The Dragon Revenant - Katharine Kerr [152]
As soon as he accepted their pledge, the star vanished, winking out suddenly into darkness, but the Kings remained, beckoning to him to follow them through the blue light. In the safety of their company he flew a long way east and slightly north, until they came to a little town called Ganjalo, or so the King of Earth named it. They swooped wide round the town, as if warning him to avoid it, then led him to the north until he saw an enormous walled compound below him. His companions sent out such a wave of loathing that he knew he’d seen the Old One’s villa. As he returned to his body, he also knew that he could find it again, and soon, because they were no more than two days’ ride away.
The Old One stood in his Temple of Time and considered the images on the twelfth floor. Overnight they’d multiplied so fast and taken on so much life that he knew his plans were rushing toward their crux. At one window stood Nevyn, grown huge and towering; round his feet like so many toys huddled the figures of a dozen men on horseback, and at their head was Rhodry, about twice as large as the rest. Off to one side, and a normal life-size, were Jill and the image of a man he didn’t recognize, though he was willing to wager a guess that it was Nevyn’s disciple. At another window across the room stood the enormous image of the Hawkmaster, and again, at his feet crouched a huddle of followers, Baruma among them. Since he was planning on defeating Nevyn out on the etheric plane, where armed men would be of no use to either side, it was the Hawkmaster’s followers that particularly interested the Old One. When he’d scried through Baruma’s eyes, he’d seen only two other Hawks with the Master. Now there were twelve. Treachery? Perhaps. The Old One was willing to consider that the Hawkmaster might merely have summoned reinforcements against the master of the Aethyr. He was not, however, willing to ask him directly.
He returned from the temple, banished the mental construct, and opened his eyes. He was sitting in his favorite chamber below a ceiling painting of the zodiac and in front of a desk heaped with scrolls and sheets of bark-paper. In the midst of the litter stood a small bronze gong. When he rang it, Pachela, the middle-aged slave woman who ran his household, opened the door and stepped in.
“Do you wish food, master?”
“No. What are you doing, tending my door? One of the boys is good enough for that.”
“I have accounts for you to look over, when you have time.”
“They’ll have to wait, probably till tomorrow. Send someone up here to keep everyone out. I have important work to do.”
She bowed and slipped out, shutting the door softly behind her. He waited until he heard the slave come take up his guard, then brought out his consecrated mirror of black enamel to scry. As soon as he sent his mind out searching for Baruma, he saw the image of his erstwhile student flickering on the surface. Since Baruma was asleep, it took him only a few moments to steal his body for his own use. Once he’d gained control, he made a show of waking up, yawning and stretching as he opened the body’s eyes.
He found himself sitting on the bare ground in a little valley. Off to one side, not far away, was a campfire; sitting near it were a handful of men, armed and grim. To the other, the Hawkmaster was walking up and down while he talked to someone that the Old One not only recognized but hated with all his heart: Dargo, the Hawkmaster who ran the Indila guild. His hatred for this particular master was one of the reasons, in fact, that the Old One had hired his assassins from another island. Secrecy, of course, was the other, but as he listened,