Successor's Promise

by Trudi Canavan

  Dahli hoped that the danger of losing the knowledge to restore Vella would persuade Tyen to accept his terms, but he acknowledged that if the only method to resurrect someone was one Tyen couldn’t use, that knowledge was of no value.

  Sighing, Dahli leaned back in his chair. “I don’t have to read your mind to see you won’t accept my offer. And I don’t need to tell you I am determined to find a way to persuade you.”

  Tyen shrugged.

  “This ambush you avoided … will you be unable to remain in contact with Baluka?”

  “I have other places I leave messages, though I will, of course, approach them with caution.”

  “I will ask my contacts if they’ve heard of any renewed efforts to find you, or if a reward has been offered.” The ageless sorcerer was thinking that Tyen must surely have considered that Dahli might have arranged the ambush. Though he must have also realised that if I did want him dead, I’d have brought an army of sorcerers with me strong enough to do the job. So it took no small measure of courage for him to meet me today. Or trust. The possibility that Tyen trusted him was small, he mused, so courage was more likely.

  Tyen kept his face immobile. It had occurred to him that Dahli might have arranged the ambush, but it seemed unlikely when the man needed so much of him.

  “Do you still wish me to keep an eye on Baluka?” Tyen asked.

  “Only if it is safe to do so. He is a potential link to Rielle and the vessel. Did you have a particular reason to contact him?”

  “Yes, but nothing urgent.” When he didn’t elaborate, Dahli nodded, accepting that Tyen would not tell him everything as long as he passed on important information.

  An awkward silence followed. That was the difference between Tyen’s meetings with Dahli and those he had with Baluka. Dahli was never chatty. He did not discuss personal matters. Baluka always did. Tyen considered his doubts that he could get Dahli to talk about Rielle. But then … perhaps he could.

  “I make sure some of our meetings are purely social,” he explained. “Sometimes we just chat. I often learn more from his wandering thoughts than by asking direct questions. While he talks about Rielle, for instance, he doesn’t always say what is in his mind.”

  “Oh? In what way?”

  “From his words you would think she was faultless, but he knows otherwise.”

  “She was disloyal to him and the Raen.” Dahli frowned. “But I do wonder if, by persuading her to dishonour her promise to him, we made such changes of heart somehow more permissible to her. Even more likely.”

  “Were her personal ethics incompatible with expectations of loyalty, in the latter case?”

  Dahli nodded in agreement. “Perhaps. Ethics with no basis in practicality, and shifting loyalties due to a lack of experience.” A faint look of amusement coloured his expression. “All typical of the young.”

  Tyen smiled wryly. “I, too, am young and inexperienced.”

  “I do not expect loyalty from you,” Dahli replied. “But I expect you to keep to your side of any deal we make.” His smile faded, replaced by a thoughtful look. “I’ve also wondered if that is the mistake we made with Rielle. If we should have struck a deal.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “Valhan said she was not the type to make deals. Though … when it came to leaving the Travellers, I know breaking her promise of marriage to Baluka was not done lightly. She felt bad about it, even as she was relieved to have been freed from her situation.” He shrugged. “It is all in the past now.” A movement outside the house drew Dahli’s attention. A cart full of fresh reeds was trundling past, pulled by a sad-looking squat animal. “Is there anything else you wished to ask or tell me?”

  “No.”

  “Then we are done.” Dahli rose and ushered Tyen to the door. “Travel safely. And do not dismiss my offer completely. I do not know how much of the worlds you see nowadays. Perhaps you should take a look around. Things may be tranquil wherever you call home now, but I assure you they are not elsewhere.”

  It is hardly tranquil now, Tyen mused. “I may do that. Travel well, Dahli.”

  Stepping outside, he heard the door close behind him. He started to retrace his steps. Dahli’s suggestion sent the back of his neck tingling with doubts. In the last few cycles, Tyen had not seen as much of the worlds. Though he’d travelled through many, they’d been stepping stones he’d briefly touched. He’d not stopped to examine the people and civilisations in them. They could be caught up in all kinds of new strife, but as long as the arrival places were safe and intact he wouldn’t know.

  With Doum and Murai on the verge of conflict, it was easier to believe that other worlds were descending into war and other kinds of savagery too. Dahli certainly believed it. He also firmly believed the only person who could stop it was Valhan.

  Tyen shook his head. I meant what I said. I will not murder anyone in order to bring the Raen back. Perhaps all that the worlds needed were people determined to find another way to solve their problems than killing. Perhaps all they needed was time.

  He was now more sure than ever that Rielle would agree.

  CHAPTER 4

  As his bedroom receded into whiteness several days later, Tyen wondered how it was that he could not feel physical sensation in the place between worlds and yet he still knew that he was excited.

  “Your mind remembers how it feels,” Vella told him. “Just as those who lose a limb can sometimes have the perception of it still being intact.”

  Do you still recall how it felt to have a body?

  “No. When I am conscious, it is only because I can access and use the mind of whoever touches me. I will only feel what they feel, not a memory of my body. When I am not touching a person, I am not conscious, so there is no opportunity for me to recall my body. I also did not recall my physical self when the Raen held me, when you first encountered him—though I was conscious, I had no access to his thoughts or sensation of his body.”

  I’ve often wondered how he did that. Perhaps he allowed you enough access to his mind in order to be conscious, but managed to keep his thoughts and memories blocked. I would love to know how he achieved it. I guess if Dahli succeeds in resurrecting Valhan, we could ask.

  “Rielle might know. She had access to the Raen’s memories before she stopped the resurrection and saved the boy.”

  She might. Tyen frowned. It depends how much she learned. Perhaps enough to help me restore you. Would she do it, do you think?

  “Perhaps—if it did not involve killing anyone or replacing their mind.”

  Asking for help will be risky. I must trust that she will not take you from me. I don’t think she will … and I’m not making any progress on my own. She might be the help we need and … and some risks are worth taking.

  The moment the words formed in his mind, he began to doubt them. Asking the Raen for help restoring Vella had been like a risk worth taking, since striking a deal gave the Raen reason not to kill Tyen for breaking his law against travelling between worlds. The deal they’d made hadn’t benefited either of them ultimately, though if he hadn’t proposed it, the Raen would not have known it was possible to store a mind in an object, and therefore fake his death and arrange his resurrection.

  If Tyen made a deal with Rielle to restore Vella, what might she want in return?

  He did not get a chance to ponder that. The rooftops of Glaemar were emerging from the whiteness now. He arrived high above the city and started to skim towards the sprawling palace.

  The instructions left for him at the workshop were to arrive where the building met the river, at the section furthest downstream. A change of colour in the river marked the spot, a sure sign that this was where the palace artisans worked. The shore downstream was stained with bands of oily colour, smaller, more humble buildings clustering along the water’s edge.

  The riverside edge of the palace was bordered by walkways and small circular jetties. As he drew closer, he searched in vain for a familiar figure, before arrivin
g on one of the unoccupied jetties. While he paused to catch his breath, his attention was drawn to the palace’s glittering, mosaic-covered outer wall. A vast mural, it depicted a procession of lithe and elegant men, women and children draped in fine cloth, gold and jewels, some riding animals, some carried on panniers by well-muscled servants. The scene was broken here and there by smooth, wide arches, and as he admired the work, a woman strolled out of one of them. A shiver of recognition and nervous anticipation went through him.

  “Tyen Wheelmaker,” Rielle said in the Traveller tongue as she walked out to meet him. “Welcome—properly this time—to Glaemar.”

  “Rielle Lazuli,” he replied. “Thank you for the invitation.”

  She wore a sleeveless dress of a silvery fabric, loosely belted at the waist with a fine chain. Matching chains formed a simple headdress, some draped across her brow and two long tassels of them hanging down in front of each ear, bright against her straight black hair and brown skin. A single chain around her neck supported a small, finely decorated silver cylinder, sealed at both ends and with a seam at the middle suggesting it was hollow and could be opened. Though both garment and jewellery were simple, they gave an impression of wealth and elegance and he was glad he’d chosen to wear his good clothes for the visit—a simple long shirt and matching trousers of a fine black fabric, and a dark brown jacket. Even so, his attire seemed lacking in sophistication compared to hers.

  She smiled and turned towards the building. “Come inside.”

  He fell into step beside her. She walked slowly, signalling each turn with a small gesture.

  “How is life in Alba?” she asked.

  He considered how to reply tactfully. “Quiet,” he said.

  “You must have been to many funerals for those who died in the Grand Market.”

  “Few, actually. Doumians grieve privately, keeping rites to close family and friends. I was surprised that anyone invited me.”

  She nodded. “You did not know those who died?”

  “Not personally, just as relations of some of my workers.”

  “Has your work slowed as a result?”

  “Yes and no. I’ve been very busy. I have been doing most of the work so my employees can attend the ceremonies. We’ve had no new orders since the attack, so I’ve delayed a few so there is something for my workers to do when they return.”

  “No orders? Your customers don’t blame you for the attack, do they?”

  “No, it is only that so many were affected, and Doumians don’t tend to buy things when they are grieving. Every major workshop runs a stall at the Grand Market. Nearly all lost relatives.”

  The chain tassels of her headdress rustled softly as she shook her head. “The merchants pretend that they didn’t know their victims were important, but nobody believes it. No good merchant should fail to note the customs of the people they buy and sell to.”

  “No Emperor either. Nor should he allow merchants to get away with picking a fight with a neighbour without his permission.”

  She glanced to one side, and Tyen saw a servant lingering in the shadow of a column.

  “The Emperor is no fool,” she replied, then smiled faintly.

  Her tone was mild but he could not have missed the warning, and it sent a chill down his spine.

  A small gesture indicated she was about to turn again. He followed her around a colonnaded courtyard and into an area divided by shelving, tables, beds, crates, barrels and plainer versions of the giant pots he’d seen on his earlier visit. Looking closer, he saw that many of the tables were covered in drawings, each in some part covered with small pottery tiles. Workers bent over them, selecting pieces from trays and carefully dropping them onto the drawing. Others appeared to be sorting tiles into colours.

  “Your employers?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “Is this one of your designs?” The nearly completed mosaic they were passing depicted a table viewed from above, laden with food.

  “Yes.”

  He noted a patch of smaller, dark tiles on a leafy vegetable, and pausing to look closer, saw that it depicted a little insect.

  “Impressive work.”

  “Yes, they are very skilled.”

  “Yet you thought of this. You are essential to the process.”

  She shrugged. “I am replaceable. Artists are hardly uncommon in the worlds. Good mosaic-makers are rarer. My only advantage is that I can read the minds of their customers, and so more easily and quickly discern what they want.”

  They were heading towards a walled section now. As they drew closer, he noticed that the walls were free-standing—panels on stands that could be moved to reconfigure the shape and dimension of the rooms they formed. Fabric hung across some sections, and as Tyen saw a young woman push past one, he realised they functioned as doors.

  “Only the Emperor’s rooms have solid walls,” Rielle told him. “I’m afraid this is as close as the rest of us get to privacy here—and it’s a concession only we artisans from other worlds enjoy, since we are unused to such open accommodations.”

  She led him to the hanging the young woman had emerged from. Holding it aside, she invited him to enter with a graceful sweep of her arm. He stepped through and found himself in a long, rectangular room. At the far end was a bed surrounded by translucent hangings. In the centre was a large square table with an opening in the centre, surrounded by eight chairs—though only four places had been laid on it.

  In the closest area, in which he was now standing, low benches had been arranged in a circle. A grey-haired man rose from one, smiling broadly, and Tyen stopped, astonished that he knew the man’s face.

  “Tarran!” he exclaimed.

  His former mentor and friend grinned in reply. Tyen hadn’t been sure he’d ever see the old man again after Liftre, the school of magic where Tyen had learned and taught at, had closed more than five cycles ago.

  “Young Ironsmelter,” Tarran said, walking over and grasping Tyen’s shoulders. “It is you. I hoped our paths would cross again. You are looking well.”

  “As are you,” Tyen noted with genuine surprise. The old man’s skin did not sag as much as Tyen recalled, but was taut and flushed with health. He stood straighter too.

  Tarran looked fondly at Rielle. “My most recent student has made sure of that.”

  “I went looking for a teacher after … well, once I was free to roam as I pleased,” Rielle explained. “I heard of a school of sorcery that had been abandoned when the Raen returned, so I sought it out. There I found a few ex-students who’d returned in the hope it would be re-opened. One suggested I ask Tarran for lessons, and gave me directions to his home.”

  “I’d been teaching young new sorcerers,” Tarran continued. “All self-taught sorcerers have gaps in their knowledge, but Rielle’s were especially odd. How could someone who didn’t grow up using magic be ageless yet not know how to fight?”

  “He has tricked most of the story out of me.” Rielle tried to adopt a disapproving expression, but she could not hide her affection. “Not everything, of course.”

  “A girl has to keep a few secrets or she loses her mystique,” Tarran agreed.

  Rielle rolled her eyes. “A ridiculous saying, that one. As if mystique was some kind of commodity women trade on.” She looked towards the door. “Ah—here’s Timane, my servant.”

  Following her gaze, Tyen saw that the young woman had returned. Timane smiled shyly as she was introduced, and replied haltingly. To Tyen’s amusement, it wasn’t that she did not understand Traveller tongue—Rielle was giving her lessons in the language to help her improve her status in the palace—but that she was intimidated by and not a little attracted to him.

  Her hair was a deep red and hung almost to the floor. Judged by physical appearance, the two women appeared the same age. That should mean Rielle had been barely past childhood when he’d met her five cycles ago. This made it suddenly obvious that Rielle could pattern-shift—the magical technique that enabled sorce
rers to halt and reverse ageing. Which was no doubt why Tarran attributed Rielle as the source of his good health.

  “What have you been up to since we last spoke?” Tarran asked.

  Tyen shrugged. “Surviving. Making pottery wheels.”

  “I heard you led the rebels at one point.”

  “Yes, though not by choice.” He resisted glancing at Rielle who, having seen him among the Raen’s friends at the failed resurrection, must wonder what a former rebel leader had been doing among his enemies. He drew up memories of a younger Baluka, disdainful of Tyen’s leadership, thinking that Rielle might be amused by them. “Fortunately a better leader soon replaced me.”

  Tarran nodded, and Tyen’s stomach sank as his former mentor began considering the rumours about Tyen. “I also heard another story about you, but it was not as flattering. Are you aware of it?”

  Tyen grimaced. “The one about me being a spy of the Raen’s?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry to bring it up. I only wish to be sure you know of it, for your safety.” Tarran glanced at Rielle, recalling that he had thought of the rumour when she’d first mentioned that Tyen was living in Doum. He’d assumed she’d already read of it from his mind, and since discussing such accusations would cast an awkwardness over the evening, he decided not to pursue the subject. “Let’s not speak of it again.”

  She nodded in agreement.

  “So Liftre has re-opened?” Tyen asked.

  Tarran smiled. “Yes. People are returning slowly. Some of the books and valuables taken have been returned too.”

  “Have you taken up a position there?”

  “No. I am too old. I don’t have the patience for foolish young students.” He smiled at Rielle. “Or rather, I only have the patience for one or two at a time.” Her eyebrows rose, but he continued on. “And I am not sure if it is wise, being a part of something so … so visible. With power shifting in the worlds, Liftre could easily become a target.”