“How long have you been off Keth?” Lord Dakhu asked.
Therelin was sitting across from the olive-skinned Raderan lord while they ate. Kren was quietly digging in at Therelin’s right, while Dakhu’s servants waited stealthily in the periphery around the table. They had been discussing life in the city, but this turn of the conversation really took Therelin back. So much had transpired since he had left Keth: he had travelled to a handful of new places; he had seemingly made an enemy of Nolicrin; he had learned of the Tether and had sworn by it, too; and he had witnessed a ruthless attack at an otherwise peaceful haven.
“Just over a year—but it feels much longer,” Therelin answered.
Dakhu smiled. “That’d explain your diet,” he said, nodding to Therelin’s green-decorated plate. “I mean no disrespect—mind you—but many Ketho eventually adapt.”
This was intriguing to Therelin as well. The Ketho tradition of eating only what plants and the sea could provide was fueled by the belief that walking animals—humans included—had a spirit. That spirit was prone to destruction in the event of its host’s unnatural death. To hear that Ketho who left the homeland forsook the diet meant that most who left eventually changed their beliefs. “Truly?” Therelin questioned. “I wouldn’t have expected that.”
Dakhu gave a casual shrug. “I’ve seen many stranger customs observed—everyone has their own way. If I might ask…what has startled you the most of our culture?”
Chewing another mouthful of the fruit salad he had chosen, Therelin considered the question. Then, swallowing, he answered, “The loss of life—particularly the taking of life—which is treated far more casually away from Keth than on Keth.”
Dakhu nodded, giving a mild grimace.
“We haven’t even crossed paths with a proper criminal outfit,” Kren pointed out with a smirk. “That would weigh on you even more—let me tell you.”
Therelin sighed. “I’m not looking forward to that,” he said. He had long feared that living away from Keth would eventually force him to defend himself—potentially even with violence. He did not share the unwavering faith of the Ketho, but he did feel a reverence for life.
Still, he planned to buy a blade when he could afford one, fearing it was a necessary security.
“Ah,” Dakhu said, lowering his filled fork instead of taking the next bite. “Regardless of your standing on the Conclave, there’s a possibility that one of their leaders has lost his life. I’ve recently received letters asking if we know the whereabouts of Master Gravagan—it seems he has gone missing.”
Kren shook his head slowly. “I didn’t see him on the Isle—but it could still be a possibility that he is another casualty of that tragedy.”
“Did you see anyone else you knew were operating in the Conclave’s ranks?” Dakhu asked, raising an eyebrow.
Kren glanced at Therelin. “We did see Irrith and Lotha on the Isle.”
Therelin nodded his agreement.
“I doubt Gravagan would have gone since he sent one of his chief underlings,” Dakhu explained. He took another bite quickly, then continued: “But that does not mean that Tarro is not responsible. Gravagan could pose him great risk as one of our most powerful magicians.”
Therelin’s perspective on the matter had shifted slightly since the attack. Upon his discovery of the Tether and such secretive orders as the Conclave, Therelin had had little desire to see Gravagan remain in authority. But things had changed with Tarro’s attack—and he didn’t mind saying so either. “Under normal circumstances, I think Gravagan losing power would be a good step for magicians…but we need everyone we can find to counter Tarro.”
Their conversation continued as they discussed recent events. Therelin found himself wondering what news was the natural result of growing tensions—and which were events wrought by schemes and manipulations. The gravity of the times was exhausting, and the trio soon retired to their separate quarters as was the tradition after dinner. Therelin brought along the book he had been reading that day, to continue his search for information on the House of Kiaraka, as he had found nothing yet.
Later—after he had started a new chapter—a soft knock came from the corridor. Setting the book aside, Therelin rose from his bed and crossed to the sitting room outside his bed chamber. Opening the door, he found Lord Dakhu standing outside. The lord was wearing a night cloak of sorts, rather than his usual tunic or scholarly robe. “Pardon the interruption, but I thought you should know,” he said, quietly. “To make matters worse—the spell chime has dimmed again.”
Therelin shook his head, scowling. He glanced up and said, “Thank you for letting me know.”
Once he shut the door, he considered the erratic behavior. Had Tarro left the island—perhaps to hunt Gravagan—and had now returned? Or perhaps he had never left, but the brave team that had sought the Isle since the attack had seen some measure of success? In any case, it clearly seemed like another grim tiding.