As she and Dayel strode down the main thoroughfare, figures began making their way out of their tents and looked at them. Some faces were curious, some apprehensive, but as they continued to make their way into the middle of the camp more figures appeared to line the sides of the path. It was a welcoming crowd of a sort, but not one that she was used to. There was no cheering, no excitement for a job well done, or for a princess returning home. Instead there was silence, and nervousness.
She was not welcome here. She could feel it.
In the middle of the encampment was a stage, set up so that she was visible from three sides and far enough above everyone's head that she was unmissable. She leapt onto it and turned round at the crowd that had silently followed her. There were hundreds of them, non particularly strong, but they exuded talent. Are they all potential bone slaves, or is there some other reason that father would keep them around after discovering this place?
“Where is my father!” she cried out, scouring the crowd for a face she recognised. However, wherever she looked, all she could see were unfamiliar figures. Neither her father’s trusted subordinates within Avalon, nor the eyes and ears of the Prophet could be seen anywhere. This was a new force entirely, filled with willing soldiers with no current use. Prime bone slaves, she thought, her stomach twisting at the thought of her father drawing power from so many people, of her drawing power from so many people. She could barely resist the urge to lick her lips.
“I’m here, child,” came a voice from behind her, “I honestly did not expect you for a few months, but I have not been to see the augers recently. They must be getting nervous for new guts.”
Yveth turned and stared at the man who had raised her, the legendary figure with a smirk fixed onto his face like a cat who had caught a mouse. Even now his simple presence dwarfed the entire crowd that stood behind her. To Yveth, they were nothing, but him... Gawayen was everything she aspired to be, everything she aspired to surpass.
“That or their plans are slowly coming to fruition,” she replied, “You know as well as I that they have their own ideas of how they want the future to progress. You have a new army.”
“And your retinue has not changed a single bit,” he said, looking at Dayel. “At least you have good taste. Good evening Dayel.”
“Evening Sir,” Dayel replied glibly.
They stood still for a moment before Gawayen turned round and walked through the curtains that backed the stage. “You should come with me. I think you’ll find my current digs are more than comfortable enough for us to have a nice chat.”
Yveth glanced at her assistant and they shared a single moment before following Gawayen off the stage and down the stairs. It was only a short journey to the rundown house that the man used as his home, but the three of them made the entire thing in silence. Yveth and Dayel did not need to talk to each other, and neither was willing to speak to Gawayen. They knew him, and knew that he would learn much more from them than they would from him if the situation was not handled with care. He was Grand Lancelot Gawayen Pendraeg, the greatest kimbramancer since the founding of Avalon itself, and most importantly, they were not.
Walking through the door of his abode they were presented with a gloomy, slightly humid room. There was a musk to the area that reminded Yveth of sex, blood, and sweat, something that she was loathed to think about her father doing. Not because she was disgusted by the concept, but rather because it humanised him, if it made her think him even slightly less than the utter monster that he was then she would be underestimating him and she could not afford to do that.
“So,” he said, pulling out a chair at the far end of the room and gesturing for them to sit down on one near the side. “I must apologise for the reception, if I had been aware you were coming then I would have at least made more of an effort to get this room cleaned.”
Yveth nodded. “I know you’re not one to normally shirk courtesy, father, but that doesn’t matter. Did you find it?”
“Of course. We found the seal well over a year ago. You should see it, girl, it’s a breathtaking abomination of the Book of Creation.”
“What an odd way of describing a device of our nemesis. It seems that all this politicking and easy living has left you soft, father.”
“What can I say? The clan of Creation certainly knew how to build things that took your breath away, often both metaphorically and literally.” Gawayen stood up and walked over to a nearby trunk, before kicking it open. He fished out a jug and goblet, before filling the goblet with whatever was inside the jug. Taking a swig he continued, “The most important question, child, is do you have all three keys?”
“The augers would have told you if all three keys had been collected,” Yveth replied with a smirk. “I have two. And the third is held by a man who wants to open up the well as much as we do. He’s someone we’ve been hunting for a very long time in fact.”
“Who?” Gawayen asked, showing surprise for the first time since his daughter had shown up.
“It’s a surprise of the most monumental proportions, father. Just know I could feel his need for the keys when I stole one from right under his nose. It oozed off him like a toxin, infecting everyone who stood with him. I was honestly quite impressed.”
“Do you agree with her, Dayel?”
“Of course, sir,” Dayel said, “I was there when the Lady stole the key from him. He was almost rabid, but there was a shred of humanity holding him back, stopping him from going completely insane. We might have broken that when we used our homeward bones though, he seemed incredibly angry. Either way, he will be here. I honestly don’t know if anything could stop him from coming.”
“Well if the keys arriving has been organised, I should probably inform you that the new corpsemother has been chosen.”
“I thought that the Prophet declared that there could be no corpse mother till the Doom was rectified, lest we call it back upon us...” Yveth frowned. She was just as likely as her father to try and throw a spanner into the works of the augers, but this was different. This was a clear request, something that was nearly unprecedented in the history of Avalon.
“First, the Prophet suggests, they do not declare. The power of the Prophet has always been more ceremonial than not. They are here to guide us through the Doom and nothing more. Second, the Doom has been rectified,” Gawayen said, before taking a long draught from his goblet. He relaxed back into his chair and waved the goblet at his daughter, sloshing whatever he was drinking at her and letting it spill out onto the floor. “All the plans are in place. You are prepared, the army is ready to face anyone, and all I have to do is wish at that well and we will finally be free of the axe that is hanging over our necks. We will spit in Babel’s eye, child, mark my words. We are prepared.”
“Then who is she? Who did you try and test to breaking point? Who is the monster that I will call mother?” Yveth smirked mirthlessly.
“It’s Ayna, my dear. Your childhood project.”
For a moment there was silence and then Yveth burst into raucous, wicked laughter. She laughed until she cried with a joy and surprise that she had not felt since she was young. “Oh father, you shouldn’t have...” she whispered, a fire building within her. “I’m going to enjoy this.”
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