“And what do you propose to do about that?” Although Nate knew. Of course he did.
“Gavin and Judah,” the Seneschal said. “Elban went after the Nali because the way the Nali fight—it’s like fighting a hive of bees, or a flock of sparrows. They move as one, silently, without any apparent means of communication. They can still think for themselves, but it’s said that each fighter knows at all times not just where every other fighter is, but what they’re seeing. They have a rather poetic name for it, which doesn’t quite translate, but which means something like seeing from inside the reflection on the water. Not quite what Judah and Gavin can do, but not entirely unlike it, either, don’t you think?”
Water and blood and tide and the moon. He had never seen such a Work done, and he wasn’t anywhere near knowledgeable enough to know how to perform one himself, but it seemed possible. It surprised him that none of the Slonimi had ever tried it—but they hadn’t needed it, had they? They never fought organized battles; if they ran into trouble on the road, they fled. Perhaps it would have been useful to them now, in Highfall, but he could practically hear Derie scoff. Waste of good Work. We’ve got mouths to talk with, don’t we?
Everything the Seneschal was saying terrified him.
“But Judah and Gavin can’t actually communicate, can they?” he said calmly.
“Not in words. But over the years, they’ve developed a code. Scratches on their skin, specific patterns that mean specific things. Judah’s idea, I’m sure. Gavin’s not nearly clever enough. We never knew about it, all these years, although I suspected they had something. Anyway, Judah told Elban about it right before he left on his final campaign.”
Nate couldn’t hide his horror. “Why would she do that?”
“As a bargaining chip. Elban was playing one of his games with the four of them. Setting them on fire to watch them run in circles—pushing Gavin, primarily. Most people have no idea how cruel the old bastard could be.” The Seneschal’s distaste for Elban was clear. “She’s very lucky things happened the way they did. I was quite angry with her when I heard about it. If she’d just been patient—anyway, the point is that the chieftain the army brought back could sense the bond between them. He wasn’t willing to do anything about it, then, but after further reflection, and a few weeks in Highfall Prison, he’s beginning to change his mind.”
Something about the Seneschal’s tone suggested that the chieftain’s so-called reflection was both involuntary and painful. Distantly, Nate thought he should care, but he didn’t. “You think he can break it?”
The Seneschal looked surprised. “I don’t want to break the bond, magus. I want to replicate it.” He considered. “Well, I want to break it, then replicate it. I want to be able to break it or forge it at will. What I really want—” and his face was alive now, like an unlit torch bursting into flame “—is to build a new Guild. The Communicators. Or perhaps we’ll call them after Judah. The Judanese, maybe, or the Judanians. The Nali bond only works in relatively close proximity, you know, but we haven’t found a physical limit with Judah and Gavin. I took him two weeks’ travel out of the city when he was a baby—when Arkady cut Judah’s heel back in the nursery, the cut on Gavin’s foot appeared instantaneously.” The Seneschal’s eyes were alight with fervor. “Imagine: instantaneous communication. Pairs of communicators, sent throughout the empire. Bond them when they’re children, raise them together if that seems to be important. Maybe we could even bond more than one person together, like the Nali. Or maybe it can be passed down to offspring. You’ve seen the bond, magus. You know it works. Why shouldn’t we use it to our advantage?”
Because to do so would be a perversion of the Work and a crime against all that makes us human, and the invalidation of my entire life. “No reason, I suppose. But why tell me all of this now?”
“Because I need your help. According to the chieftain, the formation of the Nali bond is difficult; not everyone lives. They’ve never deliberately tried to break it, but of course people do die in battle. The rest of the group survives—it wouldn’t be much use, strategically, if you could take out the whole unit by killing one member—but sometimes one of the survivors goes mad. I’d prefer that