. He’d faced their soldiers in battle twice, and he knew something about how they fought, but he didn’t know anything about how they lived. Maybe their god forbade drinking. He took another drink of wine. That was the problem with religion. The gods were always interfering in people’s lives, telling them what they could and couldn’t do.

This was getting bad. Where was Quyloc? This was his job. He was supposed to handle anything that resembled diplomacy, not Rome. He’d rather fight these three than talk diplomacy with them. Fighting was so much simpler. Not that the delegates looked like they’d put up much of a struggle. Judging from their paunches, they did their battle at the dinner table. They also looked like they were seriously upset about something.

 Rome tugged at the collar of the purple wool coat he was wearing. It was far too hot in here for a coat, but under it was a god-awful frilly shirt that he would never have worn if he didn’t have the coat to hide it. He could feel the sweat starting to run down the back of his neck. How much longer could he stall these guys? He was probably insulting them by doing this. Maybe he would have to fight them. He had to say something.

“Does it seem warm in here to you?” Rome asked, nerves making his voice a little too loud. The men flinched and the one in the middle—Rome thought he’d said his name was Analeen or something like that, though what kind of name that was for a man he couldn’t imagine—agreed somberly that it was. He didn’t miss the sideways looks the men shared. If Quyloc didn’t show up by the time he’d finished this bottle of wine, he was canceling this meeting; he didn’t care who was offended.

Just then the door opened and Quyloc entered. Quyloc looked worse than he had the last time Rome had seen him, which was yesterday. There were dark rings under his eyes and his clothes, usually so neat, were wrinkled and there was a stain on the front of his tunic. Rome got up and met him halfway.

“Are you all right?” he asked quietly. “You look bad.”

Quyloc gave him an irritable look. “No. I’m not all right.” Then he brushed past Rome and went to the table. The delegates stood and bowed.

Rome went back to his seat. Worried about Quyloc, he missed the first few sentences from the lead delegate, but what the man said next caught his attention and he turned to look at the man. “Say that again?”

The speaker was a heavy, florid man and his right hand trembled on the table before him. “There is something wrong in Nelton.”

Rome shot Quyloc a look, but his old friend seemed lost in his own thoughts.

The man continued. “Our representative there did not report when scheduled. When the king sent messengers, they did not return. So he sent more. Only one of those returned and he was badly shaken. He said something is happening to the people there. They gather every night in the main plaza to hear a man speak, and after they do, they are changed.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Rome said. “How could listening to someone speak change people?”

“He could not say. He did not attend the gathering. The others with him did and afterwards they were changed.”

“How were they changed?”

“They became fanatical followers of someone they called Gulagh. They babbled about the return of a god named Melekath, and they called him Father.”

“Gulagh?” Quyloc asked, looking up for the first time.

The man nodded.

“What about the king?” Quyloc asked. “Where is he in all this?”

“Our messenger did not see King Uren,” the man replied. “It is his belief that the king has been changed as well.

“We have been sent to seek an alliance with you,” the man continued. “King Chisan is concerned by these developments. According to our messenger, Gulagh’s followers are increasing in number as people flow into Nelton from the surrounding towns. Our king believes that you will see Nelton poses a threat to you as well.”

Rome nodded, thinking. This cast Lowellin’s assertions about Melekath in a new light. Suddenly his dire pronouncements seemed a lot more real. He asked some more questions, but the delegates did not have much to add. He dismissed them, telling them he would have something written up that they could take back to their king once he’d had a chance to consider it further.

When they were gone, he turned to Quyloc. “You recognized the name. Who is this Gulagh?”

“He is mentioned in the Book of Xochitl as one of the three Guardians,” Quyloc replied.

“Guardians?”

“Melekath’s generals. They were trapped when he was.”

“You think it really is Gulagh?”

“I don’t know,” Quyloc said wearily. “But it could be. I don’t think any ordinary man could do what they said he’s doing.”

“And the other two we’ve heard rumors about? You think they’re Guardians too?”

“It makes sense.”

“So you think Lowellin is telling the truth.”

“I know he’s telling the truth. About some things at least.”

“How do you know?”

At first Rome thought Quyloc wasn’t going to answer. He looked away and seemed to be struggling with something. Then, in a low voice he said, “I’ve been…to another world.”

Rome stared at him in alarm. “What do you mean by another world? Where is it?”

“I can’t answer that. I don’t know where it is. I’m not sure it’s anywhere. I don’t go there in my body.”

“Have you lost your mind? Nothing you just said makes any sense.”

“I wish that was all it was,” Quyloc said. “I wish it was just in my mind. But it’s all too real. It already almost trapped me once, the first time I went there, and every time I go back I just barely survive.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

“Because I knew you wouldn’t believe me.”

“It’s a lot to believe.”

“I know. I’m still having trouble with it myself.”

“Why are you going there? Is this something to do with Lowellin?”

“That’s where the weapon is he was talking about. He says it can be found near a river, but I can’t find any river. I can’t find anything at all. Things attack me every time I go in there almost immediately. I don’t know how much longer I’m going to survive this.” Quyloc’s voice was pure anguish. Not once did he look at Rome. He stared at his hands, his fingers clenching and unclenching.

“Stop going there, Quyloc. We can’t trust Lowellin. Maybe he’s just trying to get you killed.”

“If he was just trying to kill me, I’d already be dead. Nothing holds him out. He goes wherever he wants. He’s already been in my secret chamber twice.”

“Then maybe he isn’t trying to kill you. But he may have some other motive for sending you there. He’s just using you.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Quyloc snarled. “Of course he’s using me. I don’t think he can go into that place himself. That’s what he needs me for.”

“So why do you keep going?”

Quyloc gave Rome an odd look, then looked away again. When he spoke, his voice was barely a whisper. “I need it.”

“What did you say?”

Quyloc struggled to get a grip on himself. “We need that weapon. Add it all up, Rome. Your axe, Lowellin, the Guardians. The prison is breaking. We can’t fight a god with steel.”

Rome stared at him, knowing he wasn’t telling him the whole truth. Quyloc clearly needed the weapon—if there really was one—for reasons that were solely his own. But he also knew Quyloc wouldn’t tell him until he was ready to.

“Is there anything I can do? You want me to go with you?”

Quyloc looked at him, and Rome was surprised to see a moment of pure gratitude there, before his old friend looked away again. “You can’t come with me. This is something I have to do by myself.”

“Okay. I trust you in this. If anyone knows what he’s doing, it’s you. But keep me informed. I want to know about any progress you make or any new problems that arise.”

“I will.” Quyloc stood up to go.

“What should we do about Managil?”

“Accept their offer of alliance. We’re going to need all the help we can get.” Then Quyloc left.

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