The Cursewright's Vow

Chapter 19: The City of Music, Part 2

 Othma Sulivar adamantly refused to leave the safety of Autumnsgrove's underground reaches, but she did accompany Ammas and the others as they left the study and headed toward the entry stair. "You will come back when it is done?" she asked softly, walking side by side with her old student. "I would like to examine the Princess once you've done what you must, if she will consent to it. A ritual wolf is a thing I never thought to see in my life."

"If Ammas cures me," Carala said from behind them, "I certainly will not forget how helpful you were to him, Doyenne Sulivar."

Othma smiled crookedly at her, inclining her head in a faint bow. "Far more respectful than I expected, your highness. I thank you." 

Ammas, who noted that Othma had not actually said anything to Carala about curing her, kept silent until they reached the foot of the stair.

"I will return, Othma," he said, though his face was troubled. Even now his head was swimming with the things she had told him in her study, and no amount of seretto tea seemed likely to clear away the fog. "Hopefully if the Emperor approves of my efforts, we might even be able to meet openly."

"It would be most pleasant to feel the sun again," Othma replied.

Now Ammas smiled. "Surely you get out of here every now and then?"

"That's not something I'll admit in the present company." Lightly she took Ammas's hand and held it in hers, a fierceness in her expression as she studied him. "Remember what I said about the Raven's Veil, Ammas. Even if you do nothing else I've advised, remember."

"I will," he said softly. "Come, all of you. I trust the weather will be more pleasant this time." The Doyenne laughed. "Farewell, Doyenne Sulivar. If we succeed in this, none of us will forget how you helped us."

Barthim shook his head and caught Denisius's eye. "Ammas is a master diplomat, were you knowing this, good Lord Marhollow?"

"I'm not sure what I know," Denisius muttered. Barthim raised an eyebrow.

Swiftly they climbed the great winding stair, finding themselves at the butte's crown and under the bright autumn sunlight in only a few minutes. When they emerged in the shadow of the statue of Lady Terazla, Carala gasped. In the daylight the trees of Autumnsgrove blazed with an autumnal fire, the beauty of the leaves by moonlight nothing compared to the glory they showed when lit by the sun. Something warm and gentle clutched her hand. Looking down, she saw Casimir, as wonderstruck by the marvelous grove as she was herself. She remembered Othma Sulivar's bitter words about the loss of Witchlight Tower; recalled the splendid ruins of the Maathinhold, and wondered how many other treasures of the Academies Arcane had been annihilated at her father's command.

About a quarter of a mile down the road, Ammas turned back and looked again on Autumnsgrove. The illusion had returned full force: the grove once more looked blackened and dead, nothing but one more ruin from the days of his youth when he had practiced his trade openly and had been celebrated rather than an outlaw. The sight was a dismal one, but an urge had stolen over him to take one last look at the old Academy. A certainty crept over him as he walked down this road that he would never come here again. Dismissing it as just one more disturbing thought raised by the encounter with Othma, he turned his back on Autumnsgrove and returned to leading his companions along the road to Vilais.

They walked that road in a morose silence, each absorbed with his or her own thoughts. Denisius was particularly withdrawn. If not for his own long thoughts, Barthim no doubt would have accused him of "sulking," especially when his pace began to slow and he fell behind the others, trailing them by some yards. Carala looked over her shoulder at him, not liking the way he stared at the ground as he walked.

By the time they clambered around the barrier and found themselves at the old crossroads, Ammas had decided that it was past time they shook off the effects of being exposed to Othma's acid tongue. First around the barricade, he waited until Barthim had appeared, moving with a peculiar mixture of clumsiness and grace that, he supposed, would look at home in a bear assaulting a tree for a honeycomb nestled in its branches. "Sleep well, Barthim?" he asked, clapping him on one shoulder.

Barthim laughed hollowly and shrugged. "Not so well as I would like, not so bad as your good Doyenne was wishing, I think." He took a swig of water from his skin, then splashed his face with a sound of contentment. "She was speaking harsh words but true ones, Ammas. I have been thinking many of the things she said, when I stop to think of the things that happened so long ago. I was no Blade then, I was only Casimir's age, but would I have sat by, done nothing, let good men like you be killed, let children like Cass be burnt?" Barthim stared toward the now-distant ruins of Autumnsgrove. "I have no answer in my heart, and it was troubling me long before I came to this place."

"It seems a waste to feel guilty for a decision you never made."

Barthim looked at him unhappily. "You are the first cursewright I am knowing, Ammas. Before you, I thought they were just thieves and charlatans and everything the Throne says they are. Even now I am never knowing if it is just you are better than your fellows were. But your Doyenne has powerful magic, and I am thinking there were not many charlatans."

"There weren't," Ammas agreed. "But I think what matters is what happens now, not what happened before some of us here were even born." He winked down at Casimir. Casimir only frowned at him. Ammas looked at him, puzzled, but soon returned his attention to Barthim.

"Whatever your Doyenne wanted," Barthim was saying, "I am wanting to see the Hethraeum in Vilais. It is very old, maybe older than any now that the one in Duskpools is a ruin. Will you join me there? Or are you feeling as fiercely as your Doyenne? I know we do not speak often of the gods."

"Only because I don't have much to say. Let Othma blame the Ninefold faiths all she wants. I place the blame for what happened more where it belongs." Ammas glanced over his shoulder at Carala, who was gazing out at the swatches of farmland as they walked, seemingly heedless of his words. "I have my differences with the faiths, but I've made my peace. I'd be delighted to visit the Hethraeum with you if I can."

"Maybe you can be setting up shop there when they finally kick you out of Munazyr," Barthim offered cheerfully. Ammas laughed heartily at that, and on the sound of his laughter they continued their journey northward, the distant shape of the city visible on the horizon.

The day had drawn into late afternoon before Ammas called the first halt, the six of them coming to a rest at roadside shrine to Simori the Traveller, this one far better maintained than the ones that had lined the road to Autumnsgrove. Othma Sulivar had given them a bundle of food for the journey to Vilais, where they would more fully resupply, and it was with no small amount of relish they went to the fresh journey cakes, sausages, and dried fruit she'd gifted them from her stores. Denisius sat a little apart from the rest of them, staring morosely into the road. Vos stretched his legs out, sitting beside him with his back to the shrine's wall, frowning at him as he clipped the end of a cigar.

"Not feeling ill again, are you, milord?"

"I'm not sure."

Vos watched him closely. "What is it?"

"Maybe we'll talk about it privately. I don't know. Not now, for certain." He stole a glance at Carala, who was laughing at some joke Barthim had told her. Looking back to his small meal he sighed and covered it with a swatch of cloth. "Vos, why do you serve my father?"

Vos looked at him, puzzled. "Might I ask what brought this on, milord?"

"Just curious, I suppose."

"You've never been curious about that before."

"Will you answer me or not?"

Vos tried to remember if he had ever seen Denisius in a mood quite like this. "I will. In private, if you don't mind, milord. Then we can trade tales."

"It will have to do," said Denisius shortly, and would say no more.