Successor's Promise

by Trudi Canavan

  What should I do? Tyen wondered. He expected, for a moment, to hear Vella’s voice in reply, but he’d left her securely hidden in his house.

  Rayf wanted the merchants’ names. Tyen could search for their minds in the city below, but it would take too much time. Oerith believed the Emperor would know.

  Tyen turned his attention to a great sprawling building at the base of the cliff. It lay beside the waterfall, where its occupants would have access to the cleanest water. He sought minds within. It did not take long to find Oerith. With so many people employed in pleasing the Emperor, it was easy to find him. Oerith was already in the audience chamber. As she finished warning of the sorcerer who had followed Axavar, she turned to look at five men kneeling nearby.

  The merchants, she guessed. Tyen moved to their minds, and confirmed it. He had their names. He could go.

  But then, through their ears, Tyen heard the Emperor break into laughter.

  Shifting to the ruler’s mind, Tyen went cold. The man was amused. He had no intention of disciplining the merchants. Instead, he was considering how hard it would be to invade Doum properly.

  Heat chased away the chill as Tyen’s earlier anger resurfaced, but he held himself still.

  If I interfere, I could make things worse.

  But if he did nothing, the place he’d worked so hard to make a home in, and that he had come to love more than his own world, could be destroyed.

  Yet he did not know how powerful the sorcerers the Emperor kept close by for his protection were. They were sure to be a substantial force.

  Looking into the minds of the men and women closest to the leader, Tyen counted how many were sorcerers. He’d faced this many before and survived. What of their strength? Many were considering Murai’s chances against Doum if this led to a conflict, but while they thought themselves a superior force, none had experience of inter-world battle and more than a few appeared to have inflated ideas of their worth.

  To confront the Emperor would be a risk, but one Tyen was willing to make for his new homeland. Taking a deep breath, he pushed into the place between worlds and skimmed downwards.

  He did not plunge through the roof of the audience chamber, however. That would be too threatening. He wanted to make the Emperor think twice about making Doum an enemy, not jump to the conclusion the neighbouring world was retaliating. So he arrived a distance from the room, then approached a guard.

  The man—a captain—jumped, having not noticed Tyen arrive.

  “I wish to speak to the Emperor on behalf of the people of Doum.”

  The captain narrowed his eyes at Tyen, doubtful that anyone important would send such a filthy emissary. “And you are?”

  “Tyen the Wheelmaker, of Alba.” Tyen snorted. “And I would have taken time to dress for the occasion if it had not been more pressing to prevent a war between our worlds.” He pushed out of the world, skimmed past the man, then emerged and stared haughtily over his shoulder. “Would you prefer I find the Emperor myself?”

  The captain straightened. “No. I will take you to him.” He indicated that Tyen should follow, then set off through the palace.

  During Tyen’s previous visit to Glaemar, he’d observed the palace exterior, but having no official reason to enter, he’d had no opportunity to see the inside. It was not what he expected. Instead of the usual glut of precious objects and rich decoration crowded together in a show of wealth and grandeur, the interior was open and uncluttered. No solid walls divided the building into rooms, just rows of columns. Archways opened onto atriums which allowed sunlight and moisture in, sustaining artfully arranged plants in enormous pots. Pergolas stood within the larger of these. The effect was a blurring between interior and exterior. It also meant that the mist from the waterfall, carried everywhere on gentle breezes, kept the air moist and cool.

  Yet the palace was not empty of artwork. Here and there a graceful sculpture stood among the columns, the plant pots were from one of the best of Domra’s potteries and the floors were covered in mosaics equally as impressive as those Tyen recalled lined the approach to the formal palace entrance. If the mosaics covered the entirety of the complex he’d seen from above, they must spread over a space as great as a large village, maybe even a small city.

  No doubt many of the wealthier houses in Glaemar, and other Muraian cities, also decorated their homes this way. Anything considered good enough for the rulers of a country or a world was desirable for those with ambition and the need to appear prosperous and powerful. Looking closer, he realised that the tiles were all glazed. Pottery, not stone.

  Little wonder the merchants got a bit touchy about the Claymars controlling prices. There must be a thriving market in this single product, on top of the pottery and pipes they buy from Doum.

  He passed diplomats and courtiers, bureaucrats and servants. The latter were all young and attractive, he noted, though they wore plain but simple clothing cut of the same cloth. I guess in a place so open, the servants can’t be hidden, so the Emperor makes sure they aren’t offensive to the eye.

  A couple of people in a different but more decorative uniform paused in their conversation to stare at him. Some began to follow; others hurried away. Sorcerers, he read from their minds, placed here to inspect all visitors to the Emperor. They did not like what they could see of him—which was an otherworlder in Doumian garb whose mind they could not read.

  Yet none intercepted him, and he knew from the minds he read that he was indeed heading towards the audience chamber. At last, they reached internal walls. A pair of enormous doors stood between him and the Emperor. One of six guards standing outside hauled one open. The captain checked his stride, surprised, then shrugged and led Tyen into the room. He stepped aside and indicated that Tyen should advance ahead of him.

  Walking past, Tyen was immediately struck by how dark the room was. It was completely enclosed, unlike so much of the palace, and the only illumination came from the flames of lamp bowls set in alcoves.

  A middle-aged man stood at the centre of the room. He wore a plain robe of gold fabric over which a vest of glazed beads had been draped. The latter’s humble appearance surprised Tyen at first, until he reminded himself that the world of Murai had few clay deposits. What you don’t have you covet, he mused, which has been an advantage for Doum … until now.

  Two of the sorcerers who had followed stood to either side of Tyen, and from them Tyen learned that the line of men and women along the back wall were also sorcerers. The Emperor had been informed of their inability to read Tyen’s mind. He had, against their advice, decided to stay and meet the messenger from Doum.

  A movement drew Tyen’s attention to five men squatting nearby, their gazes fixed on the floor. They were well-dressed and ranged from an age a little younger than, to twice the age of the king. The merchants. The head of the School of Sorcery stood behind them.

  As Tyen turned back to the Emperor, the man’s eyebrows and chin rose in affront at the messenger’s lack of respect. Reminding himself that he did not want this encounter to result in more violence, Tyen dropped into the same pose the merchants had assumed.

  “Who is this?” the Emperor demanded in Muraian, the words echoing in the room.

  “Tyen the Wheelmaker,” the captain replied from somewhere behind Tyen.

  The Emperor’s voice filled the room with scepticism. “The Claymars sent a servant to negotiate on their behalf?”

  “No, Emperor Izetala-Moraza,” Tyen replied. Then, since he’d read from the man’s mind that the ruler knew the Traveller tongue, he continued in that language. “The Claymars sent me to discover who attacked the Grand Market in Alba a short while ago, and why. I followed one of the sorcerers, a man they left behind to check whether a Claymar was among the dead—”

  “And was one?” the Emperor asked, also changing to the language of the Travellers.

  “I do not know, Emperor.”

  “Well, you have found the culprits. You may ask them their purpose.”
/>   “I have already gained that information, Emperor.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  Tyen met the man’s gaze. “These merchants have attacked Doum, Emperor,” he said, letting an edge of hardness enter his voice. “That could be interpreted as an act of war.” Tyen paused, then rose to his feet. “What I want to know now is: what are you, Emperor Izetala-Moraza, going to do? Do you object to their actions?”

  The ruler’s chin rose again, but he did not speak, pausing to consider his reply. As Tyen read the man’s mind, his stomach sank.

  “I do not approve,” the Emperor said. “They took a great risk, and should have sought my permission.” The ruler gave the merchants a hard look, and the men cringed and began to wonder if they had misjudged him. “But they have the right to act upon the Claymars’ refusal to negotiate.”

  “So you will not punish them?”

  The Emperor’s gaze snapped back to Tyen. “Only if Claymars were harmed.” I suppose I’ll have to make a show of it, the man grumbled. Those Claymars are a pathetic excuse for rulers. They’re just artisan-servants, given temporary leadership of the unruly, arrogant mob they called their “citizens.”

  “Remind them that they brought this on themselves,” the Emperor continued. “Refusing to honour agreements. Selling Muraian commissions to other worlds. It will not be tolerated.”

  Tyen scowled. “If you will not pay a price worthy of their time and expertise, why should they not seek customers who will?”

  “They have always supplied us,” the Emperor said. “It is an ancient arrangement, supported by the Raen—”

  “The Raen is dead.”

  The Emperor’s expression became stony, his lips pressed together with displeasure. An uncomfortable, angry silence followed. Tyen had broken a taboo by speaking the truth. A pretty recent taboo, in the scale of history.

  Who is this upstart? the Emperor was thinking. Someone powerful. Someone strong enough to not fear me or my sorcerers. Yet his accent is unfamiliar, and though he looks similar to the people of Alba there is a strangeness about him. Could he be an otherworlder? Yes, I think he may be.

  “Why do you care?” he asked. “You are not of their world.”

  Tyen crossed his arms. “Doum is my home and its people my family. I will do what I must to defend it.”

  “Then defend it. Convince the Claymar to abandon this foolishness over pricing.”

  “I would never be so arrogant as to tell them how to live their lives and run their businesses,” Tyen replied. “But I can see it will not be easy to convince you to do so as well. Except, perhaps, by removing all magic from this world so that you remain isolated for a few hundred cycles. That would be bad for trade, I imagine.”

  The Emperor stared at Tyen. Oerith took a small step towards the ruler. The Emperor gestured for her to stay where she was.

  “Only the Raen was that powerful,” he said.

  “Not only.”

  “He would have killed you, had he found you.”

  Tyen shrugged. “As it turned out, he didn’t. I’m sure you know this is a small world. I know of at least two people with enough reach to strip all the magic from it, and I would not be surprised if there were more. Even if it was beyond my ability to take all the magic in one go, I could still make sure Glaemar sits within a void so large it will take cycles to fade. Since you may doubt I speak the truth …” Tyen stretched out with his mind, expanding his senses until he estimated he’d encompassed the whole city, then drew in half of the magic, taking it in radiating bands. What remained would quickly spread to fill the emptiness, ensuring no sorcerer engaged in something important, such as lifting something heavy, was robbed of all power.

  Gasps filled the room as the sorcerers within it sensed what he had done. Then, before any could panic and attack Tyen, he let the magic go again. It flowed out, temporarily making the palace intensely rich in magic. Shock turned to wonder. Fear to relief.

  “I will leave you to reconsider your position, and whether these men—” Tyen glanced at the merchants. “—deserve punishment for killing the families of Doum’s artisans and Claymars.” Tyen was gratified to see that the Emperor was reluctantly doing exactly that, despite his anger at being threatened. “Thank you for hearing me, Emperor. I wish you good health and fortune.”

  Not waiting for a reply or a dismissal, Tyen took some of the excess of magic in the palace and pushed out of the world.

  Once deep into the place between worlds, the glow of satisfaction faded and he began to worry. How would the Claymars react to him approaching and threatening the Muraian Emperor on their behalf, without consulting them first?

  Will they be angry or grateful? Have I made things better or worse?

  He wished he could discuss it with Vella. Thinking of her hidden in his house, he realised that by threatening the Emperor of Murai, he might have made himself a target. While he was reasonably confident he could defend himself, the Emperor might seek a petty revenge that the Claymars would not react strongly to by wrecking Tyen’s home. After today, he would start carrying her again.

  He found his and Axavar’s path from Doum to Murai and followed it in reverse. The stall within the remains of the Great Market began to emerge around him.

  And then he sensed a shadow. Someone was following him.

  Alarmed, he skimmed across the world, drawing them away from the ruins. To his relief, they stayed on his trail. He lured them out of the city, seeking an unpopulated place where he could confront them without risking harm to others. In a dry lake he emerged in the world, gasping as his body, starved of air, suffered the price of travelling for so long where it could not breathe.

  A faint human shape began to form a few steps away. A feminine outline, clothed in a long shift dress. Oerith? One of the Emperor’s sorcerers come to challenge him? Or had he sent her to relay a message? Perhaps a counter-threat?

  Her face was not very Muraian, however. She had darker skin and straight black hair. And then, with a shock like lightning spiking through his body, he recognised her. As she arrived, she took a breath to speak, but didn’t gasp for air, a sure sign of an ageless sorcerer.

  “Tyen, wasn’t it?” said the woman who had refused to resurrect the Raen. “Do you remember me? Or perhaps I never told you my name. I am Rielle.”

  CHAPTER 2

  “I picked up that something was amiss from the palace servants,” Rielle explained, “and it didn’t take long before I saw you though other eyes.”

  She looked different, he noted. Older, though that was to be expected. Taller than he recalled, but perhaps only because his first impressions had been of a desperate and vulnerable young woman. She was as beautiful as he remembered, and as she smiled he looked down to stop himself staring at her.

  “And you followed me,” he pointed out, part observation, part question.

  “I thought you might like to know that the Emperor started planning to have you assassinated once you left.”

  “Ah,” Tyen sighed. “Of course he did.”

  “His sorcerers were trying to talk him out of it. More out of self-preservation than disagreement.”

  He looked up. “Do you think they will succeed?”

  She pursed her lips. “Even odds, in my opinion. The Emperor does not like being threatened, but he could not help noticing how powerful you are. He may attempt to punish you in other ways instead. You should make sure you and anyone you care for is well protected or hidden.”

  He nodded, his mind immediately going to his workers. While he considered them as much friends as employees and would hate to see any harmed, he would feel bad if any citizens of Doum suffered because of him. And then there was Vella. But the Emperor could not possibly know about Vella.

  Except Rielle, now. Her mind was hidden to him, which meant she was more powerful and could read his mind if she wanted to. It was disconcerting. The only other person he’d encountered with stronger powers than his had been the Raen, and he’d assumed the Ra
en was much more powerful. While Tyen did not look into the minds of most people in Doum, he always did with anyone else, and it was a very long time since he’d not been able to.

  He could not help wondering what Rielle was doing in the Muraian palace. It was just his luck that the one time he’d used his strength to impress someone they happened to have a stronger sorcerer at hand. Though surely, if she worked for the Emperor, she would not be here warning him of the ruler’s intention to assassinate him.

  People don’t warn you of a threat to your life if they wish you harm. The last time we met, I helped her. As far as I know, she has no reason to hate me.

  Unlike most people in the worlds. Or they would, if they knew the truth about him.

  He turned his mind from that subject before he could reveal too much, and looked at Rielle closely. She smiled, which surely she would not do if she had glimpsed his secret, unless she was adept at pretending. He wished he could be sure.

  “I don’t think I thanked you for helping me escape Dahli,” she said.

  “No need.” He shrugged. “I only helped you do the right thing. Did the boy recover?”

  “Yes and no.” She frowned. “He regained his sanity, but has almost no memories of his time before then.”

  “Is he …? I hope he is well hidden.” Perhaps it would be better if Tyen did not know the location of the boy that the Raen had intended to inhabit after his resurrection. The silence of Rielle’s mind made the possibility of running into another sorcerer more powerful than him seem greater.