“Or it might be the only place where reason prevails,” Rielle inserted.
Tarran grimaced. “The struggle to prevent people from so many backgrounds from turning on each other was difficult enough before the Raen returned. Those who seek to restore it now are hardened by war. They have neither the spirit of compromise nor tolerance of difference under which we founded the school.”
“Perhaps if they had a common enemy they would be more amenable. ‘When no adversary unites …’”
“‘… society divides,’” Tarran finished, nodding. He sighed. “Either way, I have no enthusiasm for politics nowadays.”
Tyen had not heard the quote before, and wondered if this was Rielle’s contribution to Tarran’s great store of wise sayings, or a new one the old man had picked up since leaving Liftre. Had she also learned his form of calligraphy?
“I too would rather avoid politics,” Rielle said, her attention shifting to Tyen. “But I find myself in a position where it is difficult to avoid.” She smiled ruefully. “Let’s move to the table where you can eat while I explain. Lead us in, Timane.”
The young woman led the way to the large square table, indicating to Tyen and Tarran where they should sit. She ducked under the table and, a moment later, stood up within the opening in the centre. Around her were several platters covered in slices of meat and vegetables, and little balls of coloured dough. Between her and the corner of the table between Rielle and Tyen was a crescent-shaped black plate resting on a wooden base. Timane stared at it, then tipped some oil from a jug onto the surface. Immediately it began to sizzle.
So the servant is a sorcerer, Tyen mused. Timane glanced at him, saw him watching and blushed. Her mind immediately gave away that she was not a strong sorcerer, but Rielle had been teaching her to use the meagre powers she had.
“The Emperor heard that I approached you after your last visit to the palace, Tyen,” Rielle said.
He turned to her and frowned. “How?”
She shrugged. “No doubt he has spies in Doum. He knows that afterwards you proposed to negotiate on behalf of the Claymars. I had all but decided that I would not offer to represent Murai, but this morning he ordered me to do so. I must comply or leave this world.”
Tyen winced. “I am sorry. This is my fault.”
“Not at all.” She waved her hand dismissively. “When I followed you, I knew I was taking a risk. I expected you to lead me to Alba, where my appearance would be noted, and the Emperor would eventually learn of it. I feared only that he would conclude I was colluding with you somehow.” She glanced around the room. “I enjoy my work for the mosaic-makers, but I don’t value my comfortable life here higher than warning someone who saved my life that he is in danger.”
She said it lightly, but her expression was serious. Tyen watched Timane pressing balls of dough flat on the grill with a wooden paddle as he considered how to reply.
“Then I have more to thank you for than I realised,” he said slowly.
“Perhaps.” A crease appeared between her brows. “You may not feel that way when we begin negotiations. The Emperor has high expectations.”
Tyen nodded, relieved that she had decided to stay and do as the Emperor ordered. “I don’t know yet whether the Claymars have accepted my offer.”
“They will,” she told him. “He has hinted very strongly that I will deal with no other but you. Which may be how you hoped the situation would progress …” She held out her plate to receive a disc of fried dough from Timane. As the girl scooped up another on the paddle and offered it to Tyen, he quickly picked up his plate and held it out to receive it. “… but there is always more going on than what is apparent when the Emperor is involved. I must speak as he wishes me to, even if I disagree with what I say. I am forbidden to read his mind. And since I will have to refuse to deal with you if I learn that you have read his mind, I ask that you do not.”
“Of course.”
Having served Tarran, Timane next placed a small dish filled with thick orange sauce in front of them, making a small ticking noise with her tongue as she did.
Rielle chuckled and spoke a few gentle words in Muraian. “We are being rude, according to Muraian custom, by discussing anything but food while we eat.” She gestured to his plate. “Enjoy.”
The fried dumplings were a little bland, but with a pleasant crunch from a crisp plant in the mix. The sauce was spicy, leaving his tongue tingling. The servant girl cooked up and served several more, then began to stack slices of meat and vegetable on the grill.
Rielle set down her cutlery. “We may speak now, as the next course cooks.”
“Have you remained in contact with the rebels?” Tarran asked Tyen.
Tyen looked at Rielle, wondering if it would be inconsiderate to mention her former fiancé. “Yes. I meet up with their leader now and then.”
Her lips pressed into a wry, knowing smile. “How is Baluka?”
“He is well,” Tyen replied. “Overworked, if not overwhelmed, by the demands made on the Restorers.”
Tarran scowled and made a low noise. “Restorers? The trouble with the idea of restoration is that everyone has a different idea as to what must be restored, and to what degree.”
Rielle ignored him. “Does he mention his family?”
“The Travellers?” Tyen shook his head, then paused as a memory surfaced. “He said once that many of them have given up trading between worlds because it had become too dangerous.”
She nodded. “Some people believed the Travellers were allies of the Raen, since he’d allowed them to travel between worlds when others could not, and either refused to trade with or attacked them. Some Traveller families found that too many of the worlds along their established path were in upheaval after the Raen’s death, making trade dangerous or no longer viable.”
“What will they do instead?”
“Settle somewhere they are welcome and wait until the worlds are safe again.”
“If they ever are,” Tarran added.
She smiled at the old man fondly. “Tarran and I disagree in our predictions for the future. I am optimistic. The Raen was one man. Though his allies assisted in enforcing his laws, they were scant few compared to the number of worlds that exist. Many worlds never felt the Raen’s rule and yet they did not destroy themselves. Yes, the sorcerers that were controlled by the fear of him are testing their newfound freedom. Those that do evil will be dealt with, either by the Restorers or by other sorcerers tackling threats to peace and prosperity.”
“Or by the Successor.” Tarran’s eyes gleamed as he spoke the title.
Rielle rolled her eyes as she turned to him. “Then where is he? Wasn’t he supposed to be the one to kill the Raen?”
“The Raen killed himself,” Tyen pointed out.
“Yes. Doesn’t that make the Raen the Successor?”
Tarran shrugged as if to say anything was possible. Tyen looked from Rielle to the old man and back again, then read Tarran’s mind. There was no knowledge there of the failed resurrection. She had not told him, so Tyen would not speak of it either.
If the Raen is resurrected, then he is the Successor, since he killed himself, Tyen thought. I wonder if that was his intention all along.
“You said you did not believe in prophecy,” Tyen reminded the old man.
Tarran grinned. “I do not. But I did say it was a prediction of inevitable change. Only a sorcerer more powerful than the Raen could defeat him—”
“Or not as powerful but more skilled. Or luckier,” Rielle inserted. “Or someone politically more powerful, leading enough sorcerers to defeat someone much stronger.”
“… it can also be interpreted as a prediction that someone as strong will replace him,” Tarran finished.
Rielle grimaced. “They’d have to want to,” she said with distaste.
Tyen resisted a smile. It was clear that Tarran did not believe prophecy was a supernatural force which ensured the future proceeded in a certain way. He was more in
trigued by the idea that Rielle, as a sorcerer nearly as powerful as the Raen, might step into the Raen’s place—and concerned that someone less scrupulous would claim the title if she didn’t.
“The worlds would have to acknowledge this Successor,” Tyen pointed out. “Willingly and not. The Raen ruled as much through fear as with favours. Something the Restorers have had no choice but to emulate, I fear.”
Tarran nodded. “But the worlds do not fear the Restorers like they feared the Raen and his allies. Many of those who supported them in the beginning do not respect them now. Any large group is bound to be rent by disagreement and conflicting ideology and aims.” He spread his hands. “They could use the idea of a Successor to forge unity and save the worlds from chaos.” He looked at Tyen. “I am sure they would accept Rielle. She was trained by the Raen, perhaps in order to replace him, but her friendship with Baluka would ease any mistrust around her association with him—especially if they believed she was taken from the Travellers unwillingly.”
“I am not going to rule the worlds,” Rielle said firmly. “Or lie about my past. Especially since Baluka knows the last is a lie and most rebels could read the truth from his mind.”
The old man subsided. He knew she was not ready for such responsibility, even if she had wanted it, and he liked her too much to wish an existence on her that was likely to make her unhappy. Was she in love with the Raen? Tarran wondered, not for the first time. He searched her face as he’d done so many times since learning that she’d broken her agreement of marriage to Baluka in order to live with the Raen—even after she’d learned the ruler was not the angel she’d believed him to be.
Now there’s a question I’d also very much like to know the answer to, Tyen thought. Her mind was, as always, tantalisingly out of reach.
Rielle’s eyes narrowed. She glanced at Tyen, catching him watching her, then sighed.
“I was not in love with Valhan,” she told the old man. “Believe me, I have asked myself this many times, but always I am certain that the closest I came was admiration for a competent, charismatic leader. Ask Tyen, if you doubt my words.”
As Tarran’s gaze shifted to his, Tyen frowned in confusion. Then his heart skipped a beat. Rielle believes I can read her mind! He looked down at his plate, hoping to hide any sign of the realisation. That would mean … she can’t read mine!
“I do not wish to invade the privacy of such a gracious host,” Tyen mumbled.
Rielle let out a soft laugh. “Well, then you’ll just have to believe me, Tarran. And now it is time to eat again. Tyen?”
Looking up, Tyen found Timane holding out a steaming offering towards him. He lifted his plate and smiled in gratitude as she filled it. She blushed and focused on filling Rielle and Tarran’s plates.
When they had finished eating, Rielle turned to Tyen.
“If I could be the Successor, then Tyen also could be. He is stronger than I. Tyen, were you there when the rebels faced Valhan?”
He blinked in surprise, then hesitated to reply, wondering if it was wise to admit it. Unable to decide, he chose truth over lies. He had too many lies to keep track of already.
“Yes.”
The flicker of curiosity in her eyes quickly faded. “Could people be persuaded to believe your presence was the reason Valhan failed?”
“No. We had barely arrived when he killed himself.” Tyen swallowed. “And nobody would accept me as the Successor, if I wanted to claim that role.”
Tarran straightened. “Because they call you ‘the Spy?’ Why, that could be easily overcome if we spread a counter-rumour that it was malicious gossip spread by the allies to prevent anyone accepting you as the Successor!” The old man’s eyes were alight with enthusiasm, and Tyen almost felt guilty as he shook his head.
“Leadership did not suit me before; it would even less so if it were of all the worlds rather than a few hundred rebels.” He shook his head. “There are men and women far better suited to it than I—which raises the question: why can’t Baluka be the Successor?”
Tarran spread his hands. “It could be, I guess. Nobody is saying it now, but in time they may.”
Leaning back in her chair, Rielle tapped her fingers on the edge of the table. “I only hope that, if a Successor is necessary for peace and order, then one comes along soon, and that they are wise, kind and clever. Someone who, unlike me, has experience and training in politics.” She shook her head. “Valhan admitted he couldn’t predict what his interference in a world’s affairs would lead to, and he had ruled for over a thousand cycles. I feel out of my depth just at the prospect of trying to prevent a war between Murai and Doum.”
She glanced at Tyen, then smiled ruefully. “Though I suppose I should not admit that here and now.”
Tyen shrugged. “I have as little experience as you.”
“But you led the rebels.”
“We were trying to start a war,” he reminded her. “Not avoid one.”
She grimaced. “What are our chances?” She looked at Tarran.
The old man frowned. “Doum has something Murai wants and it has no army of trained sorcerers.” He looked at Tyen. “I fear the odds are not in your favour, if you cannot persuade the Claymars to cooperate.”
Tyen nodded. “Or persuade the Emperor that war will destroy what he wants to take.”
“I find myself wondering what Valhan would have done, not just to settle this, but about the strife in the rest of the worlds.” Rielle shook her head. “Then I’m glad that he’s not here, because I suspect the solution would be forceful, possibly even violent. He was not one for negotiation, at least from what I saw.”
Tarran nodded. “He’d have told everyone to behave, and they’d have been too afraid to disobey.”
They fell silent for a short while, then Rielle straightened and looked at Tyen. “Do you have that mechanical insect?”
Surprised by the sudden change of subject, Tyen nodded. He held open one side of his jacket.
“Beetle. Come out.”
A vibration came in response to his first word, then the insectoid scurried out to sit on Tyen’s shoulder.
They all jumped as a shriek came from Timane. The servant girl was staring at Beetle in horror. Rielle half rose, two hands extended in a gesture of reassurance as she spoke rapidly in Muraian. Tyen spoke to Beetle, sending it scurrying back into his clothing. The movement made the servant jump again. She looked from Tyen to Rielle, muttered something, then ducked under the table, surfaced on the other side and hurried away.
“She’ll come back when you’re gone,” Rielle told them. “In her homeland there are several species of venomous insects, the larger the more deadly.”
“Tell her I apologise for upsetting her,” Tyen said.
“I will. She did see that it was mechanical, but that did not ease her discomfort at the sight of it.” Rielle looked in the direction the girl had gone. “Poor Timane. When I came here, she was being bullied by the other servants. I chose her to be my personal servant, and taught her how to use magic. Which might have been a mistake, as she now sees herself as my loyal follower rather than an equal.”
“What were you hoping she would become?” Tarran asked.
“Perhaps a friend.” She shrugged. “It’s been a long time since I had a friend.” Her eyes shifted to the items the servant had left cooking on the grill. “These look ready to serve.” She took up the spatula and began filling their plates with sweet slices of fruit, then dousing them with hot syrup.
“The reason I asked about—was it Beedle?”
“Beetle,” Tyen corrected.
She nodded. “Beetle. Valhan gave it to me to look after, the last time we spoke. He said something regarding it that I’ve often wondered about.” She glanced at Tyen. “He said it was the future.”
Something within Tyen’s belly flinched and recoiled, as if from a punch. He thought of the deadly swarm of insectoids his former classmate at Liftre had made to defend her home, and begun selling to friends i
n neighbouring worlds. Insectoids that could easily be modified further to become offensive weapons. Was that the kind of future the Raen had seen? Or did he simply see one where the magically powered machines of Tyen’s world were everywhere, slowly sucking magic from all worlds?
“Do you know what he meant?” Rielle asked.
Tyen met her eyes. Surely she was seeing all of these scenarios in his thoughts … but not if she was unable to read his mind. In truth, he could not know what the Raen had imagined. He’d barely spoken to the man, really. He shook his head. “Not exactly. He never discussed it with me.”
“Then we will have to wait and see.” She filled her own plate last, adding syrup with a flourish. “Eat, my friends. A world with good desserts can’t be all bad, as a friend of mine used to say.”
Glad of the change of subject, Tyen turned his thoughts to the simple distraction of eating.
CHAPTER 5
So Rielle can’t read my mind, Tyen said. How is that possible, when I can’t read hers?
Either she was lying, or your strength is the same, Vella replied. She spoke of not being able to read your mind when you first met her, when she had less reason to deceive you.
She did? I don’t remember.
It was five cycles ago, and your mind was on more pressing matters.
He shook his head. All this time he hadn’t needed to worry that she might discover he was a spy. Now she need never know. He silently cursed Roporien for the small flaw in Vella’s construction that meant she did not always supply information unprompted. She responded to questions and engaged in conversations, and could warn him of danger, but didn’t offer information that wasn’t obviously related—and how she judged that was a mystery only her creator had understood.
So our strength is evenly matched. Have you heard of that happening before?
It is rare, but not unknown. I have no record of it occurring between two sorcerers of great strength. It is more common the weaker the sorcerers are, but possibly only because they are more numerous.
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