Moira faced her son. “Because you may discover he is not as invulnerable as you imagine.”

Aram huffed. “I imagine nothing. There is a good reason I have never joined either side of that battle. Those who work for Maldor either get drawn into permanent service or end up dead. Those who work against him get caught. The smart ones, the only ones who last, shun tasks directly involving the emperor.”

Moira frowned. “I do not have much longer, Aram.”

“Don’t say such things.”

“Whether or not I speak openly about my condition, the reality remains. You know I never approved of your chosen occupation. But neither did I hinder you. When a government becomes unjust, honor is often found among the lawless. Over the years, you have developed many talents that may now prove useful to an honorable cause.”

Aram shook his head. “Where’s the honor in suicide?”

“More honor than attends a life of indifference, idling away your years quashing brawls in a tavern. Galloran and whatever resistance he creates may represent the final hope, however bleak, of dethroning Maldor. If the emperor succeeds, he will soon bring all of Lyrian into bondage, and with his wars behind him, an age of tyranny beyond our imagination will ensue. Among the first to disappear will be the former pirates, smugglers, and mercenaries—all those with adventuresome and questionable histories. Act now, unite with those who understand how to resist and avoid the emperor, and your abilities could prove useful. Hesitate, and you will be destroyed.”

For a moment, Aram seemed taken aback by her intensity. Then he waved a hand toward a shuttered window. “Nobody loves the emperor. We all foresee darker times ahead. But why ensure misery striving for a futile cause? I would rather prepare to weather the storm than throw stones at the clouds.”

“You behave as though there is no hope.”

Aram turned to Jason. “Do you believe there is hope? Be honest.”

Jason shifted in his seat. “Well, yeah. There are still some amazing people who stand up to Maldor. Tark is one of them. I’ve seen conscriptors and manglers and displacers killed. I’ve helped the cause, fighting against Maldor, and didn’t get caught for a long time. After he nabbed me, I escaped. We’ve recently unraveled some secrets that were causing a lot of wasted effort. The information could start a revolution.”

Aram scowled. “It’s too late for resistance.”

“You don’t know that,” Moira said. “You could at least investigate. You know I’ve been fretting about these concerns for years. Our visitor brings an opportunity to move beyond conversation. A chance that may never come again. I want you to accept the assignment Lord Jason has brought you. If you meet Galloran, my final request is for you to aid his cause, however you can.”

Aram looked angry. His diminished size reduced the impact of the emotion to a childish petulance. “If I do anything to defy Maldor, you’ll be most at risk. I will not allow you to become endangered.”

Moira gave a faint smile. “I won’t be alive by the time I could be in any danger. If I was, I’d go into hiding.”

“You’ll need me with you through your final months.”

“Months? I’m probably down to days, Aram. I limit my complaints to downplay my condition, but, Son, agony has become my constant companion. My only hope is for your future. My only relief is in peace of mind. Grant your mother that peace.”

Moira stared in silence, tiny hands folded on her lap. Aram bowed his head. “I’ll … I’ll consider it.”

CHAPTER 8

EVASION

The doll did not look much like Rachel. At least she hoped it didn’t. Carved from a single block of wood, it was shaped roughly like an owl, all head and body, without arms or legs. Strings of wool served as hair, dull coins doubled as eyes, and a crude dress of plain fabric softened the wooden body. Most of the other features were painted—nose, mouth, ears, eyebrows.

Despite the blatant physical discrepancies, the doll was meant to fool the lurker. Strands of Rachel’s actual hair had been woven into the woolen tresses. Small triangles cut from Rachel’s clothes had been pinned to the simple dress. The coins were dimes Rachel had carried with her since her arrival to Lyrian. The charm woman had also employed samples of blood, skin, and saliva.

A goat bleated beside Rachel, then bent forward to nibble at the doll, and Rachel pushed its neck. “Shoo! Get out of here.”

The goat ambled off, pausing to tear up some weeds. The charm woman owned several goats, a few sheep, some chickens, and a small army of donkeys. All of her possessions—including the tent, its furnishings, and her endless tokens and charms—had already been packed onto the donkeys. None of the animals had been in view before the charm woman had called, but after she beat a drum composed of stretched hides while chanting a few Edomic phrases, most of the livestock had wandered into camp within ten minutes.

Breathing heavily, the charm woman toddled into view, swaying from side to side as she walked, holding a short carved cane in one hand and a tall staff in the other. The skull of a large bird of prey topped the staff, adorned with feathers and teeth.

“I have the last of my talismans,” the charm woman announced. “We can proceed once Drake returns.”

“He’s a big believer in scouting an area before we move,” Rachel said. “He sometimes takes a while. But he always comes back.”

“May it ever be so,” the charm woman muttered, touching beads on her necklace. “Are you ready to grant the doll authority to serve as your substitute?”

“I think so,” Rachel said. Learning new Edomic phrases was tricky. The language was quite different from English, with a wider variety of vowel sounds and certain consonants that required a nimble tongue. To further complicate things, speaking Edomic felt almost like singing. The pitch mattered, as did the rhythm. Plus, you spoke the language with your mind as much as with your mouth. To get it right required full concentration, especially as the phrases became more complex. The charm woman had drilled Rachel on this particular phrase since yesterday.

“Just as we practiced,” the charm woman encouraged. “Relax and speak true.”

Rachel placed two fingers on the doll’s forehead. After mustering her willpower, she spoke words that essentially meant “you now have my full permission to represent me.” The phrase tasted good leaving her lips. She sensed additional nuances encapsulated in the declaration, including approval of the previous enchantments established by the charm woman, along with a confirmation that the doll was now a symbolic proxy commissioned to exude every characteristic that Rachel embodied.