Rexi and Talon

By Onyx Tao

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25. 'Zackton Silvercane'

Several days later, Zackton looked over his diagrams and notes for Talon's amulet. It … lacked something, it wasn't … right. This wasn't surprising: every enchantment was different; every magic had its own subtle changes, even if he was doing something he'd done before. Zackton could take advantage of his own notes – he had a vast book of notes of his craftings, but … making magic was never as simple as following a recipe for pea soup.

In the course of the many renovations and repairs underway, Rexi had discovered something Zackton hadn't known: the old study, right off the main wing, was also lead-lined. And Zackton, when he had come to take a look, had found traces that suggested the room had been warded. Any magic that had been there had long since dissipated, but it did make some of the odd damage to the floors and walls make sense. A study made a perfect place to put a secret compartment, somewhere, and the lead would make it doubly difficult to find.

Zackton hadn't known of any in the room, but … he'd never known all the secrets of the house. Even if Baron had trusted him enough to tell him all of the secrets, Zackton never would have actually believed Baron had done so. And Baron had never claimed to, for that matter. Thinking back, Zackton was astonished that Baron had shared so many of them with him, really. Of course, Baron had been every bit as much of a calculated gambler as Zackton, and …

Baron had gambled correctly on Zackton's intent. The execution … now, the execution he might fairly quibble with, but even there, Zackton was doing what he could. He'd never expected the statue to vanish, though. Zackton had been prepared to see some damage, but … who would move a mediocre two-ton marble statue out of a gazebo, much less all of them? They were just statues …

Except, of course, they weren't just statues. Zackton tried to focus on his notes, intuit the final piece that would complete the device, and he couldn't, as the whisper that somebody else knew, the small and tiny fear that had gnawed him for decades, got louder and louder with every day that the statue failed to appear. It had morphed from tiny fear to creeping doubt to paralyzing concern, somehow without his notice. Zackton had never even taken the question to a priest, any priest, not wanting to bring the matter to the deific attention any powerful divination would draw. But if he were wasting his time … then … then what?

The notes entirely forgotten, Zackton contemplated the mostly-empty bookshelf on the far side of the room. He pulled out a slate noteboard.

Who took Baron's statue?

Does Baron's statue still exist?

Is the statue still in Coryntyn?

Where is Baron's statue?

Zackton contemplated the questions for a moment, and brushed them all out.

What happened to Baron's statue?

Closer, Zackton thought, but still ...

What has happened to Baron's statue?

That would do. He copied the question onto a scrap of paper, blotted it, and put it in his pocket.

A few candlemarks found him at Shelyn's Conservatory. He'd put this visit off, repeatedly, because he simply didn't care to argue theology; he had hoped to avoid it until the garden chapel was ready for reconsecration. Looking around, though, he wondered if that hadn't been a mistake.

The Conservatory was beautiful.

Gardens and podiums, small, cleverly designed buildings, themselves works of art, holding paintings, small sculptures … beauty. Balm to the many wounds in Zackton's soul. He let a small, satisfied smile leak out, let his expression match the reality of his own thoughts – Zackton didn't do that often, and it always produced an intense moment of relaxation.

Only a moment, though, as Zackton pulled the smile back, watching a young man in a simple white tunic came running – scurrying – over to him. “May I be of service to you?" Strangely, Zackton didn't hear the condescension he'd been half-expecting, and Zackton gave the priest – that attitude, or rather the lack of it, corresponded, in Zackton's experience, to a great deal more spiritual achievement than most ever managed.

“Perhaps," said Zackton. “I had not expected to meet with a senior priest so quickly."

The priest looked a little surprised. “I am not …"

“If you are not, you will be," said Zackton. “But regardless … I have two matters to discuss with one of the … seniors, here. The first involves a small chapel at my house. It suffered from a great deal of neglect, but I am restoring it, and want it reblessed."

The young man nodded. “We would be happy to assist with that. You are … the singer Zackton Silvercane, yes?"

Zackton wasn't surprised at the recognition, but he nodded anyway. “You know of me?"

“Only … we have heard some amazing stories of your singing," the young man said. “That Shelyn has truly blessed your voice."

Zackton sighed. “I do not wish to enter into theological debate on whether or not we are in the debt of the gods for our skills, or vice versa – I am rather on the vice-versa side, you understand. I merely wish to use my skills to celebrate the beauty that Shelyn represents. I am not an, ah, orthodox follower, particularly."

The priest smiled. “That's fine. I didn't mean to upset you."

“I am not upset," said Zackton. “Very little upsets me these days, although … there is a question that has overturned my customary equanimity, and I had wondered if there was a divine here skilled enough to set that question before Herself, with the expectation of an answer."

The priest looked surprised. “That is no small matter, good sir."

Zackton shrugged. “I would not ask such a thing over a small concern." He paused. “I am gratified to be recognized, but … I regret that I do not know you."

“Fourth Chair Farestes, Master Silvercane," the priest apologized. “But please, call me Farestes."

“Thank you, Farestes. I was hoping to have a few moments with one of the senior – one of the First Chairs, I suppose, or should I be asking for the Conductor?"

“We don't use that term," Farestes said. “The First Chairs direct the temple." He smiled. “At least here."

“Thank you," said Zackton. “It is, as I said, my first time at this temple. I did not know. A First Chair, then."

“I … I will find out," Farestes said, slowly. “Their time is …"

“Valuable, yes, of course," Zackton inserted into Fareste's hesitation. “And if now is not a good time, then I will wait on the Temple's convenience, although … I fear my time, too, is valuable, and perhaps some consideration of our various schedules might yield some mutually advantageous gap of an hour or so?" Zackton watched closely as the underpriest unwound the verbiage, and – Zackton hoped, let the unspoken topic of donations filter back through his head.

“Let me show you to a private gallery, while I see how best I can help you?" Farestes finally said.

Perfect. Pass me through to the next gatekeeper, Zackton thought, but he was long practiced at keeping his thoughts from his face. “The private galleries of Shelyn's temple are said to be well worth visiting," Zackton replied. “I do have an appointment this evening – I've been invited to a private recital."

“Lady Racine's? By chance?"

Zackton let a huge smile bloom on his face, without quite showing all his teeth. “Why, yes," he said. “She was kind enough to ask me."

Farestes gave a half-bow. “There will actually be several Chairs attending, as well."

Zackton changed his smile to a look of how impressive. “I was already looking forward to it," he murmured.

“Yes, this way, please," Farestes said, and drew him into the main building, and up into a smallish room with a marble veneer and seven painted canvases, all as peaceful and serene as the rest of the Conservatory. “By our previous First Chair," Farestes said, gesturing to them. Zackton looked at the various landscapes.

“I will enjoy them," Zackton said. “Thank you, Chair Farestes – is that right?"

Farestes shrugged. “Farestes is good enough, Zackton. I'll go see … who might be available," and the underpriest bowed himself out. Zackton nodded to himself, and let his eye drift around the room again. Aside from a couple of chairs, simply but classically styled and upholstered with – a butterfly pattern? That pointed, if subtle, reference to the outlawed diety of dreams and freedom was rather surprising for a temple in Cheliax, under the foot – or hoof – of the God of Devils.

Still. It might be accidental. Zackton let his attention move on from the chair to the paintings; all well-done and pleasant, to his eye. Ah. He did note a blue butterfly in one the meadows. Unwise, to tempt the Asmodeans so …

An older human woman stepped through the door with a priestly half-bow. “Master Silvercane?" He turned from his contemplation of the landscapes to her. A fine linen gown, embroidered with flowers – roses and violets, columbine, any number of other blooms.

“I answer to that," Zackton said. “But please call me Zackton. Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing.

She bowed. “I am Second Chair Fayre." She looked at him curiously. “We did not realize you were a devotee of Our Lady."

“Why should you?" said Zackton. “My temple dealings in Coryntyn have been primarily with the Abadarians, since I have been moving wealth around, and they provide – here – a certain legal remove in an overly rulebound society. I have no wish for my monies or property to be confiscated, and if I cannot hide behind the nobility, I shall hide behind the Church."

“And yet you come to us … with a question, I am told?"

“Yes, Second Chair," he said, using her title to emphasize it was a theological matter. “I know … I have not set up the relationship I would ordinarily want with Shelyn's Devoted, but … I draw enough interest on my own that … I do not wish to bring troubles on you or your Conservatory."

She simply nodded her understanding.

He reached out with an envelope. “You may have seen a similar envelope, some weeks ago, when I first arrived. I did not wish to … draw attention to myself then, but I did wish to subsidize one of the few worthwhile things in Cheliax. But now, I seem to have worked myself to an impasse."

She took it, opened it, and her eyes widened a bit. “You are generous, Zackton. Thank you. Is there a way we can assist you with your impasse? From everything I'm told, your theater renovations go well. Everyone is abuzz over your promised productions, and the various singers of Coryntyn are … hopeful. Even the public is starting to become enthused over your planned revival of the Belkzen Cycle." She lifted her hands. “I thought perhaps you might be seeking Shelyn's blessing on your endeavors?"

“I … no," said Zackton. “Please Her I hope they may – but they are my art. I offer them, I hope they find her favor, certainly, but I seek no particular inspiration beyond what I already have."

“Then this has to do with the consecration of your private shrine?"

“Reconsecration," Zackton said. “It was consecrated to Her, once."

“We can find no record of that," Fayre said. “You may be mistaken."

“Then I invite you out to the shrine," Zackton said. “See for yourself whether you can sense the faded blessings that I believe were once there." He paused. “How is it you know of this?"

“Your slip Rexi contacted us," Fayre said. “I was asked to look into the matter – that's why I'm talking to you, since I was already involved."

“Marvelous," said Zackton. “Then you may know it is my desire to restore the shrine to its original appearance?"

She nodded.

“To that end, I have been seeking the original statuary, and … I have been unable to locate them. They are not in the house, they are not in the gardens, I have not found sales receipts in the house archives ..." Zackton gave a sad smile. “My hope is that Shelyn will give me hint as to where to find the art that I seek. Or … if my quest is moot, and they have been destroyed."

“A moment," Fayre said, and vanished, returning quickly with an unlit brazier. “Pose your question. I will serve as your conduit to Her."

“I thank you. My question, then, is this: Lady, what has happened to Baron's statue?"

Fayre nodded, and placed a lump of incense on the brazier, and spoke her own prayer, in a melodic Celestial tongue. There was no flash of light or flame, but the incense began to smoke regardless, filling the room with the heavy, thick smell of roses.

“Fill your mind with as much silence as you can," Fayre said. “Think on your question. We will lay the matter before Her and She will answer as pleases Her."

“Thank you," Zackton said.

The answer, when it came to him, was both clear and cryptic. An image of Baron's statue, water trickling down the side of his viola, presiding over a small pond of colorful fish and blooming waterlily. Stains on the marble suggested it this was not a new location, but that it had been there for years. Far better than he'd hoped; it was not merely confirmation that the statue still existed, but where he might start looking! Zackton opened his eyes, which had somehow closed, and stared at the surprised Fayre.

“Did you see … She granted me a vision," Fayre said.

“A statue, over a pond? With flowers?"

“Yes," Fayre said, and then, “was that what you were looking for?"

Zackton nodded. “Yes. And now I know to start looking at ponds," he added.

“Oh," said Fayre casually, “as to that …"

“You know where it is," breathed Zackton. “Thank You, Lady Shelyn. From the bottom of my heart, if I have one, thank You!"

“If you have one?" asked Fayre.

Zackton looked at her. “One should be honest before the gods, I think, especially after such an unusually clear response. I would have been truly satisfied only to know it hadn't been destroyed. And I believe from your reaction that you've actually seen it?"

She nodded. “You're right. I've seen it. It's in the Justine Pond at Paracount Mortaille's estate," Fayre said. “You might have some trouble getting him to part with it, though."

Zackton just smiled. “Life is always trading one problem for another,Second Chair Fayre. I am delighted to swap finding a statue, if it still exists, somewhere in Cheliax for acquiring a statue from Paracount Mortaille." He looked pensive for a moment. “I … have some arrangements to make, and I am eager to make them. I do still want to discuss reconsecration, and …" he paused. “I will also make a larger offering in thanks."

“Perhaps you would consider a shrine to Shelyn in your theater?" Fayre asked.

Zackton let himself appear to consider the question before answering, “I don't think that would be an appropriate gesture. The theater in Coryntyn is not what it was."

A flash of surprise covered up the moment of hurt, but then she simply nodded. “There may be some truth in that."

“Cheliax is full of many painful truths these days," Zackton said. “I would point out that … some of your furnishings might be misinterpreted by … others." He gestured first at the meadow with the lone butterfly, and then the upholstered chair. “Taunting monsters is unwise, Second Chair Fayre."

She stiffened, and then Zackton sighed. “It is your business, I am sure. But I do wish to see your temple prosper. I have no objection to that motif myself."

“Thank you for your observation," was all the Second Chair said.

“I see it was unwelcome," Zackton said softly. “I meant no offense."

“None was taken, Zackton," she replied.

Zackton hired a cabriolet to take him back to his home, rather than walk, and was surprised – more than surprised, actually disturbed, to see six half-orcs chained together and standing in the garden. That was not what he'd approved. He stopped the first halfling he saw – Norback, he thought, and forced himself to his usual calm civility when he asked, “I need to speak with Rexi, do you know …"

“Rexi is waiting in your study, Master," Norback said. “And he's sent several of us looking for you."

“Has he," Zackton said. “Very well. Thank you, Norback – that is your name, yes?"

“Yes, Master Silvercane," Norback said, sounding a little surprised to be remembered, but Zackton was already on his way up the stairs.

“Rexi, I did not …" and he stopped, surprised at the presence of a woman – human, manacled, wearing chains tightly wrapped around a dirty smock, and wearing a gag. He took several deliberate steps over to his desk, and sat down.

“Master Silvercane," Rexi started, but Zackton held up his hand.

“A moment." He turned around, and poured himself two fingers of brandy, and then, after a moment, poured another glass. “Rexi, I assume there is some excellent explanation for the chains on this individual, and those in the garden."

“Yes," said Rexi.

“Wrong." Zackton said. “Remove the restraints."

“I can't until …"

“Stop," said Zackton. “I did not ask you to unchain her. I told you to unchain her. Not. One. More. Word. Un. Chain. Her. And then send someone to unchain those persons in the garden."

Rexi opened his mouth, and then seemed to think better of it. Zackton waited patiently while Rexi opened the locks – gingerly, as if he were afraid something might happen, but nothing did, and took the gag off, at which point Zackton rose, and offered her the second glass.

“Water?" she asked.

Zackton put the liquor down, and poured water into a third glass, and silently presented it to her. She took it, gulped it down. “Thank you," she said, looking at him. “May I have another?"

“Yes," was all Zackton said. He refilled the glass twice more until she finally put it down, and then he turned and stared at Rexi. “I am not happy, Rexi. I am very not happy. I assume this is the person of whom you spoke?"

“Yes," said Rexi.

“I will speak with her. In the meantime, see that those in the garden have water, and food. Now. No worse food than we eat, Rexi. And we will talk about this, you and I, because I did not think I would need to be so explicit."

“Ah … the circumstances …"

“Don't bother," Zackton said. “Go. I think you understand the fundamental error?"

“Yes," Rexi said. “I … I should have realized."

“Good," said Zackton. “Now go fix it." He turned to the woman as Rexi left the room. “Good afternoon. I presume you are Landra. I am Zackton Silvercane, and Rexi was considering purchasing you."

“Oh, you're Silvercane. You own me now," she said. “Congratulations."

Zackton sat back down. “I do? Did you come with those others outside?"

“The slip picked them up with me," she said, “but otherwise, no. Your slip explained what you wanted, an overseer for a heavy labor crew."

“That's what he wanted, actually," Zackton said. “I said I wanted to talk to you first. It is unacceptable to me to withhold food, water, or shelter for any reason."

“I …" she looked down for a moment. “I can deal with that."

“Rexi told me that you were a warrior in the service of the Order of Chain, before your circumstances changed."

“Before I was enslaved, you mean."

“Yes," said Zackton. “Why were you enslaved?"

“Mistreatment of slaves."

“That does not speak to your suitability as an overseer."

Landra grimaced. “I was framed."

“Of course," said Zackton.

“I don't care whether you believe me or not," she said.

“Ah, there you're lying," Zackton said. “No, I do believe you when you say you think you were framed."

“I was framed."

“Yes, yes, moving on," Zackton said. “Do you feel safe overseeing six half-orcs who are larger than you, stronger than you, and probably resentful?"

“If I'm not chained up, then yes, I do," she said. “I take it you have some … qualms about your slave's treatments?" She looked at him with something between a sneer and a smile. “Not that I don't appreciate a little softness at this point."

“I will admit I'd wondered how your involuntary change from slaver to enslaved would change your opinions – if it would. Apparently it hasn't."

“Some," she admitted. “Not that much."

“Leaving aside my soft and tender heart," Zackton said dryly, “how, left to your own devices, would you deal with them?"

“Harshly," she said after a short pause. “I've found half-orcs and orcs need close oversight, and strong discipline." After an encouraging noise from Zackton, she went on. “I'd have to thrash them, one at time, to show I'm tougher, and I can't go easy on them, but that should only have to happen once."

Zackton nodded. “And ongoing discipline?"

“Standard," she said. “Flogging. Meals. Sleep deprivation."

“I see," Zackton said. “Well, you're not far off."

“Excuse me? That's …"

“Do not interrupt me," Zackton said firmly. “What you describe will work. What I want, however, will work better."

“Oh?"

“Yes. First. I like your plan to fight them all in sequence. Go from the toughest to the weakest, show them you're not just stronger than any one of them, but all of them. After that, though, there are issues."

“Such as?"

“Half-orcs will form a dominance chain. Most slaves will, really. That initial fight places you at the top – do you understand what I mean?"

“Yes," she said. “Although … I'm surprised you do."

“Surprise, surprise," Zackton said. “The problem with your plan is that first, it ignores the dominance chain –"

“No! I'm putting myself at the top!"

Zackton stared at her for a moment. “If you interrupt me again, Landra, I will beat you into a pulp. Feel free to disagree with me – I rather enjoy that – but I dislike being interrupted."

Her eyes narrowed. “Sorry."

“You don't believe I can beat you," Zackton said after a moment. “I see. I'll take care of that later. Instead of commanding them all, give your commands to the leader – make him responsible for carrying out your orders. Give him leeway to discipline those under him – within reason." Zackton was quiet, and added, “It is now your turn to talk."

“I can do that," she said. “I don't think it will work."

“If it doesn't, think of the pleasure you can take from telling me I told you so," Zackton said. “Next. You will not restrict food, water, or shelter. These will be supplied regardless of their behavior."

“Foolishness," Landra said.

“I am wealthy and powerful enough to indulge a little foolishness," Zackton said. “Have I made my intentions clear?"

“Yes," she said.

“Next. No chains. I find them counterproductive, to say the least."

“No … how … how do you expect ..." Landra sputtered.

“Because I believe carrots are a better motivator than sticks. I will provide a nice, juicy carrot when I introduce you to them."

“I am not a carrot!" Landra said.

“You ..." and Zackton blinked. “Oh, I am sorry, actually, I wasn't thinking of offering your body to them. I don't really care if you do or don't. Up to you."

“I am not interested in bestiality."

“Landra, my tolerance for insults based on my heritage is none," Zackton said warningly. “I don't care how bigoted you are, as long as you keep it to yourself."

“I didn't …"

“Don't," Zackton said warningly. “If you can't bring yourself to apologize, then just shut up."

Landra shut up.

“I intend to offer manumission, plus payment of fifty gold, plus continued employment here, to each of them who completes five years of satisfactory service."

“That's … very generous," she said. “If you mean it."

Zackton's eyes narrowed. “Because everyone lies?"

Rexi opened the door, and walked back in just as Landra said “Yes. Everyone lies."

“There is some justification for that attitude, I admit," Zackton said. “Let us set your cynicism, however well-based, aside and move on as if I intended to do exactly what I said. You are aware that your sentence of enslavement cannot be set aside, yes?"

“Yes," Landra said tightly. “I have had it explained to me at length."

“I could guess at the right carrot for you, but … I thought I'd simply ask. Assuming you serve me satisfactorily, what would you like? At the very least, you might want to think it over."

“I can think it over," Landra said.

“Then are you willing to serve me as an overseer?"

“I …" she looked at him. “You're offering me a choice? What if I say no?"

“I'll hand you back to him," Zackton said, gesturing at Rexi, “and make other arrangements."

“And you promise me a reward, anything I want?"

“No," said Zackton with a snort. “Not anything you want. Something reasonable, legal, and within my power to obtain, although that might be quite a bit more than you imagine."

“That sounds a lot more believable than anything I want, anyway," said Landra. “I'll settle for that."

“Fine. Rexi, was there some … reason Landra was in chains?"

“Her previous owner insisted on it," Rexi said, looking apologetic.

“Something I said might have been taken as a threat," Landra volunteered.

“Yes," said Rexi. “Although I can't for the life of me think of why I'm going to rip your head off and shit down your neck would be taken as a threat."

“That's not what I said," Landra objected.

“Close enough," said Rexi.

“I don't care," said Zackton quellingingly. “The subject is closed. I trust, Landra, you will refrain from rending any body parts going forward?"

“Yes, Master Silvercane."

“Good. Then … you've put the half-orcs … where?"

“In the stable?"

Zackton blinked. “Are you asking me? Because I don't know."

“No," said Rexi. “They're in the stable."

“You still plan on fighting them?" Zackton asked Landra.

She nodded.

Zackton looked at Rexi thoughtfully for a minute before turning back to Landra. “You can find the stable? Yes? Good. There is one other matter … Rexi, I need you to stay quiet for a moment."

Rexi nodded.

“It would be inconvenient for you to lose," Zackton said, putting on a smile. “Therefore … would you turn down a blessing? A secular blessing, I should specify."

“That would be welcome," said Landra.

The half-orc nodded, and began sorting through the magics in his mind, a handful of potent melodies that could in turn pour into his words, his gestures, his thoughts, to change the world slowly or quickly … he would use three, his most potent, and they would have to happen in just the right order. “Excellent. There is one little thing, however. Do not imagine I've forgotten your failure to apologize for insulting me," Zackton said, letting the music build in his mind. Landra looked confused for a moment. “Oh, you remember. Your outrage at the thought of coupling with a half-orc. I warned you that was a line you were not to cross, and I am disappointed you chose not to step back over it – but that is your decision." Zackton rose to his feet as the power flowed into his words. “This is mine: you will enjoy fucking every one of your new charges, every night."

Landra just stood there blinking. “What?"

Another melody, another music, one of haunting confusion and oblivion, that would allow him to change her memories, it needed gesture, a sweeping motion with his hand to capture her attention and then flow into her, erasing the past few moments and leaving a false recollection of accepting and drinking a mystic potion, to conceal the next magic he'd use. Let her leave with the flavor of that falsely remembered potion still dancing in her mind – salt, sweat, musk, and lemon. Zackton filled her mind with lemon and the evanescent flavor of Talon's seed. She would remember gulping it down, and wanting water to follow it, yes. He watched carefully as the memories came together in a chord of magic, music, change.

Exactly how many and how potent the magics he would personally wield was one of his secrets, and the half-orc who called himself Zackton did not reveal his powers casually.

Landra looked confused for just a moment as her thought caught up with the changes. She shook her head, said, “Yes, Master Silvercane. I'll get started right away."

“Of course. But the power in that drink needs to be triggered – look me in the eyes, please … Tails of lizards – ears of swine –" Zackton intoned, letting his own power flow through the lump of opal in his hand, catching the music hidden in it and igniting with his own power, letting the unfamiliar, almost alien sound of sorcery rinse through his mind and then again through his voice, not that the words mattered, or even that they rhymed, just that they carried the magic, a spell fueled by consuming one of his own spells, the power threaded into a mangled quote from an old play. “– chicken gizzard soaked in brine, take heart and courage from this tale in every match thou shalt prevail!" and snapped his fingers directly in front of her.

“What was that?" Landra asked. “I feel ..." She shook her head, and then snorted. “Really, really good!"

“A spell of heroics," Zackton said, sitting back down. He felt emptier; he still had a number of lesser magics singing in his mind, but those were the strongest magics he could handle. He used them so rarely, it felt … wrong, somehow, almost painful, the subdued silence in him where the music that was his magic dwelt. “It will last an hour, perhaps as many at two, but no longer, so … you'd best be about it."

Rexi just watched, stunned, as Landra bowed herself out, and Zackton watched the halfling carefully. He'd chosen to flex his power in front of his ally to impress on Rexi that Zackton was a powerful ally, one worth having, and one whom it would be dangerous, exceedingly dangerous, to betray.

The moment the door closed, Rexi turned to Zackton. “What did you just do?"

Zackton smiled in satisfaction, although not a trace of it touched his composed expression.