him, and then the water began to steam. He swung the pot off the fire. He poured steaming water into a teapot, brought a pitcher for himself, fetched a cheesecloth teabag, and returned to the hidden cellar. He was going to have to make a wizardsmeet tea.
A fire burned in the hearth of the underground room. Nettle stood at the case examining a rough necklace.
“That is your great-great-great-grandfather’s weave,” said Argoth. “A thrall that we will use upon the Skir Master.”
He took a porcelain crock on the shelf and placed it on the table. He unstopped the crock, removed a pinch of the small wizardsmeet leaves, measured a small amount into the cup of his palm, then put the rest back.
“Wizardsmeet has a stench that makes many gag. And not only does it smell but it will leave a taste in your mouth that will take a day to fade. But you need this, for your first response will be to fight me.”
Nettle picked up the cup. “How old are you?”
“I am in my ninety-sixth year,” said Argoth.
Nettle’s mouth hung open in shock.
“Before I joined the Order, I did what the Divines do—consumed Fire harvested from others to renew my body and extend my days. I was eighty when I joined the Order and swore to live by the Fire I possessed or that which was freely given.”
“Then I have brothers who could be my father.”
“No,” said Argoth, and he did not expect it to hurt so much to remember. “They were all murdered. But that’s another story.” He motioned at the cup. “It doesn’t need to steep long. You can drink it now.”
Nettle drank it with a grimace. Then he handed the cup back. It would take a few minutes for the herb to work.
Argoth motioned for Nettle to take the other end of the table, and they moved it close to the hearth. “Take off your tunic, then lie here.” He went to the case and retrieved the draw collar, tongue, filtering rod, and stomach. “You’re going to feel a relaxing comfort come upon you. Next, you’ll find you can’t move, not without great effort. Do not panic.”
Arogth laid the harvesting weaves onto the table beside Nettle. He covered Nettle’s lower torso with his tunic, leaving his chest bared. Argoth picked up the draw collar. “Do you know why weaves are so often made of gold?”
“Because it’s a noble metal?”
“Yes, but why is it noble?”
Nettle shrugged.
“You can make a fine, powerful weave out of willow. In fact, in some ways it’s better than gold, but only if the branches are still green. The moment the wood cures, it leaks, sometimes like a sieve. Gold, on the other hand, holds it tight as a drum. Gold can also be wrought into many shapes. You can pattern a weave with gold wire that’s impossible with plant materials or harder metals. Now I want you to look at this.” He held up the collar. “Such things are woven by Kains. And they would have you believe only they possess the secrets. But you see here that it is a lie.”
He paused. This was the moment where his words became deeds. One last time he considered giving up and killing them all with a quick poison. But he looked at Nettle again. He thought about the girls and their eventual children. He thought upon grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Sometimes the choices of one father or mother affected generations. Nettle’s might be the sacrifice that opened the way to thousands throwing off the yokes of the Divines.
And if they failed?
Then they did so in struggle, not by choice.
“You,” said Argoth, “are a lodestar shining in our bright heaven.” He loved him, loved him with all his heart.
He lifted Nettle’s head and placed the collar around his neck. Into a lock on the collar he fitted the end of the rod of pine.
“The collar is woven to draw the Fire forth. The rod will catch your soul. But we shall not burn it as the Divines do. No, we shall keep it as the testament of your sacrifice. We shall keep it in hopes of restoring you one day.”
He stroked Nettle’s hair. “Can you move your arm?”
Nettle just looked up at him. The wizardsmeet was taking effect.
“In reality any wood might do as a filter. But it was found long ago that pine held on to soul better than any other wood. Leave the bark on, and it holds it all the tighter. But bark