‘I would, if I knew how. That otataral sword pushes me away-it’s what they’re made to do, isn’t it.’ Seeing the sceptical expression opposite him, he scowled. ‘What?’
‘It doesn’t push you as hard as you like to pretend it does. The risk is that the harder and deeper you push through the otataral, the more of yourself you potentially expose-and if she catches sight of you, she won’t just be close to knowing you, she’ll be certain.’ He jabbed a finger at Quick Ben. ‘And that is what you don’t want to happen, and it’s the real reason why you don’t dare push through. So, your only chance is me. Do I resume spying or not?’
‘Lostara’s suspicious-’
‘When the Adjunct is presumably alone.’
The High Mage hesitated, and then nodded. ‘Found anything yet?’
‘No. She’s not in the habit of thinking out loud, that much is obvious. She doesn’t pray, and I’ve yet to hear a one-sided conversation.’
‘Could you be blinded?’
‘I could, yes, but I’d sense the gaps of awareness. I think. Depending on how good the geas is.’
‘If it’s a geas directed specifically at your extra eyes?’
‘It would have to be. But you’re right, something specific, Mockra maybe, that slips into the rat’s tiny brain and paints a pretty picture of nothing happening. If that’s the case, then I don’t know how I could do anything about it, because with the local effect of the otataral, the source of that sorcery would be an appallingly high level-a damned god’s level, I mean.’
‘Or an Elder’s.’
‘These waters are too deep for a mortal like me, Quick Ben. My spying only works because it’s passive. Strictly speaking, riding a soul isn’t magic, not in the common sense.’
‘Then seek out something on the Wastelands, Bottle. See what you can see, because I can’t get close and neither, I think, can the Adjunct. Find a wolf, or a coyote-they like to hang round armies and such. Who’s out there?’
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‘I would, if I knew how. That otataral sword pushes me away-it’s what they’re made to do, isn’t it.’ Seeing the sceptical expression opposite him, he scowled. ‘What?’
‘It doesn’t push you as hard as you like to pretend it does. The risk is that the harder and deeper you push through the otataral, the more of yourself you potentially expose-and if she catches sight of you, she won’t just be close to knowing you, she’ll be certain.’ He jabbed a finger at Quick Ben. ‘And that is what you don’t want to happen, and it’s the real reason why you don’t dare push through. So, your only chance is me. Do I resume spying or not?’
‘Lostara’s suspicious-’
‘When the Adjunct is presumably alone.’
The High Mage hesitated, and then nodded. ‘Found anything yet?’
‘No. She’s not in the habit of thinking out loud, that much is obvious. She doesn’t pray, and I’ve yet to hear a one-sided conversation.’
‘Could you be blinded?’
‘I could, yes, but I’d sense the gaps of awareness. I think. Depending on how good the geas is.’
‘If it’s a geas directed specifically at your extra eyes?’
‘It would have to be. But you’re right, something specific, Mockra maybe, that slips into the rat’s tiny brain and paints a pretty picture of nothing happening. If that’s the case, then I don’t know how I could do anything about it, because with the local effect of the otataral, the source of that sorcery would be an appallingly high level-a damned god’s level, I mean.’
‘Or an Elder’s.’
‘These waters are too deep for a mortal like me, Quick Ben. My spying only works because it’s passive. Strictly speaking, riding a soul isn’t magic, not in the common sense.’
‘Then seek out something on the Wastelands, Bottle. See what you can see, because I can’t get close and neither, I think, can the Adjunct. Find a wolf, or a coyote-they like to hang round armies and such. Who’s out there?’
‘I’ll try. But if it’s that risky, you might lose me. I might lose me, which is even worse.’
Quick Ben smiled his little smile and reached into the heap of dolls. ‘That’s why I’ve tied this thread to this particular doll.’
Bottle hissed. ‘You miserable shit.’
‘Stop complaining. I’ll pull you back if you get into trouble. That’s a promise.’
‘I’ll think about it,’ said Bottle, rising.
The High Mage looked up in surprise. ‘What’s to think about?’
‘Quick Ben, if it’s that dangerous in the Wastelands, hasn’t it occurred to you that if I’m grabbed, you may not be the one doing the pulling on that thread? With you suddenly drooling and playing with dolls for real, the Adjunct and, more importantly, her army, are well and truly doomed.’
‘I can hold my own,’ Quick Ben growled.
‘How do you know you can? You don’t even know what’s out there. And why would I want to put myself in the middle of a tugging contest? I might well get torn to pieces.’
‘Since that wasn’t the first thing you brought up,’ said Quick Ben, with a sly look, ‘I expect you have a few contingency plans to deal with the possibility.’
‘I said I’d think about it.’
‘Don’t wait too long deciding, Bottle.’
‘Two full crates of that smoked sausage, aye. Fist Keneb’s orders.’
‘Will do, Master Sergeant.’
‘Strap them tight, remember,’ Pores reminded the spotty-faced young man and was pleased at the eager nod. Quartermaster division always pulled in the soldiers who couldn’t fight their way out of a school playground, and they had two ways of going once they’d got settled-either puppies who jumped at the snap of an officer’s fingers or the ones who built impregnable fortresses out of regulations and then hoarded supplies somewhere inside-as if to give anything up drew blood and worse. Those ones Pores had made a career out of crushing; but at times like this, the puppies were the ones he wanted.
He cast a surreptitious glance around, but the chaos swirled unabated on all sides and no one was paying him any attention. And the puppy was happy at being collared, so when accosted he could shake his head, duck down and use the various lines Pores himself used. ‘ Fist Keneb’s orders, take it up with him. ’ And ‘ Master Sergeant’s got recruits to outfit, fifty of ’em, and Captain Kindly said to do it quick. ’ Keneb was safe enough since at the moment nobody apart from his personal adjutants could even get close to him; and as for Kindly, well, the name itself usually sucked the blood from even the heartiest faces.