If the Raen had difficulty reading Rielle’s mind, does that mean they were equal?
No. He was the stronger, but not by much.
Then I am nearly as strong as he was.
That fact was astonishing, especially when he considered that the Raen hadn’t killed him, when he was known for removing potential rivals. Still, how would the ruler of worlds have known how powerful Tyen was? Tyen hadn’t, so the Raen couldn’t have read that from his mind. Tyen hadn’t demonstrated the extent of his power in any way. The only other way the man could have found out was to test Tyen.
But even so, the only proof Tyen had that he was as strong as Rielle was her claim to not be able to read his mind.
I have to consider that she may be pretending, to make me relax and think about things I’m trying to avoid thinking about. Tyen frowned. To not allow for this will be to risk failing at negotiations. Rielle’s manner hadn’t been that of someone worried that her own mind would be read, he noted, as she should be if she couldn’t read his mind. Unless she, too, had worked out that their strength was equal.
If you get her to hold me I could discover the truth, Vella suggested. If she refuses, you’ll know she has read your mind.
If she didn’t refuse, Vella would learn everything Rielle knew about resurrection. A thrill of temptation ran down Tyen’s spine, but he ignored it.
No, I won’t trick Rielle into it. You’d learn where the boy is, and that could put him in greater danger. I’d rather have her willing assistance in restoring your body. He drummed his fingers against Vella’s cover. We will wait until after the negotiations are over before we ask her for help, and I’ll carry you wherever I …
A sound caught his attention. It came from outside the toilet, where he’d retreated to talk to Vella. It was a rapping, but not quite the tone produced when knuckles met the workshop’s front door. When it came again, a shiver ran down his spine. It was definitely coming from the floor below, but sounded as if it were coming from inside the workshop.
“Tyen Wheelmaker?” a voice called. “Are you at home?”
A long sigh escaped him. Claymar Fursa. Why the woman couldn’t knock on the front door like ordinary people instead of arriving inside his workshop was a mystery to him.
No, not a mystery. It’s pure arrogance. She likes to remind people of her position and power.
He quickly returned Vella to her pouch, and stuffed it inside his shirt. Rising, he pulled the lever that released water into the basin, which spared him the indignity of calling out to Fursa from within the toilet to let her know he was home.
Once out of the room, he walked to the top of the stairs before speaking.
“Claymar Fursa.” He briefly pressed two fingers to his chest, and started down. “Welcome. For what reason do you honour my humble home with your presence?”
She moved into sight, frowning up at him in consternation, as if not sure whether he was mocking her or not. “The Council has agreed. You will represent us in negotiations with the Muraians.”
He nodded. “I am deeply honoured by their trust in me, and will do my best to arrange a fair agreement between Doum and Murai.”
Her gaze dropped to his clothing and her eyebrows rose. He was not wearing his usual workshop clothes, but something more like he’d worn among the rebels. Which was badly timed, as it made him more of an otherworlder.
“We are collating a list of our aims and requirements,” she told him. “You will meet with three of us at the High Chamber at midday in three days, so we can inform you of them. Then the day after you will meet with Rielle the Mosaic-maker on the Island of Tiles at dawn.”
He nodded. “High Chamber, midday, in three days. Island of Tiles, dawn the day after,” he repeated.
Fursa stared at him in silence for a little longer—a ploy she used when she wished to intimidate but which had no effect on him. “I must go,” she finished. “Do not be late.”
He smiled and watched her fade from sight, amused at her parting words. Treating him like a child only revealed how much she needed to belittle him in order to feel superior.
Turning away, he looked around the workshop. It was Thumb Day: the fifth day of the Doumian week when artisans rested and dealt with domestic chores—though it was not rigidly observed. The Grand Market of each city was closed, so workshops that did not have a stall, like his, opened their doors in order to sell their wares. Those with urgent orders to fill paid employees extra to work.
Just two orders remained to be filled, each for a single wheel. Too little work for himself, let alone his workers. He ought to put out a sign indicating customers could come and browse his wares, but he had a more urgent matter to tackle—which was why he’d dressed as he had. A matter he’d been putting off, but ought to deal with before his time was taken up with negotiations.
It was time he found out if the other places he left messages for Baluka had been compromised.
Returning to his bedroom, he donned his jacket, put Beetle in the inside pocket, took a deep breath, then pushed out of the world. After taking his usual precautions, he set out for the world furthest from the one containing the Restorers’ base, on the slim chance that those who hunted him—if they still did—would be less likely to venture that far.
For less powerful sorcerers, like Baluka, it was easier to hide in a crowd than in sparsely populated locations. Their mind would blend with the general cacophony of minds. Only if you knew exactly who you were looking for, and they were stationary and in a pre-arranged place, was it easy to find a person.
So this hiding place was as crowded as the city where he’d encountered the ambushers—a sprawling temple that attracted a constant stream of mask-wearing pilgrims. Tyen created a shield of still air close around himself as he arrived. Using local money he’d purchased on earlier visits, he bought a hooded overrobe from one of the hundreds of temple stores, along with a mask laced with scent. He walked out among thousands of worshippers, weaving through them to join a line of people waiting to enter an altarhouse dedicated to a god of metals.
As he waited, he scanned the minds around him. All were pilgrims. He read thoughts both pious and profane, bored and fascinated. A few were searching for other people, but none were powerful sorcerers or had Tyen’s or Baluka’s name in their minds.
The line shortened, then he was entering the altarhouse. The air writhed with a stink of sweat and smoke too strong for the scented masks to ease. A gaping square mouth of glowing orange spewed heat. Pilgrims hurried forward, tossed discs of metal into the furnace, then fled.
Tyen’s turn came. As he approached the furnace, he slipped a small twist of paper between two coins. He threw them in and watched the minds of the priests tending the furnace. As the powder within the paper exploded, making a loud pop, the priests jumped and exchanged a glance. They would report this to the Head Priest, who would send a message to a sect that kept records of such occurrences. One of the record-keepers would contact an ally of Baluka, and on the message would go, until it reached the Restorers’ base and their leader.
This was not the only reason the pop intrigued the priests, Tyen saw. Three pops had come from the furnace four days ago, then another single pop yesterday. They wondered what the gods were trying to say.
Tyen’s heart began racing. Outside, a priest handed him a small square of thick, wet fabric. He pressed it to his brow. The pilgrims who had entered before him stood fanning themselves, faces above and below their masks still red from the heat.
The three pops means Baluka sent me a message. One I should have received by now. Perhaps it had been delayed. Perhaps it had been waylaid. But that wasn’t the most alarming prospect.
The single pop yesterday will have summoned Baluka here.
He hadn’t sent it. Whoever had, had wanted to bring Baluka here, and if Baluka had responded quickly he would already be in the temple. Not having found Tyen waiting, what would he have done?
Tingling all over with worry, Tyen send his mind t
owards the enormous, multi-winged building that accommodated pilgrims wealthy enough to afford a small room. Lightly jumping from mind to mind, he stopped as he found a familiar one engrossed in conversation with another otherworld visitor.
Baluka had decided to stay the night. His protectors waited in rooms nearby—powerful, fiercely loyal sorcerers who would protect their leader or give him time to flee if he was attacked. The men constantly watched the minds of people around the building, and, to Tyen’s relief, hadn’t seen anything to give them concern.
It was possible, though, that someone more powerful than them was watching. Tyen scanned the surrounding minds carefully, but found nobody suspicious. Too many people were in the temple for Tyen to search them all, however, and a very powerful sorcerer could seek out minds while outside the city, if they knew where that person was likely to be.
I have to warn Baluka, Tyen thought. Even if it means revealing myself to whoever called him here. Oddly, he wasn’t as alarmed by the possibility as he expected. If I am as strong as Rielle, and Rielle is nearly as strong as the Raen was, then I should be able to protect both of us—especially with Baluka’s protectors helping. I almost want the ambushers to appear. Then I’d find out who is behind this, and why.
Baluka was engrossed in telling a story from his childhood to a woman pilgrim, so Tyen had not yet been able to discover if Baluka suspected Tyen hadn’t summoned him. Now, as Baluka finished, the man’s thoughts returned to his situation. This would be pleasantly relaxing if I wasn’t worried that Tyen hasn’t appeared, he thought. And whether the worlds are descending into even greater chaos while I’m away He sighed. Hurry up, Tyen. I can’t stay much longer.
So Baluka wasn’t aware he had been tricked. Resisting the urge to check the fit of his mask, Tyen headed towards the building, keeping his pace relaxed and path indirect. He entered the Visitor’s House and paid a novice to tell Baluka a friend was here to see him. Watching Baluka’s mind, Tyen saw both hope and disappointment at the message. Baluka liked the woman, and since she was not magically gifted he could see from her thoughts that she was attracted to him. But he did not want to delay meeting Tyen one moment, so he excused himself and returned to his room on the other side of the hall.
Giving the surrounding minds one last sweep, Tyen approached Baluka’s door and knocked, taking off his mask.
The rebel leader grinned as he opened it. “Ah! At last! Come in.” He closed the door behind Tyen. “Is everything all right? When you didn’t respond to any of my messages I started to worry.”
“I didn’t receive them. You sent more than one?”
Baluka frowned. “Yes. I sent three. Then I received your summons.”
The room was divided with a curtain, which did not meet neatly, revealing an unmade single bed beyond. Two low-slung chairs and a small table filled the rest of the space. Tyen stilled the air just within the walls of the sitting area to prevent sound escaping.
“I didn’t send it,” Tyen told his friend. “Though I did just send one, since I didn’t discover you were here until a moment ago.”
Baluka’s eyes widened. “Someone knows our code.”
“And our meeting locations. Three men were waiting for me in Jarteen several days ago,” Tyen said. “Ex-rebels. They believed there would be some profit in selling me to someone.”
Rubbing his hands together, Baluka began to pace. “Who offered this incentive?”
“I didn’t stay long enough to find out.”
“It wasn’t me,” Baluka assured him.
“I know.”
Baluka’s mouth thinned a little, but more in grim sympathy than offence at Tyen reading his mind. “Is your hiding place compromised?”
Tyen shook his head. “They tried to follow, but I lost them easily.” He grimaced in apology. “I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner. I assumed I was their only target and local matters in my world have kept me very busy.”
“Are we safe here?”
“I’ve checked the minds of everyone around us, and nobody has any ill intentions towards us. I suggest we don’t stay long, however.”
“That would be wise. Why did you want to meet me?”
“I wanted to tell you about the ambush in Jarteen.” Tyen smiled. “Since I have already, I guess it’s your turn.”
Baluka stopped pacing. “There’s a new source of trouble in the worlds.” He looked both pained and apologetic. “In some of the recent conflicts we’ve dealt with, one or more sides have used weapons of mechanical magic.”
Something within Tyen’s stomach twisted. Baluka radiated sympathy: he knew how Tyen felt about the misuse of his “invention.” Yet his regret at having to deliver this news was nothing compared to the guilt it roused in Tyen.
“When their makers claimed to have invented them,” Baluka continued, “the people who knew you at Liftre have corrected them. They are so touchy about giving credit to the correct inventor. Unfortunately, the truth has been misunderstood. Too few know that you never intended mechanical magic to be used in war. They believe this development is a deliberate move on your part, whether merely for profit or as part of some greater plan.”
The tightness in his middle was now a pain—a ceaseless cramp. Tyen breathed slowly, resisting the urge to rub at his belly. What did Rielle say that Raen told her—that Beetle was the future? He swallowed as nausea rose. I should never have taught anyone mechanical magic. I should have found another way to pay for my tuition at Liftre.
“So I have to ask,” Baluka continued, “is there a way to turn them all off without getting control of each machine?”
Looking up, Tyen regarded his friend with surprise. The possibility hadn’t occurred to him. He considered the idea, then shook his head. “Not that I know of.”
Baluka’s shoulders sagged.
“But that doesn’t mean it isn’t possible,” Tyen added. “All designs have a weakness. Something different for each, most likely. There might be a universal flaw, common to all.” They all run on magic. If they had no magic to draw upon, they would cease working. But once magic returned, they would revive. Unless someone has invented a way for machines to store more magic. All the insectoids he’d designed could store a tiny amount of magic, so they did not stop operating when passing through a patch of Soot—what the people of his world called the void left when magic was taken from a location.
“I think,” Baluka said slowly, “that if you joined us, declaring that you never intended mechanical magic to be used in warfare, and found a way to combat them, the Restorers might accept you—”
“No.” Tyen had not intended his voice to sound so cold. He softened his tone. “You know there’s no way they would unless I opened my mind to them. We both have secrets we’d rather they didn’t see.”
Baluka winced, guessing correctly that Tyen referred to how, when the allies had attacked them in the Raen’s palace, he’d been searching for Rielle instead of leading the rebels. He bowed his head. “I’d be prepared to let them discover everything about me, if it meant you could join us again. I think they’d forgive you everything, both truth and lies, if we …” He looked up. “If we convinced them you were the Successor.”
Tyen frowned and shook his head. “The Successor?” First Tarran, now Baluka? What is going on? “Why in all the worlds would they believe that?”
“You were there when the Raen died.”
“As were plenty of others. Who know he killed himself, and I had nothing to do with it.”
“You’re stronger than any sorcerer I know of, and I now know about most of the sorcerers in the reachable, habitable worlds.”
“Most?” Tyen repeated, then snorted. “Forgive me, but there are plenty who give the Restorers a wide berth.”
Baluka did not argue, though by the sharpness of his gaze Tyen knew he was storing that piece of information away. “Do you know of any who rival you in strength?”
Tyen hesitated. Should I tell him about Rielle? She is what I wanted to discu
ss with him when I sought a meeting with him before.
“You do, don’t you?” Baluka sat up straight. “Who is he? Not one of the Raen’s allies or friends, I hope.”
Tyen shook his head. It’s amazing how people never consider initially that the Successor could be a woman, he mused. Which makes it much easier for Rielle to have a quiet, safe life, so he bit back the temptation to say her name.
“I’ve met two people in my short life whose mind I couldn’t read,” Tyen said. “One is dead. If the other had any interest in ruling the worlds, they’d be in charge already.” He shook his head. Baluka did not believe prophecies were real. He did, however, know that they could be powerful persuaders—and he was worried that someone would claim the title of Successor and challenge all the good the Restorers were doing, if he didn’t find a plausible candidate first. “You said, all those cycles ago, that the Successor might not be the strongest sorcerer, but the one willing to take the credit for killing the Predecessor. By that measure, you are the Successor.”
Baluka nodded. “Except everyone knows I didn’t kill the Raen. As you pointed out: he killed himself.” He paused, his eyebrows rising. “Perhaps he meant for no Successor to follow him.”
That is far too close to the truth, Tyen thought. But not for the reason he thinks. As he had many times before, Tyen wished he could tell Baluka of the Raen’s plan to be resurrected and resume his rule when the allies and rebels had destroyed each other. Baluka ought to know there was a chance the Raen would return. But if he did, stronger sorcerers might find out by reading his mind. Perhaps a sorcerer who would like to see the Raen resurrected, who would seek out Dahli and assist him.
“Perhaps people should stop hoping someone will come to rescue them,” Tyen muttered. “And fix their own problems.”
Baluka gave him an odd look, his head tilted slightly to one side. “You haven’t really seen what’s been going on in the worlds, have you? You’ve been hidden away too long. People are trying to fix their problems. Preventing and stopping wars is not as easy as you think.”
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