The Chaos Crystal (51 page)

'It would be,' Tilly agreed, 'if the process of closing the rift after they step through it isn't going to tear this world to pieces as it snaps shut.'

Stellan had difficulty imagining such a force — a force so powerful it was capable of destroying a world. 'Do you know this for a fact, Tilly, or are you just speculating?'

She shrugged, her face shadowed and grim in the firelight. 'Declan seems reasonably certain. But even if he isn't, can we afford to ignore the possibility?'

'But how can we stop them? Even with Declan Hawkes on our side, that's still only one immortal against a score of them.'

Tilly nodded. 'And it takes a Tide Lord to stop a Tide Lord. That's where you come in.'

'What do you expect
me
to do?' he asked, more than a little concerned by the notion that she believed him capable of doing anything to stop a Tide-wielding immortal from doing exactly as he pleased, let alone halt Amyrantha's destruction. 'I'm no hero. Tides, when it gets down to it, all I am is a diplomat, Tilly. And a very reluctant king. I barely have the power to rule Glaeba. I haven't the power to order anybody else to do anything.'

'No, but you have the ear of Tryan and the Empress of the Five Realms. Declan needs their help to stop Cayal, Lukys, Kentravyon, Elyssa and the other immortals they've gathered to their cause in Jelidia. Opening this rift requires a number of Tide Lords working in concert. It will take as many Tide Lords

working in concert to stop them. You are going to have to arrange a meeting between the warring parties, Stellan. And somehow, you're going to have to make them hammer out an agreement that will stop the other Tide Lords and save Amyrantha.'

Stellan stared at her, aghast. 'You want me to hammer out an agreement between
who?
Declan and Tryan? Syrolee and her family? Who else?'

'The Imperator of Torlenia, for one.'

Stellan looked at her blankly. 'What's he got to do with this?'

'While you were hiding in the mountains, the young Imperator of Torlenia was taken ill. He emerged from his sick bed several weeks later, a changed man. So changed he now bears a striking resemblance to the immortal, Brynden.'

Stellan shook his head in amazement. 'Tides, is there
no
nation on Amyrantha they've not staked a claim on yet?'

'A few,' Tilly said. 'But that's probably because we have more nations than Tide Lords, rather than lack of ambition on their part.'

Stellan could no longer sit still. He climbed to his feet and began to pace the small rug in front of the fire. 'How am I supposed to do this, Tilly? Why would they even listen to me?'

'Because that's your unique talent, Stellan. You're a diplomat. You may well be the only man on Amyrantha capable of bringing these people to the negotiating table, working out an agreement between them and motivating them to take action before the Tide peaks and Amyrantha is destroyed.'

He shook his head, but he wasn't sure if he was denying her compliment or simply dumbfounded by the dire nature of the problem. 'I'm flattered by your faith in me, but it's sadly misplaced, I fear. I don't even have proof that this plan you say will destroy Amyrantha is real. I'm assuming Declan isn't here to

back you up, otherwise he'd be sitting here with us now, and he could help explain it to his immortal brethren. Diplomacy is all about credibility, Tilly. One cannot negotiate from a position of strength when one can't prove they have the authority, moral or otherwise, to seal the deal.'

Tilly nodded. 'I know. I have someone who
will
help you. Declan is already on his way to Torlenia to speak to Brynden, but there is still one man in Glaeba who can vouch for this. One man capable of convincing Tryan and Syrolee of the urgency of your pact — provided you can get them to the table. With Declan talking to Brynden — assuming our newest immortal is successful in his attempt to secure the cooperation of the Lord of Reckoning and his consort — it should be a small matter to get the lesser immortals to join the cause.'

'Who is there?' Stellan asked, still shaking his head. There was no man he could think of with the authority to make a Tide Lord listen to him about the dangers of opening this rift. 'To bring Tryan to heel, you would need another Tide
...'

His voice trailed off as the answer came to him before Tilly even had a chance to explain. 'Tides
...
No. You cannot mean
...'

By her sympathetic look, Tilly understood his pain, but she wasn't going to let it stop her doing what needed to be done. 'You know yourself there is no other way, Stellan, otherwise you wouldn't be looking so pale right now.'

He shook his head. 'He declared
war
on them, Tilly. Tryan isn't going to listen to a word he has to say.'

'Granted,' the old lady conceded. 'Not unless you intercede on his behalf and smooth the way for the discussion.'

'I'd almost rather see Amyrantha destroyed,' he said bitterly, 'than face that lying, cheating little bastard again.'

'That's a pity, Stellan, it really is,' Tilly said with a sigh. 'And it pains me to do this, but your tender feelings are not a consideration.'

'It pains you to do what?'

Tilly reached for the small bell resting on the table beside her chair. It tinkled musically for a moment. Even before the chimes had faded, the door opened. It appeared the doorman had been waiting for his cue.

'My lady?'

'Would you ask our other guest to join us, Ceeby?' Tilly replied.

That was all the warning Stellan got; just a fraction of a second to control his anger. An eye-blink to compose his features and turn to face the man who stepped into the room looking exactly as he had several months ago when Stellan had last seen him, the day he came to torment him in Herino Prison.

He didn't even have the decency to look contrite.

But the new Duke of Lebec would never know how much his presence pained Stellan. The new King of Glaeba was a man expert in hiding his true feelings. So Stellan smiled urbanely, as if they were nothing more than acquaintances brought together by chance.

'Well, Jaxyn,' he said, resuming his seat and leaning back in it with a casual air. 'Tilly tells me you need my help to save the world.'

Jaxyn put his hands on his hips, glancing at the old woman in annoyance. 'That's not how I would have put it. But then the Cabal of the Tarot always have been prone to exaggeration.'

Jaxyn's statement revealed so much. That he was here; that he knew the identity of Tilly and her role in the secret organisation dedicated to the destruction of his kind; that she not only tolerated his presence, but seemed to be aiding him — all this told Stellan a great deal about the state of the world and the dire trouble heading their way if he did nothing to help.

'I'm sure they are,' Stellan replied, marvelling at the steadiness of his own voice. 'How would
you
describe our situation?'

'Awkward,' Jaxyn snapped. 'But nothing we can't deal with if you can get me in to see Tryan. Given what's happened of late
...
well, I doubt he wants to speak to me, at the moment. The old girl and I agree,' he added, glancing at Tilly who didn't seem pleased with his description of her,'— and there's not much we agree on — that you're the only one with the power and probably the brains to make it happen.'

'Awkward? That's something of an understatement.'

'So you'll do it?' Jaxyn asked, a little impatiently.

'On one condition,' Stellan said, flicking a speck of imaginary dust from his trousers as he crossed one leg over the other.

'What condition?'

Stellan knew that there was no power he could exert over this immortal. There was nothing he could probably ever do to redress the ills done to him and his family by this man. Not the murder of his niece, the destruction of his country, the taking of everything he owned
...

But for a fleeting moment, Stellan had all the power in the world. It may never happen again, he realised, but right now, in this instant, Stellan had something Jaxyn needed and that meant he held the upper hand.

The King of Glaeba met Jaxyn's eye and smiled poisonously. 'You're going to have to say
please.'

CHAPTER 47

It was raining in Ramahn. Declan had never seen rain here before. It lent the city a melancholy air. Buildings normally bright, white and deceptively clean were now grey and mottled with moisture. The fine layer of sandy dust that lay over everything in this city, perched on the edge of a desert, turned to mud in the rain, streaking the sides of buildings, leaving the once colourful marketplace awnings hanging dull, limp and dripping, and driving even the beggars indoors.

Declan had sent Warlock to Torlenia to deliver his request for a meeting to Brynden. Given the magical trip-wire Brynden had set around the continent, Declan thought sending a third party to deliver the message — one who wouldn't set off the alarm and couldn't be corrupted by an immortal — the safest course.

He wasn't sure what Brynden's reaction would be to his request, and he wasn't prepared to risk innocent lives on a guess. It was one thing to trigger the magical barrier on the uninhabited west coast where only Kinta was nearby to respond. Quite another to set it off near one of the greatest population centres on Amyrantha.

But waiting for an answer had left his nerves frayed with anticipation. Two weeks was a long time to worry if Jaxyn was doing as he promised, to fret over whether or not Stellan Desean would be able to contain his own feelings well enough to deal with Jaxyn again, let alone bring the warring Tide Lords of Caelum and Glaeba to the table. And whether or not a

rapprochement was even possible. The sheer inconvenience of the war between the two countries irked Declan. With the world on the very brink of destruction, who cared about a border dispute?

His worrying proved a wasted effort. Two weeks after he sent Warlock to Ramahn with a sealed note to be placed in the hands of the Imperator's Consort — on the very same day he decided that his offer had been refused, Warlock must be dead, and he was going to have to risk entering Torlenia himself — a message had arrived from Ramahn with news that Brynden would grant him an audience.

He turned from watching the city at the feel of someone approaching on the Tide. There were two of them, he decided. The powerful ripples of a Tide Lord and the lesser ripples of an immortal who lacked the same power, but who nonetheless was able to affect the Tide. Declan took a deep breath, his heart pounding as the Lord of Reckoning and his lover neared the audience chamber of Ramahn Palace. It was large room, tiled in decorative mosaics depicting the many moral lessons the Lord of Reckoning had bestowed upon his people over the centuries. It was not clear yet, to the people of Torlenia, that their god now sat on the throne. They still believed him to be their beloved Imperator, changed by illness and a miracle into a man of wisdom and insight.

He wasn't sure how Brynden had managed to get away with such an elaborate deception. Having Crash servants helped, he supposed. They were compelled to do and say anything he ordered. All the human staff Declan encountered on his way through the palace seemed to be priests, members of Brynden's own cult. Declan reasoned that with them in charge, there was nobody much around left to object.

Declan's skin tingled. Neither of the approaching immortals was using Tide magic, but the Tide was coming in fast. Even Declan could feel the difference.

There was an urgency about it now; a feeling that before long, nothing would be able to hold it back. It was thrilling. It was terrifying. And it was all Declan could do to stop himself plunging into the magic at every meagre excuse he could find to wield it.

Given he was a legendary warrior, Declan was a little disappointed when the doors at the end of the cathedral-like audience chamber opened and Brynden entered wearing sandals, a loose white shirt and linen trousers of the sort you'd see any ordinary man in the street of Ramahn wearing. Well-built, clean-shaven, with close-cropped blond hair and the gait of a warrior, he seemed more mercenary than majesty.

Kinta, on the other hand, was dressed exactly as he'd seen her on the west coast of Torlenia a few weeks ago, after she'd removed her shroud — heavily armed and wearing a short leather skirt and a tooled leather breastplate. He wondered why she bothered. Armour was designed to protect vital organs from harm. There was no weapon on Amyrantha that could harm her. And no weapon that could harm him, either, if it came to it. Her mode of dress told him something else about this place, too. In a land where women must always remain shrouded in the company of men not of their own family, she was proudly dressed as a warrior. That meant she trusted every soul in the palace not to betray her.

It also meant there was nobody here, if things went badly, who would lift a finger to aid Declan.

Good to know these things ahead
of
time.

Declan stepped forward, all the speeches he'd been mentally rehearsing in his head vanishing as Brynden strode across the tiles with Kinta beside him, and stopped a few feet from him. He was prepared to hate the man who had sold Arkady into slavery, but couldn't afford his own prejudices to get in the way. He needed Brynden. There was an eternity waiting on the other side of this calamity for him to settle the score over Arkady, once Amyrantha was saved.