As if summoned by his thoughts, the phone buzzed against the table.
Losham glanced at the display, at the number he'd been compelled to always answer, and felt the familiar pressure in his mind, the irresistible pull that made his hand reach for the device before he'd consciously decided to do so.
"Good morning," he said, keeping his voice neutral. "Or good evening, I suppose, on your end."
"Good morning." The compeller's voice came through first, that resonant tone that seeped into his mind and took control. "Please report on the status of the excavation."
Well, at least he'd said please. That was more polite than he'd bothered to be the other times.
"We're still removing debris," Losham said. The words came easily because they were true, and the compulsion demanded truth. "The work is being done manually, with human workers, so progress is slow."
"Why aren't you using immortals?"
"I am, when there's no other choice. When heavy pieces need to be moved." Losham took a sip of his coffee, using the pause to gather his thoughts. "But I'm being careful, just as you instructed. The human workers are more delicate. They won't accidentally crush whatever is buried down there."
There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line—consultation, perhaps, between the compeller and whoever else was listening.
Then a different voice came through. Not Lokan, but the other one. The clan leader, Losham suspected, though no one had officially introduced themselves.
"How are things going with your brothers?"
"They are under control." That was technically true. The council was functioning, the brothers were cooperating, for now, and no one had yet demanded proof that Navuh was alive. "We are not singing 'Kumbaya,' but we are not killing each other either. Not yet."
"Is there anything we can do to help you stay in power?"
Losham nearly spat out his coffee.
He set the cup down carefully, buying himself a moment to think how to answer. The clan, the Brotherhood's sworn enemies, the ones who had killed his son, were offering to help him?
"Why would you do that?" The question escaped his lips before he could stop it. So much for maintaining a façade of indifference.
"Because you're better than the alternative."
Losham laughed. "Well, if you say so, then I must be."
"You are under our control," the leader said. "If one of your brothers takes your place, the situation becomes more complicated for us."
That was a reasonable argument. Honest, even.
It didn't matter that he was pursuing a personal vendetta unrelated to his father's hatred for the clan. They controlled him, and they didn't know whether they could control the others. Should he inform them that they might?
His brothers were simpletons compared to him. Compelling them would be even easier than compelling him.
"What do you want in return for your help?"
"You know what we want. The chests and what's in them. Intact and delivered to us."
"Delivering them will be a problem. My brothers are watching my every move. I'm not even sure I will be able to hide the chests and their contents from them."
That wasn't entirely true since Dave could help him do both by compelling his brothers, but Losham had no intention of making things easy for the clan or revealing what Dave could do. The shaman might be a problem, though. He'd had contact with the Eight when they had transcended, but before they developed the ability to compel and thrall. But the guy had visions, and he might see what Dave could do in those.
"We will monitor the situation closely. Let us know if you suspect that your brothers are a danger to the chests."
"What are you going to do? Storm the island?"
He knew the clan didn't have the manpower to do that. If they did, they would have already conquered the island a long time ago.
"We might create a diversion."
