both returned, Friedrich said, "Locate the fallen High Sorcerer and hunt down his killer by any means necessary. He looks like one of us, save his skin is too fair and he bears no diamond upon his brow. Show the man no mercy, give him no quarter. Bring me his head unless Lord Teufel wills otherwise. Stay on your guard and work together. The powers of chaos are treacherous and, by their nature, unpredictable. Go."
The men bowed, then left, and Friedrich quickly retreated to his own rooms. He sat down on his bed and covered his face with his hands, tears falling hot as he tried in vain to get Drache to come back to him.
Throughout everything, Drache had been there. Mysterious, blasphemous, frustrating, and at times infuriating—but also faithful, reliable, and the only one who had never turned away from him. Friedrich didn't care if Drache was purely of his own imagination, he was something . When he went to sleep, sank into the only place where he could see and touch Drache, he was beautiful and breathtaking and the only thing Friedrich really needed.
And now he was gone, silent in a way he had never been; there was a hole instead, cold and dark and deep.
Why had he gone? What had Friedrich done? He played the whole conversation over again, trying to figure it out. Drache's last words replayed the loudest: It was not always that way! The Seers of Schatten were once revered, honored, and well-cared for so that we—
We
That was what had done it. We. Drache had never given anything about himself away before, often claimed he could not. Friedrich tended to take it as proof that Drache was pure imagination, since it seemed like him to want to keep such details vague. But that word … so Drache had been or was a Seer? But if he was a current Seer, he would be in Unheilvol. There was no such thing as a rogue Seer; Lord Teufel would never permit it.
So likely he had been a Seer at one point, perhaps he lived Blinded somewhere and somehow managed to live through Friedrich's mind. Was that possible? He thought he would have heard of it before if that was the case. Even if it was possible, it didn't seem likely a Blinded could manage it. They were old, too weak to See, sent off to smaller temples to guide and teach the children of shadows how to love and worship Lord Teufel.
He would have to do research—late at night, when everyone else slept and no one would take it as overly strange that he was too restless to sleep. Given the toll his recent visions were taking, he was certain the temple was rife with gossip about his time being up soon. But he had lived in Unheilvol since he was a child, turned dutifully over at the age of ten. By fifteen he was Seeing for those who most often had simple fates: farmers, shop clerks, and other mild peasants. At nineteen, his power was too great to ignore and he'd been granted the position of High Seer.
That had been twenty-one years ago. Most High Seers made it to fifty, but he knew for a fact that the last High Seer with his power had lived a hundred years ago—and he had died at the age of forty.
It amused Friedrich, in a tired, bitter way, that Karl and the others thought that it was impossible for them to learn their own fates. If they ever bothered to go down into the archives and read through the records of all the previous Seers, they would see their own lives repeated breath for breath over the last nine hundred years.
The patterns weren't hard to find, not when he knew his Seers, knew fate. Knew there was no point in resisting.
Except someone was resisting. Someone he had to destroy at all costs because absolute chaos would be no better than absolute fate.
His hands trembled when he realized where his thoughts were going, what he was risking. He was the High Seer, appointed by Teufel. He was the very last person who should have been entertaining thoughts that went against everything he had been taught—everything he knew.
At least, everything he thought he knew. But
The men bowed, then left, and Friedrich quickly retreated to his own rooms. He sat down on his bed and covered his face with his hands, tears falling hot as he tried in vain to get Drache to come back to him.
Throughout everything, Drache had been there. Mysterious, blasphemous, frustrating, and at times infuriating—but also faithful, reliable, and the only one who had never turned away from him. Friedrich didn't care if Drache was purely of his own imagination, he was something . When he went to sleep, sank into the only place where he could see and touch Drache, he was beautiful and breathtaking and the only thing Friedrich really needed.
And now he was gone, silent in a way he had never been; there was a hole instead, cold and dark and deep.
Why had he gone? What had Friedrich done? He played the whole conversation over again, trying to figure it out. Drache's last words replayed the loudest: It was not always that way! The Seers of Schatten were once revered, honored, and well-cared for so that we—
We
That was what had done it. We. Drache had never given anything about himself away before, often claimed he could not. Friedrich tended to take it as proof that Drache was pure imagination, since it seemed like him to want to keep such details vague. But that word … so Drache had been or was a Seer? But if he was a current Seer, he would be in Unheilvol. There was no such thing as a rogue Seer; Lord Teufel would never permit it.
So likely he had been a Seer at one point, perhaps he lived Blinded somewhere and somehow managed to live through Friedrich's mind. Was that possible? He thought he would have heard of it before if that was the case. Even if it was possible, it didn't seem likely a Blinded could manage it. They were old, too weak to See, sent off to smaller temples to guide and teach the children of shadows how to love and worship Lord Teufel.
He would have to do research—late at night, when everyone else slept and no one would take it as overly strange that he was too restless to sleep. Given the toll his recent visions were taking, he was certain the temple was rife with gossip about his time being up soon. But he had lived in Unheilvol since he was a child, turned dutifully over at the age of ten. By fifteen he was Seeing for those who most often had simple fates: farmers, shop clerks, and other mild peasants. At nineteen, his power was too great to ignore and he'd been granted the position of High Seer.
That had been twenty-one years ago. Most High Seers made it to fifty, but he knew for a fact that the last High Seer with his power had lived a hundred years ago—and he had died at the age of forty.
It amused Friedrich, in a tired, bitter way, that Karl and the others thought that it was impossible for them to learn their own fates. If they ever bothered to go down into the archives and read through the records of all the previous Seers, they would see their own lives repeated breath for breath over the last nine hundred years.
The patterns weren't hard to find, not when he knew his Seers, knew fate. Knew there was no point in resisting.
Except someone was resisting. Someone he had to destroy at all costs because absolute chaos would be no better than absolute fate.
His hands trembled when he realized where his thoughts were going, what he was risking. He was the High Seer, appointed by Teufel. He was the very last person who should have been entertaining thoughts that went against everything he had been taught—everything he knew.
At least, everything he thought he knew. But
Similar Books
