Beyond the Shadows - Brent Weeks [50]
“Fascinating,” Istariel said, her tone flat.
“Of course that ka’kari disappeared and has never resurfaced. I imagine it would have, if it were anything but a legend. There is much stronger evidence in support of the red ka’kari’s existence. Originally, it was given to Corvaer Blackwell—ironically enough, Lord Blackwell would henceforth be known as Corvaer the Red—and after he died during the Battle of Jaeran Flats, it was taken by a man named Malak Mok’mazi, Malak Firehands in our tongue, though obviously that translation doesn’t preserve the alliteration. Accounts from both sides claimed that he fought from within the conflagration that swept the plain and broke the Gurvani army. Again, after his death—apparently fire isn’t much good against poison—” Ariel barked a laugh, which Istariel didn’t share. “Uh hmm, well, it seems to have reappeared in various hands throughout history. Some of those had credible witnesses. Herddios, whom we trust for all sorts of other stories that have checked out, claims to have personally—”
“Did you learn anything new?” Istariel said, doing her best to feign interest. Limited interest.
Ariel licked her lips, her eyes flicking up to the ceiling as she thought. “I concluded that a review of all the currently available literature on the subject still left the most pertinent questions open. And most of the less pertinent ones as well.”
“So it took you two years to figure out that you weren’t going to figure anything out.” It was a graceless way to put it, but then, with Ariel, it paid to be blunt.
Ariel grimaced. “That’s why I was willing to go see about Jessie al’Gwaydin.”
And not because your Speaker asked you to. For a moment, Istariel was jealous of her oblivious older sister. Ariel was a rock and the waves of politics passed her with sound and fury and she didn’t even notice. She was a bore, but a useful one. Whenever Istariel had needed an expert opinion on the magical sides of dilemmas, Ariel could be loosed on the problem like a hound to scent. And she wouldn’t share her findings with anyone except the books she wrote and Istariel. All in all, Ariel was worth far more than the trouble she caused. But did she have to be so boring?
If Ariel had turned her brilliant mind to politics. . . . Well, Istariel had thought of that before, in her more paranoid moments. If Ariel had the inclination for such things, Ariel would be the Speaker and Istariel would probably be some farmer’s brood mare. The key to handling Ariel was understanding that she was a believer; not a believer in some god, but a believer in the Chantry. There was something endearingly naive in women who believed all that “Seraph’s handmaiden” tripe. It made them far easier to handle than the magae who believed only in themselves. Point in a direction, say “good of the Chantry,” and Ariel would do anything.
“Ariel, I’ve got a problem I need your help with. I know you’ve never accepted a tyro—”
“I’ll do it.”
“—but I want you to think about the good of the—What?”
“You want me to teach Viridiana Sovari so she’s protected until she can destroy Eris Buel and the Chattel. I’ll do it.”
Istariel’s heart jumped into her throat. So nakedly laid out, it was a plot whose discovery would bring