Successor's Promise

by Trudi Canavan

  Tyen nearly winced. “I know, and you are doing your best to help.” He sighed. This discussion was pointless and he had stayed too long already. “I had better go. I will see if I can deal with these mechanical weapons. If I can examine some, I may be able to find a way to disable them. Do you have any?”

  “No, but I will arrange for the capture of a few. I will have someone investigate who tried to capture you, and why, and how they knew our code and where to wait for you—us.” He frowned. “We need to arrange some new ways to get messages to each other too.”

  Tyen nodded. Thinking quickly, he came up with a location where Baluka could leave a message for him. He’d have to set up a chain of couriers to take it to Doum next. Baluka chose another.

  “Is there anything else?” his friend asked.

  Tyen paused. Mentioning Rielle now might seem odd and even suspicious. Unless he could—

  “Wait … did you see that?”

  Baluka was staring at the curtain. Looking over at the room divider, Tyen saw nothing untoward. He shook his head.

  “What was it?”

  “I saw an eye, just briefly, in the gap.”

  Pushing out of the world a little, Tyen skimmed to the other side of the curtain. At once he sensed the indentation of a fresh path. He returned to the world and pushed aside the fabric.

  “Someone was here,” he told Baluka. “I’ll find out who and why.”

  First taking a generous amount of magic from the edges of the world, Tyen propelled himself out of it and along the path. Soon he sensed a shadow ahead, travelling quickly away from him. He followed, steadily gaining on the spy. Past the midway point between worlds, a room began to emerge from the whiteness. Four figures sat in tall-backed chairs arranged around the centre of the room. One on each side. They watched the spy approach. Then one suddenly rose to his feet, and Tyen guessed that he had been seen. The other three rose hurriedly and all pushed their chairs away with magic, sending them tumbling into the room’s corners.

  They didn’t flee. Tyen hesitated for a moment. If he arrived, they would attack. That he was sure of. They’d have gathered plenty of magic beforehand, ready for a fight. Was he willing to risk a confrontation? He might be wrong about Rielle not being able to read his mind. He might not be as strong as he suspected.

  Then I should grab their spy. They might not care about the man, but a bargaining piece of uncertain value is better than none.

  He pushed forward and, in a burst of speed, caught up with the spy. The man gaped in surprise as he jerked to a halt, then turned to stare at Tyen in horror. Tyen could feel the spy’s feeble attempts to break free, and guessed that the man was not a powerful sorcerer. Probably not ageless either, which meant he’d suffocate if Tyen held him here.

  But then so would Tyen. He had two choices: go back to Baluka or continue to the room.

  The decision was easy. Returning might lead the four sorcerers to Baluka, and he wouldn’t endanger his friend. Better to deal with these men in the world they had been waiting in.

  Tyen looked from one sorcerer to the other as he continued towards the world. He recognised none of them. As he arrived, he stilled the air around himself and the spy to create a shield—and another between the two of them in case his prisoner attacked. He breathed deeply and slowly, trying to hide the fact that he was breathless. No point letting his enemies know he wasn’t ageless. Maybe it’s time I learned how to be, he mused.

  His captive was gasping for breath, but that had as much to do with fear as lack of air. He began to attack the shield between him and Tyen. The man didn’t believe the sorcerers would hold back to save him.

  He was right. Tyen’s shield began to vibrate as they attacked. He retaliated by sending stilled and heated air towards them, hammering their own protective barriers. A glow to his left warned him that the sorcerer there was trying to heat the air nearby enough to weaken Tyen’s shield. He simply compensated by stilling that part of his shield so much it became colder.

  That was as subtle as the fight would get until one side or the other proved the weaker, or a human aspect changed the situation. The four men used no projectiles and he did not try to save magic by leaving gaps in his shield—strategies rare outside of weaker worlds like Tyen’s own. As time stretched, Tyen began to move the stilled air of his shield slowly inwards, letting go of a layer inside to provide fresh air to breathe while stiffening a new layer outside.

  At the same time Tyen looked from one sorcerer’s mind to the next, watching their thoughts. They were focused on striking and defending, frightened that if they lost concentration they would die. They would not reveal much of their intentions while so focused. So he pretended to fail a little, letting his shield waver under their assault. At once all four grew hopeful, and he could see what had driven them to risk luring him here.

  Either I die or I become ageless, one thought, repeating words he had said many times to the others.

  The four of us can do this! another thought. I knew together we’d be stronger than him. He’s not the Raen, just another relic of the past.

  It’ll soon be ours! the one directly before Tyen crowed silently, his lips spreading into a greedy smile. Agelessness! Healing! And who know what other secrets the book contains.

  Tyen’s stomach sank. They were after Vella, having heard the rumour—he had no idea where it had begun but suspected Baluka’s mind had been read—that the Spy carried a book that contained the secret of agelessness. She was the prize they would gain by killing him, though they also intended to collect the bounties placed on his head.

  Tyen considered what to do now. He could keep them engaged until they ran out of magic, or he could release the spy and leave. But he hadn’t learned yet how they had known about the code he and Baluka had used, or their meeting places, so he waited and watched, pretending to rally his strength then letting his shield waver again to give them time to think.

  They grew even more jubilant, but then suddenly all four minds blurred with fear. They exchanged looks, Tyen seeing images in his mind of figures in the shadows behind the four. Their attack ceased abruptly, and they vanished.

  Surprised, Tyen searched the shadows of the room. Sure enough, figures were appearing. Six, seven—eight of them. Tyen’s heart began pounding. He had held off the four, but could he fight eight, having used up a great deal of magic fighting already?

  Tyen reached for more magic from the extents of the world, but as the first of the sorcerers arrived, the man’s mind became readable, and Tyen relaxed. He was the leader of Baluka’s protectors.

  “Need some help?” the sorcerer asked.

  “Not now. You scared them off,” Tyen replied. “Is Baluka safe?”

  The leader nodded.

  The other were arriving, minds blossoming within Tyen’s senses. None recognised Tyen. Baluka only brought sorcerers who’d never seen Tyen to their meetings.

  “Did you learn the reason for the intrusion?” the sorcerer asked, looking at the spy.

  “Yes. They wanted to steal something they believe I possess. So …” Tyen looked at his captive. “How did they know we’d be here? How did they know our code?”

  “I don’t know!” the man exclaimed. “They hired me to check the room, to see if you’d arrived yet.”

  It was the truth. Tyen sighed and let the man go. At once, the spy faded from sight.

  Turning to his colleagues, the leader of the protectors swept his gaze over all of them. “Follow him. See if he leads you to the others.”

  The men and women exchanged glances, then vanished. The leader looked at Tyen. “A lesser man would have killed him.”

  Tyen nodded. “A smarter man, perhaps.”

  I’d wager he’s never killed anyone, the man thought, but instead of contempt he only felt envy as he pushed aside unpleasant memories and guilt.

  “Baluka is gone?” Tyen asked.

  The man nodded. “He gets twitchy when he’s away from the base too long, worried about what the
Restorers might be doing in his absence.”

  “Then I will go too. Thanks for your help.”

  The man nodded. Gathering magic, Tyen pushed out of the world and headed home.

  CHAPTER 6

  As Tyen smoothed down the shirt of his most formal set of clothing, the small rectangular shape of Vella pressed against his chest. He checked his reflection in the small mirror of his bedroom, drew a deep breath and picked up the list of terms the Claymars had given him.

  Then he gathered his wavering determination, inhaled again and pushed out of the world.

  I hope Rielle won’t take offence at the tone of these terms, Tyen thought. I don’t think she will, but then she has to give them to the Emperor. Poor Rielle. She’ll wish she had never suggested I negotiate on behalf of Doum, or agreed to do so for Murai.

  He almost began his usual skim around the city out of habit, but this time he didn’t need to hide his path. Moving through the ceiling and roof of his house, he rose high enough that all of the city was visible below him, then propelled himself to the west.

  Do you think there’s any chance the Emperor will agree to the Claymars’ terms, Vella?

  “Unless he is motivated by factors we do not know of, there is almost no chance of it.”

  As her voice spoke clearly in his mind, he felt his heart lift a little. It was always good to hear her speak. It was the closest she came to seeming physically human. If it weren’t for the fact he’d suffocate if he stayed between worlds, he’d slip into the place between whenever he wanted to talk to her.

  Do you think the Claymars don’t understand what is at stake? Can they not see they are risking an invasion of their world?

  “I cannot say for certain without reading all of their minds, but it would be strange if they did. You have not observed any reason they might avoid seeking information about their neighbouring worlds. There is no charismatic leader or restrictive religion with an agenda that works counter to self-preservation. They ought to know where they stand.”

  So why risk enraging the Emperor?

  “Most likely they have adopted a bargaining strategy. They expect to compromise, so they begin with terms most favourable to them.”

  An approach not unexpected from a society used to bartering a price for what they create. The Emperor should be used to dealing with Doumians too.

  “He may not be, if trade has always been handled by the merchants. He may be more used to being obeyed without question.”

  That doesn’t sound at all promising.

  Following the roads below him, Tyen traced a path to Fabre, a city a quarter of the way around Doum. Smaller than Alba, it nestled within an arc of tiered quarries cut into a low cliff wall. From these came the glistening clay that formed the whiteware Fabre was famous for. He did not descend into the metropolis, however, but instead headed for a building a little way past the top of the cliff. From above, it was an interlocking complex of rings, the internal spaces filled with greenery. White rendered walls gleamed in the morning sunlight.

  The largest of these rings was his destination. At the centre was a pond and in the middle of this rose a circular shelter reached by a small bridge: the Island of Tiles. Drawing close to the world, he began to make out the trickle of water from fountains set around the pond. As he arrived, the sound sharpened and his surroundings regained their full saturation of colour. The shimmering reflection of tiny tiles set into the bridge and its railing caught his eye. A multitude of them formed a mosaic of bright colours that depicted entwined flowering vines. He ran a hand over it. The white grout was rough compared to the smooth glaze.

  Will Rielle be impressed by this? he wondered. She has been among mosaic-makers so long the chances are she has seen the best the craft can produce

  “Tyen Wheelmaker,” a voice said.

  Tyen turned. A middle-aged man was approaching the bridge, wearing the simply cut clothes most potters preferred, but of finer cloth and with a symbol stitched onto the chest. The sort of uniform an official might wear.

  “I am Abler Tithen,” the man said. “I will convey the result of your meeting to the Claymars and see that you are provided with anything you require.”

  “I am honoured to meet you, Abler Tithen,” Tyen replied.

  The man’s lips pressed together into a near-smile, as if he found the formal reply amusing. “And I you,” he replied. “The Emperor of Murai’s representative will arrive shortly. You will speak to her here.” He indicated the island shelter behind Tyen. “There are refreshments waiting.”

  “Thank you,” Tyen replied. “Where will I find you when we are done?”

  “When you emerge, I will come out to meet you.”

  The man took a step back, then turned and walked away. Tyen crossed the bridge and entered the shelter. At once, the sound of the fountains changed, softened yet not amplified in the small space. Two plain reed chairs waited on either side of a round table of the same material, the top woven of finer strips to make the surface as smooth as possible. A pair of glasses stood beside a jug of water and bowls of fruit, little baked savouries and the small salted fish and pickled seaweed that Doumians served to guests.

  He put down the documents and sat. He waited, watching the bridge.

  After a while, he began to wonder if the Emperor had changed his mind. He considered emerging to ask Abler how long he should linger before concluding the meeting wasn’t happening. He decided to wait a little longer; then when he had made up his mind to leave, a faint shadow of a figure began to appear at the centre of the bridge.

  His heart leapt, then began to beat quickly. Though it was an indistinct shape, he was certain it was Rielle, but he could not say why. Sure enough, as the figure grew more distinct he was proven right. She was slowly turning in a circle, her gaze combing the shadows of the building and then the island. As she saw him, she smiled, and grew more opaque.

  He stood and walked out to greet her. She did not drag in a breath as she arrived, and this reminder of her agelessness sent a shiver down his spine.

  “Rielle Lazuli,” he said. “Welcome to Doum.”

  “Thank you,” she replied. “I am sorry to be late. The Emperor arranged something to delay me out of some silly idea about looking like he was in control if he dictated the time we met.”

  “More annoying for you than me, I’m guessing,” Tyen replied. “I’ve been sitting in comfort, not having to pander to a ruler’s whims. Come inside. There are refreshments waiting.”

  “The inside that is still outside,” she observed as she entered the shelter. “A concept common to Murai and Doum.”

  “Not common to any other place within Doum that I have seen. Perhaps it is inspired by Muraian architecture. Did you see the mosaics?”

  “Yes.” She nodded as she looked around. “Did the Claymars select it for that reason, so I might feel at home?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She shrugged. “If they did, then thank them.”

  “I will.”

  At his gesture towards a chair, she smiled and sat down. Her dress was as uncomplicated as the one she had worn when he’d visited her in the palace, this time a grey-blue, though she wore no jewellery but the lozenge-shaped pendant. She did not carry anything. Either she had memorised the Emperor’s terms, or they were so straightforward she did not need to. The latter was unlikely to be good news.

  “How is life in the palace?”

  Her mouth twitched with wry amusement. “Busy. The Emperor has commissioned enough mosaics to keep me busy for many cycles. Deliberately so, I suspect, to give me incentive to gain the result here that he wants.”

  “That is good for the mosaic-makers?”

  “Yes, as long as he gets his way. If he doesn’t …” Her lips pressed into an unhappy line. “I can only hope he will not punish them for my failure.”

  “You do not know whether he would?”

  The wry smile again. “He has made sure I cannot easily find his mind, by leaving Glaemar and t
aking with him the few people who know where he has gone.” She shrugged. “It’s not that he doesn’t trust me. He doesn’t trust anyone.”

  “So you are communicating via emissaries as well.” Tyen chuckled. “The Claymars don’t trust me either.”

  They were silent for a short time, unified in their exasperation and acceptance of the situation. Then her smile vanished and she straightened.

  “So, what do the Claymars want?”

  He lifted the small stack of paper outlining Doum’s terms, and began reading.

  “Well,” she said when he’d finished. “At least they thought about it. The Emperor simply told me to say, ‘Give the merchants what they want or I’ll come and take it.’”

  Tyen’s stomach sank—the same sensation he’d felt on receiving the Claymars’ demands. He looked at Rielle and found himself unable to speak. Her gaze moved over his face, searching, and he recalled how Baluka had once said that he wished he could keep his thoughts from showing as well as Tyen did.

  Tyen drew in a breath and let it out slowly. He recalled what Vella had said about bargaining. Was the Emperor asking for all that he wanted, knowing he’d have to compromise?

  “And yet, he sent you here anyway,” he pointed out.

  “Yes.” She spread her hands. “This may be the position from which he must be seen to begin.”

  “I interpreted the Claymars’ list of terms in a similar way.”

  “It may also be an ultimatum.”

  “Or a bluff, to see if the Claymars scare easily.”

  “It may be directed at you. Would you defend this world if the Emperor attacked?”

  “Yes.”

  “Even if the Claymars did not want you to? Even if they told you not to interfere?”

  He frowned. “It is unlikely they would refuse my help.”

  Her eyebrows rose, demanding an answer.

  “Then … I don’t know. I’d have to make sure it was truly what all the Claymars wanted. And if they did, then perhaps I’d stay and be ready to help if they changed their minds.”

  She nodded. “That they accepted your help as negotiator is a good sign, at least.”