by Janny Wurts
Yet news of the blight upon Morbrith allowed no space for faintheartedness. Taen forced herself onward. One level lower, she found storerooms filled with casks and boxes fastened with wire. The air had a musty smell, like fur locked too long in old trunks. By now aware that she had entered by way of the attics, Taen dropped lower still. Three levels down, she encountered grey-robed boys with shaved heads who meditated in cubicles of silence and shadow. A moment's pause revealed these to be novices, and not the ones she sought. Taen passed on, through a bare hall where the wind blew through slits in the wall. From there she descended yet another spiral stair and quite suddenly came upon the sound of voices.
In a chamber spread with wine-coloured rugs, five sorcerers sat in a circle discussing the merits of an aspirant recently arrived from Telshire. Two wore black, two wore red, and the last, robed richly in purple and gold, was a wiry ancient with peaked brows and bleak eyes. His cheeks were tattooed with sigils of power, and each of his fingers, even his spatulate thumbs, was heavily ringed with silver. Taen extended her dream-sense. After the shallowest of scans, she singled the elder out as one great in the ways of power. He had an aura set into discipline like a watercourse channelled through rock, and his titles were Magelord of the Conclave, and Master of Mhored Kara.
He sensed the presence of the Dreamweaver at once. His cold eyes lifted, and he stiffened very slightly on his cushions. At his movement the black-robed wizard to his left murmured inquiry and was silenced by a wave of the old one's hand. Silver rings flashed briefly by candlelight. The gesture that followed was in some way arcane, for Taen felt a charge of force sting the outer barrier of her wards.
She deflected the thrust without difficulty, though the energy was configured differently from anything she had previously encountered. Whether the spell was shaped in defence or query, Taen chose not to fathom. Rather than wait for a second attack, she manifested a detailed illusion of her presence in the chamber at Mhored Kara.
Her form appeared between one breath and the next, robed in the pearlescent, shimmering grey given only to a Vaere-trained Dreamweaver. Her black hair was caught into a coil of wire, and her flesh gave off a tangible, living warmth. Her eyes, blue and direct as sky, were focused solely upon the Magelord of the Conclave. 'Do you always greet visitors with hostile spells, Your Eminence?'
'Only those who arrive unasked, and by sorcery.' The ancient's voice was dry as wind through dead leaves. He spoke as if to empty air, and to Taen's astonishment, the other four sorcerers in the chamber recoiled upon their cushions as if startled. The nearest of the red robes raised his hands. A spindle of light bloomed between his palms, but died out immediately as his Master snapped his fingers for him to desist. The underling subsided with a sullen look, while his Magelord answered Taen's puzzlement directly.
'My fellows of the conclave neither hear you speak nor see you.' The old one qualified with ancient, embittered malice. 'My conjurers see only what is real. Lady. Within these walls, you do not exist.'
Taen absorbed this in furious thought and gained her first insight into the powers of Mhored Kara's conclave. They were unquestionably men of talent, but moulded by tenets far different from those of any Vaerish master. Where the powers of Sathid bonding took inherent talent and by resonance expanded an inborn trait into something greater, the wizards of Mhored Kara learned to reach inward, to grapple and twist reality to the dictates of mortal will. Taen studied the ancient and his four confederates more closely, and concluded that such manipulation of natural order came at punishing cost. Pitiless decades of training left the wizards emaciated, humourless, and baleful as crows. Their tireless and exacting analysis of reality might strip and banish Sathid-born conjury as dream; led to extreme, these wizards might even enter the mind and sunder rapport between Sathid master and crystal. But in directly applicable force, Vaerish powers were as beyond them as sky over earth. Taen perceived the workings of how Anskiere's gifts had come to be bound by such constraints; what she might never understand was why the Stormwarden had permitted Kisburn's conjurers the opening to let his imprisonment happen.
The Magelord's manner sharpened suddenly. Perhaps he realized that Taen unravelled the secrets of his conclave in the dreamspace of her silence, for he clenched his hands with a dissonant clash of rings. 'Why do you send to the one place in Keithland where illusions such as yours are not welcome?'
Taen detected threat behind the words. Although in theory the Magelord's spells could not set her at risk, she chose not to test that chance. The Master of Mhored Kara certainly could be dangerous, cruel as he was within, and emotionally steeped in spite against all things he could not influence.
'I bring tidings,' Taen said directly. 'Keithland is imperilled.' Without further opening, she translated the image of Morbrith, and all that its darkness signified, directly into the old mage's mind.
He hissed, his dark eyes wide with affront. Spindles of light snapped forth from the palms of all his underlings, the red-robed ones and the black. Taen felt a blow hammer her shields. The image she had constructed in the chamber shattered like a smashed mirror. She let it go without contention, and instead reshaped the core of her energy into a presence wrought of sound whose existence not even the underlings could deny. 'For the sake of Keithland and the reality you value, send warning and word of Morbrith's fall to the Kielmark on Cliffhaven.'
The Magelord countered in rasping irritation. 'The conclave has sworn no oath of protection to the Vaere! And the Kielmark deserves no favours. Do not forget that he once granted sanctuary to one who later killed two of our own.'
Taen noticed the elder's queer reluctance to mention the Stormwarden by name. She probed on impulse, and perceived in the Magelord an apprehension that bordered upon outright fear. Anskiere's potential for redress against the wizards who had interfered with him did not sit well with the conclave at Mhored Kara. Though the idea of vengeance from the Vaere-trained was a misapprehension, Taen amplified their false belief to a cutting edge and pried at the wizards' reluctance. 'Do you wish to answer to Anskiere of Elrinfaer for release of the Frostwargs? To claim injury for Kisburn's conjurers is to assume culpability for their crimes.'
The Magelord glared at the air. His ringed hands worked as if he longed to reach out and throttle the voice wrought of dreams. 'What of the ice cliffs?' he rasped. 'Your Stormwarden is prisoner still.'
In answer, Taen sent him an image of Jaric, whose resemblance to his father, Ivain, at times could be uncanny. 'The Firelord left an heir. Eminence. He completes his passage to mastery even now on the Isle of the Vaere.'
Though the Master of Mhored Kara would never concede defeat, the spite reflected in his obsidian eyes assured Taen better than promises that she had won his acquiescence. The conclave would inform Cliffhaven. And wily and snappish as a wolf, the Kielmark could be depended upon to inflame the rulers of Keithland's multiple, bickering governments until each and every one of them took action.
* * *
Corley checked his cabin later, to find Taen settled and asleep beneath the steward's watchful eye. Informed by the servant that her demand upon the conclave at Mhored Kara had been successful, he returned at once to his quarterdeck. Though the wind had risen, he issued no orders to shorten sail. Instead he posted a second lookout in the crosstrees and doubled the watch on deck. All night he stood by the helmsman, strained and tense and watching for dangers he had no words to describe. When dawn broke over the ragged crests of the waves, he called all hands and broke news of the evil that had overtaken their companions in the north.
After their captain's summons. Moonless's company became haunted by insecurity. The sailhands glanced over their shoulders as they went about their duties; the smallest of unusual noises made them start. Banter and swearing ceased altogether. When the gale lifted, the men toiled in the rigging without hot food to sustain them, for Corley kept the galley fire out rather than risk having smoke reveal their position to the enemy.
Moonless made fast passage
, sped by the fresh winds of spring. But the fact that the weather held fair and the horizon remained empty day after day did nothing to lift the spirits of her crewmen. Gaunt and wary, and driven by a captain with hunted eyes, they finally hove the brigantine to in the empty ocean southwest of the Free Isles' Alliance.
'I sail on alone,' said Taen to the Kielmark's first captain. Clad in a Dreamweaver's robes of silver-grey, she stood by the mainmast pinrail, her hands clenched as if she expected argument. 'You can loan me the jolly boat.'
Corley folded bare arms across his chest. The straps of his knife sheaths crisscrossed both wrists, cutting into his tanned skin. 'Only you know where you're going, little witch. If you'll accept no escort to the Isle of the Vaere, at least know this. Moonless won't leave these waters until you and Jaric return.'
Taen took a quick breath. 'There's danger.'
'Where is there not?' Corley grinned as if the threats of Shadowfane and the perils of the Vaere were of no consequence. 'Besides, I want my jolly boat back. In one piece, mind. No chips or dings in the keel.'
'Done.' Taen tried valiantly to smile. The gesture made her seem poignantly vulnerable and young. 'Well, do I have to launch the tub myself?'
'Maybe.' The captain called two sailhands away from splicing a replacement stay and regarded the Dreamweaver intently. 'You know my mate's fallen permanently in love with you. I'd bet my best dagger he'd rather take that jolly boat and scrape barnacles off Moonless's rudder than see you row off without him.'
'I'm flattered.' The Dreamweaver pulled a sarcastic face, then ruined the effect by blushing. 'Tell him to scrape barnacles anyway. If you wait for me, we all might need to leave in a panic.'
Corley sobered instantly. 'I'll chance that.' Then, as if the sight of her caused him pain, he spun on his heel and shouted to the sailhands. 'Get aft and lower that jolly boat. Lively!'
Men sprang to obey. Barely had they freed the tackles before Corley pushed the nearer sailor aside and busied both hands on the lines. His tongue turned sharp as his knives, and after the briefest possible interval the boat struck the sea with a smack. Before the ripples scattered, Taen found herself loaded and cast off. She seated herself jauntily on the jolly boat's seat, threaded oars, and glanced one last time at Moonless's quarterdeck.
Corley stood with his back turned, hands braced on the binnacle. He refused to come aft to watch her off. If he glanced around once he would see how frail she looked, alone on the empty sea; then he could never bring himself to let her go.
'Keep your bearings, captain,' Taen called. She turned her hands to the oars and wondered why her words made Corley flinch. Never before had she seen him uncertain; almost, she would rather have watched him killing priests.
* * *
The slanting light of afternoon touched the wave crests like chipped quartz, and flying fish scattered in shimmering arches before the bow of Moonless's jolly boat. Taen rested her oars and rubbed a blistered palm on her knee. Well practised at rowing as the daughter of a fisherman, she had made good progress in her slight craft. The brigantine had diminished astern until tanbark sails showed as a speck against flawless ocean; ahead, no life stirred but the strafing flight of shearwaters. Yet that emptiness itself was deceptive. Taen knew by her dream-sense that she neared the Isle of the Vaere.
She extended her perception, and once again the minute vibrations that could be neither seen nor felt by the flesh touched her dream-sense. The fabled isle lay very near. Careless of her blisters, the Dreamweaver lifted the oars. She rowed one. stroke, two, three; a wave lifted the keel and coasted the jolly boat forward. Suddenly the vibrations peaked, the dissonance against her inner awareness clearing to a single sweet tone. Taen jabbed the oars deep, scattering spray as the wave rolled past. Before the current could drift her off location, she shaped a dream-call to alert Tamlin of her presence.
Sky, sunlight, and shearwaters vanished without transition into mist. Wind slapped the water, and wave crests frayed into sudden foam. Taen shipped the jolly boat's oars. Through a whipping tangle of hair she saw a flicker like heat lightning rend the air. A booming report followed, but the Dreamweaver did not hear. The ocean around the jolly boat underwent an abrupt change. The gale died to a breeze, and she drifted amid a roiled patch of water. Elsewhere the sea lay preternaturally calm. Slate-grey clouds extended to an empty horizon; Moonless's sails no longer showed astern. But off the jolly boat's bow stretched beaches unmarred by tide wrack. No storm had ever hammered the dune line beyond, nor the cedar forests of terrible beauty that lifted majestically skyward. Taen had visited the Isle of the Vaere before, yet her breath caught in wonder all the same. The unspoiled splendour of the place could bewitch the most jaded of eyes.
Then, with a thrill of joy, the Dreamweaver noticed something less than perfect upon that enchanted shoreline. On the sands at the sea's edge rested an ungainly wooden fishing boat, the name Callinde carved on her thwart. Anxious for Jaric, Taen Dreamweaver slammed oars into rowlocks and hurled her craft toward shore.
Bells jangled the instant the jolly boat grounded. Taen twisted around in time to see Tamlin stride down the side of a dune. His cap lay askew, and the white beard strewn across his shoulders tangled with fringes of feathers and beads in his haste.
'You won't listen. That's trouble.' The tiny creature stamped his foot in anger. Taen looked on without surprise as his boot left no impression in the sand. 'You promised help to Jaric. Did you guess you risk your life, and his as well?'
Taen jammed the oars one by one beneath the jolly boat's stern seat, then stepped, barefoot, into the shallows. An ebbing wavelet chuckled over her ankles, sucking the sand from under her soles. 'I had to come.'
'So.' Tamlin cocked his head and frowned keenly. His black eyes seemed to bore holes through her flesh; no approval showed on his shrivelled, walnut features. 'So,' he said again, then slapped his thigh in conclusion. 'You love him, yes?'
Taen caught her breath, then released a gasp. She blinked, sat on the jolly boat's thwart, and stared unseeing at her sandy toes. 'I never thought of him that way.' But the instant Tamlin had broached the subject, she realized she must.
Troubled by emotions she barely dared to confront, Taen turned her Dreamweaver's perception inward to re-examine the past. While the jolly boat heaved beneath her on the surge of an incoming wavelet, she recalled Jaric as she had encountered him first, tying supplies on a drag-sleigh in the snowy yard of a forester's cabin. He had been younger then, troubled and uncertain, and frightened of the future. Taen had felt pity at the time, not love. Later, she had restored the memory he had lost, used her talents to force his destiny; then she had acted upon the orders of the Vaere, for the sake of Keithland and the brother imperilled by Kor's Accursed. Taen frowned, oblivious to the sunlight that broke through the clouds and warmed her back. She had gone on to deliver Jaric to the merciless terms of Anskiere's geas. Love did not effect such betrayals.
Neither did love abandon a man to a lonely crossing in an open boat, without comfort. Taen swallowed, fighting an irrational urge to weep. Unbidden, a memory sprang complete in her mind. Once she had stood on cold stone in the Kielmark's dungeon and waited while Jaric rubbed at wrists scraped raw by steel fetters. At the time, Tamlin's directive had been clear: force Ivainson to the completion of Anskiere's geas. Yet Taen had not intervened. Instead she had left the decision to Jaric himself. Closer to him than anyone in Keithland, she had known he had the fortitude not to flee. She had cared for his integrity enough to free him; and afterwards she had defied the Vaere, defending Cliffhaven from demon assault, all for the safety of Ivainson Jaric.
Taen drew an unsteady breath. She attempted to picture another man in Jaric's place, and felt misery. She tried to imagine a future without him, and could not; plainly, foolishly, she realized all along she had been thinking as a child, not the Vaere-trained enchantress who now was a woman grown.
'Yes.' Taen's reply to the Vaere was filled with wonder and discovery. 'I love him.' And recogn
izing as she spoke that Jaric might well regard the fact as a nuisance, Taen swore until she exhausted every profanity learned from Corley's sailhands and the fishwives of Imrill Kand. When next the Dreamweaver sought Tamlin, he stared stubbornly out to sea.
The jolly boat bumped and ground against the sand. Moved by habit, Taen kicked the craft into slightly deeper water. Poised uncomfortably on the thwart, she waited through a tactful interval until the Vaere spoke again.
Fey creature though he was, Tamlin understood human nature quite clearly. 'For Keithland's sake, you must succeed.'
Taen stood. Afraid of what her mentor might add, she heaved the jolly boat on to the beach with a coarse grating of pebbles. 'Then allow me to try at once.'
Bells jingled. The Vaere vanished and reappeared, standing on the bow with his head level with hers. Breeze still blew strongly off the sea, but his feathers hung motionless. His wizened features seemed wistful and sad and hopeful all at once. 'Fortune speed you, child. Be brave and finish what you began.'
Taen shivered. She tried to break the creature's gaze, but the Vaere spoke sharply. 'Listen! Stay here. Do not enter the grove. Engage your Dreamweaver's powers in behalf of Ivainson Jaric. Then stand firm. If your man survives to win his mastery, he will return to Callinde and find you.'
The air rippled as if disturbed by heatwaves. Then, with a faint sigh of bells, Tamlin disappeared.
Taen regarded sunlit boards where the Vaere had stood, as if she might read the riddle of his existence in the grain of the wood. The creature would not return; with growing apprehension, the Dreamweaver pondered how much had been left unsaid. Her peril was no less for Tamlin's silence.
