When the Black Soil River Virtuoso was young, he had guarded a tomb in a little mud-brick temple on the west bank of Thebes. When boredom drove him mad, he would count the offerings.
One jar of barley beer, three loaves of bread, two goose legs, and a bunch of blue lotuses...
Later, the Black Soil River Virtuoso ceased to be human. The mud-brick temple collapsed, and grave robbers dug open the tomb he had guarded, but the habit of counting offerings stayed with him to this day.
Over the past few days, the Black Soil River Virtuoso had been counting as usual: how many mirrors he had lost when the Wild Hunt dragged him off to fight, how many riders there were in the Wild Hunt's ranks, how many times the Hunt Lord had sounded its horn.
He had also traced the three syllables back to a museum storeroom closed to the public and counted every person who had entered it.
Apophis stood before the mirror and finished reporting the two pieces of news concerning the Venerable Envoy and the Wild Hunt. The Veil spoke for the Black Soil River Virtuoso, its voice as dry as a parched riverbed:
"I've never heard of this Venerable Envoy."
Apophis replied with a bow, "They say the Venerable Envoy asserted their power at a banquet of the Norse gods. In front of the entire hall of guests, they spelled out the details of every person present, one by one."
The Black Soil River Virtuoso said slowly:
"There was never a Venerable Envoy before. The Venerable Envoy only appeared recently."
Apophis did not respond to that. The Black Soil River Virtuoso asked again, "Where does the Wild Hunt intend to descend?"
"The Wild Hunt's recruitment notices specify the gathering place. Saint Gotthard Mountain."