The Pleasure of Memory by Welcome Cole Page B

reported infraction turned out to be Friss and Graen Cole and their crew?”
    “I do remember that,” the boy said.
    “They’re longtime friends. And they’re not even Vaemysh, for gods’ sakes!”
    “I know that as well,” Luren said, grinning, “And before that, the sentries came out of stasis to report sighting Sarrigh. But you—”
    “Sarrigh!” Chance said, seizing the argument, “Yes! Exactly! Sarrigh, who’s been buying elixirs from me for forty years, who comes into the forest at least twice a season. Every season!”
    “So that’s your evidence it’s another false alarm?”
    Chance scowled at that. “Don’t you be insolent with me.”
    “It’s not insolence,” Luren said, “I’m just saying, I think you should stop berating it and just ask the necessary question. Then you’ll know the facts and you can stop throwing your tantrum.”
    Chance bristled, but immediately steadied himself. Though he sincerely loathed admitting it, the boy’s logic was inarguable. “You’re right,” he said grudgingly, “It’s this damned headache. It’s making me irritable.”
    “Sure, blame the headache,” Luren said on a laugh, “Better yet, blame the wine.”
    Chance cringed, but again resisted his darker urges. He turned back to face the sentry who was waiting as patiently as the boulder it was. The beast was one of many created long ago at the end of the Fifty Year War to guard the border between the north and south forest at the great valley called Fe’tana by the Vaemysh and Farswept Green by everyone else. He reminded himself that they existed for surveillance, not conversation, that their answers were always monotonously black and white, meaning any questions he asked had to be carved the same way.
    He had to change tack or they’d be there all day interrogating the creature. “Why did you leave your post, sentry?” he asked carefully.
    “I bring news of movement in the forest, Lord.” Silence.
    Chance tightened his grip on his staff. “And are you willing to share with me the nature of the movement?”
    “I am, my Lord.” Again, silence.
    Chance fought back a scream. “Miserable rock piles,” he growled, “I should scrap the lot of you and start from scratch. You’ve been a pain in my—”
    Luren smothered another laugh. Poorly.
    Chance sent a calculated glare down at him. “Amused?” he asked.
    “Perhaps a bit,” Luren confessed.
    “This lump of rock might’ve killed us. You understand that, yes?”
    “So you’ve said. But I doubt your threats will make it any smarter.”
    “I’m not threatening it. I know how to deal with a sentry. I built them a good century before you were even born, after all.”
    Luren shrugged. “Didn’t you teach me that the sentries operate as they do because they possess the rule of your basic intelligence?”
    “I don’t know what you’re—”
    “I mean they function as an extension of your intellect. By condemning their stupidity, you’re really condemning yourself.”
    Chance opened his mouth to retort, but quickly realized he had no strategy left but retreat. “You’re too smart for your own good,” he said for lack of something smarter.
    Luren shrugged. “I had a good teacher. It’s not his fault wine hates him so.”
    Chance watched the boy stroll around the sentry. He was extremely proud of him, proud of the master caeyl mage he was destined to become. He deserved a better master.
    He looked back to the sentry. “What exactly did you come to report?”
    The blue eyes flamed and the statue blurred back into animation. “Two parties of Vaemyn were spotted. We observed them crossing the river near the Field of Light. The eastern party numbered one hundred two. The western party numbered eighty-three. Each party was comprised of Vaemysh warriors.”
    The temperature of the forest plummeted. Chance considered the sentry’s statement in stunned silence.
    Luren reappeared beside him. His eyes reflected Chance’s own disbelief.