Chapter 165: Third Voice
Gonçal, the primeval bastard who had been the first to not receive the death he deserved, swam into my halls.
I coiled up like a sea-drake, but instead of lashing out with fangs and claws and fury, I held myself. My mana, weaving throughout the Underlake, frozen partially through my repurposing of the sandy floor; Mayalle's presence, her whirlpool tugging Gonçal further in.
Time to behave much like my shadowthief rats in the Fungal Gardens. Assess.
Gonçal was here—and I knew he would be, because he had promised it, though some part of me was vaguely impressed he had actually returned instead of sprinting with all hells to any other kingdom. Whatever tether kept him to Calarata, that desire for denouncing his master's previous position, was stronger than I had given it credit for. Curious.
A simple progression wandered over my awareness. Attack him—no. Trap him—perhaps, but later, given we needed to talk first, which meant I needed him in a position to breathe. He'd come in through the cove entrance, likely to get around the Adventuring Guild noticing him—but I also couldn't ignore that he was showing up less than a day after the twelve person party that had nearly broken me. Coincidence? Something worse?
He wasn't Shoth, presumably. But I also would not be allowing him lower than the Underlake. If he tried to go further, damn our parlay, he was dead.
I reached out my mana, dulling the claws down to tugging currents; the opposite of subtle was I and Gonçal felt my interference immediately, bronze scales gleaming like sea-cliffs. Stiff as a corpse, that one. Half a wonder I hadn't managed to kill him on the first go.
But instead, I flattened out the swirling currents enough to drag him upright, avoiding the half-transformed I'd been in the midst of tearing up to avoid this exact situation. Gonçal caught on quickly enough, kicking hard as the silvertooth swarm began to spiral around the corners of the Underlake, a gleaming, rippling cloud of fangs. They stayed away, held by my glared command to the royal silvertooth, but their presence was felt. As they damn well should be.
Gonçal flared out his arms, light sparking through his slitted eyes—he breached the surface with a ragged gasp, peppering the air with spilled-over mana. My presence thickened like salt-heavy water around him, making sure he knew just how ticked I was about his general existence, and then I hauled his attention to the far back.