Successor's Promise

by Trudi Canavan

  Her thoughts returned immediately to Vella. What intrigued Rielle most was that Tyen touched the book at all. It—she—

  must contain all his secrets. He made himself vulnerable so that the woman inside could be aware. It was his treasure but also a great weakness.

  Would Vella lose the ability to absorb knowledge once she had a body? Would she remember everything she had stored, or would it all be lost? By restoring Vella’s body, Tyen might lose everything that made the book a treasure. Tyen must have considered the possibility, yet he still wanted to do it. Perhaps because he cared more for the woman trapped inside than for her value as a rarity and tool. Perhaps because he cared about right and wrong.

  Could I help him resurrect her?

  Rielle frowned. If it involved killing anyone—no. She wanted to believe that Tyen would never do that. After all, he had helped her save Qall because he disagreed with sacrificing a person to give another life.

  She looked down at the tile she was holding. Her thoughts had strayed again. She examined it, looking for flaws, then rejected it. Where it fell lay a similar tile. A better match. Placing the tile on the design, she moved it into position. The tile’s colours matched the design, and the shape complemented those next to it. She slipped it into place.

  She straightened and stretched her back as she considered the work that remained. Only a few more tiles were needed. The design portrayed fruits from neighbouring worlds that Muraians considered exotic. They spilled from a typical Doumian pottery bowl. The mosaic would be a corner piece, more elaborate than a simple border design but not as challenging as the picture both would frame.

  In the corner of her eye, she saw Bowlen glance towards her. He was thinking that she was working slowly today. Making herself concentrate only on the mosaic, she selected the last few tiles for the border square and set them in position. After a critical look at the whole, she plucked out a few tiles that weren’t working and found replacements. Only then, when she was satisfied that she could not improve it at all, did she set the tile trays aside.

  In her mind she compiled a list of what she required next. A square of cloth and glue to stick it to the top of the tiles first. That would allow the mosaic to be lifted in one piece and mortared into its final position. When the mortar was dry, the cloth would be removed and caulk worked into the cracks. Yet before any of that could happen, Bowlen must approve of her work. She looked up and located him, now at the far side of the work area.

  As she took a step towards him, a sound unlike anything she’d heard in this world brought everyone’s heads up. It was low, but rapidly escalated to a roar.

  Then everyone and everything, including Rielle, was knocked to the floor.

  Pain blossomed in her shoulder, but faded quickly as her body used magic to heal. Her first thought was to still the air above the artisans in case the roof was about to fall. That done, she scrambled to her feet, wiping dust from her eyes. The pillars holding up the palace roof were intact, to her relief. Tiles cascaded from her clothes and skin and hair. A clatter and tinkle surrounded her as others rose and dusted themselves off.

  A brief moment of stillness followed as the artisans took in the devastation that had replaced months of work. Only the sturdier tables remained standing, but what had been on them was scattered. The mysterious force had lifted the edges of the heavy paper Rielle had painted her design on and hurled it and the carefully arranged tiles away.

  Mutters and curses cut the air, most at the mess and the loss of hundreds of days of work, but also at a multitude of small injuries.

  Why didn’t I think to shield us? Rielle wondered. The expressions of the other sorcerers in the group reflected the same bitter regret. It happened too fast and we had no idea what the sound meant.

  Which had been … exactly what?

  Straightening, she turned to face the direction the force had come from and searched with her eyes and mind. First, she saw movement several hundred paces away. A crowd of people was forming. They were servants, confused and frightened. They had no idea what had happened either. As she sought minds further away, her ears picked up a new noise. It was distant and varied. Not the hum of voices. More like the roll of thunder.

  A breeze set her skin prickling. The palace was drafty, but this was odd. After a moment, she realised why: she had never felt any movement of air coming from the front of the vast building. Ventilation always came from the side. From the river.

  Her mind’s search stopped finding confused servants and started finding terrified ones. They all believed the palace was under attack.

  “From what?” she muttered as she stretched further, all the way to the formal entrance to the building where, at last, she found the mind of a guards who knew what was happening. His thoughts as he fled his post sent a shock through her.

  This battle is not for the likes of me to fight. Only the palace sorcerers can defend us. They had better hurry up or there’ll be no palace left to save! Through his eyes, she saw groups of plainly dressed men and women drawing closer to a gaping hole in the palace wall. Their uniform was familiar …

  “Doumians,” spoke a voice close to Rielle. Startled, she brought her attention back to her surroundings. The nearest group of artisans was looking at her, making no effort to conceal disapproval and suspicion. She claimed to have negotiated peace between the two worlds. Clearly, she had failed. Perhaps this had been her goal all along. She opened her mouth to protest, then closed it again as she saw that no words would ever entirely convince them the latter was not true.

  And they were right: she had failed. Doum was invading Murai. The Claymars had broken the agreement. She scowled. All while Tyen is worlds away. I doubt that’s a coincidence.

  She had promised to defend Doum if something happened while he was away. No, I promised to defend Doum if Murai invaded, not the other way around. Yet her determination to remain out of local strife wavered.

  “Rielle Lazuli,” a voice boomed.

  She turned. An official was approaching. As she saw his intention to deliver to her the Emperor’s summons, she straightened and forced her face into what she hoped was a dignified yet appropriately grim expression.

  “Yes?”

  “The Emperor demands your presence.”

  She allowed herself a small grimace. “Yes, I expect he does.”

  He turned on his heel and marched away, intending to force her to run to keep up. She resisted, keeping her strides long and purposeful to give herself time to consider what she would say to the Emperor. That depends on what is behind the Doumians’ attack. Is it retaliation for another Muraian attack? Or is Doum invading Murai? Either way, the Claymars must have found a way to overcome their smaller numbers and strength. Perhaps by making an alliance with another world.

  She sent her mind out, searching for the minds of Doumian sorcerers. When she found one, his thoughts were on the battle and she only managed to pick up a small amount of information. What she saw nearly made her stagger to a halt before the audience chamber.

  Invasion had been the Claymars’ intention all along. The four most powerful of them had begun preparations for war even before the Muraian merchants had attacked the market, knowing that when they refused to lower their prices the merchants would retaliate. Spies had told them that the Emperor had discussed expanding his empire into Doum. He just needed an excuse.

  Doum’s sorcerers were trained in a worldwide system that gave them basic magical education in all areas before they specialised in the fields their extended artisan families required. The Claymars kept in contact with those sorcerers in order to offer extended training in different areas, from healing to martial skills. In the wake of the attack on the market, most of Doum’s sorcerers had taken up the offer of free battle training so they’d be ready in case of another strike

  Tyen and Rielle’s attempt at negotiation had given them the time to do it. When the Claymars had called for sorcerers to support their “solution” to the threat from Murai, nea
rly all of the worlds’ sorcerers had volunteered, not realising that invasion was the Claymars’ intention.

  Either Tyen never looked for the Claymars, or he never found them. Rielle doubted he’d have left, if he’d known what they were planning. At least … I hope he didn’t know.

  Stepping into the audience room, Rielle approached the Emperor, stopping to bow when she reached the expected place and moment. All the while, her mind raced.

  The Claymars had never intended to honour any agreement. They could have kept us in negotiations for as long as they needed to prepare, though the longer they did, the greater chance Tyen or I would have stumbled on the truth. They agreed to our terms as soon as they were ready.

  As had the Emperor. His spies in Doum had observed sorcerers returning from battle training and warned that conquering the neighbouring world would not be as easy and quick as it had first appeared. Advisers had warned that Doum would have to be ruled from afar, forcing him to appoint someone to the task, who might then turn on him or his heirs later. It would involve endless meetings and planning—and sorcerers demanded ridiculous wages when they went to war. All to satisfy a pack of arrogant merchants wanting to squeeze a few more coins’ profit out of a trade that had already made them rich.

  Once he’d had time to consider it, the Emperor had proven too lazy and miserly to go to war. He hadn’t anticipated that Doum might invade Murai. That he had been duped so easily would have been satisfying, if she and Tyen hadn’t also been used and deceived, and the plot led to war and death.

  “Emperor Izetala-Moraza,” she said as she straightened.

  “Rielle Lazuli,” he said, baring his teeth. “Are you aware that the Doumian army is outside, destroying the city and attempting to enter my palace?”

  She nodded. “I have just learned of it.”

  “Were you aware that they were planning this for some time?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “I find that hard to believe. Did you not look into their minds once?”

  “As I told you previously, only Tyen and an official were present during negotiations. He did not know where the Claymars were, just as I did not know your location.”

  “Did you look?”

  “No. That would have violated their trust—”

  “What trust?” The Emperor thrust a hand towards her. “You couldn’t read his mind and you wouldn’t read theirs. What use were you to us?”

  Rielle drew a deep breath and let it out. “As much as any negotiator, though with the advantage that Tyen Wheelmaker could not read my mind either.”

  The Emperor’s shoulders dropped a fraction. He put a hand to his face, then quickly drew it away.

  “Then you must choose,” he said. “Help me defend my world or leave.”

  Rielle forced her eyes to meet his. “As I have said before, killing is not a service I offer.”

  “Then get out of my world and never return.”

  She bowed again. “If that is your wish. I assure you that my efforts at negotiating peace between your worlds were done with the best intentions, and I regret that I did not succeed. I believed the Claymars as willing to honour the agreement as you, Emperor.” He stared at her coldly, not in any mood to accept that she was not at fault: he had never been the type of ruler to forgive failure. She closed her mouth and turned to leave.

  Two sorcerers followed as she made her way back to the mosaic-makers, pleading with her to help them. She could not reply. Sympathy and regret froze her throat. I could try to help, but that would mean killing Doumians. It would lead to Murai seeking revenge on a weakened Doum—more deaths. If the Doumians overthrow the palace quickly, there may be less bloodshed. Or not—Valhan’s admission that he could not always predict the outcome of his interference in worlds echoed in her mind. She shook her head. I shouldn’t have meddled. I wouldn’t have, if not for Tyen …

  “We have no chance against this sorcerer, this Tyen Wheelmaker,” one of the sorcerers said.

  “No,” she agreed. She almost told them that Tyen wasn’t there. If they feared he was a part of the invasion, they might surrender sooner, saving more lives. “I do not believe he is supporting this aggression, but I cannot be sure. I will go to Doum and find out.” The two sorcerers exchanged a glance, then hurried away towards the increasing noise echoing from the front of the palace.

  What if he has returned? What if he is behind this?

  She had to find out. It would be dangerous for her to seek him out. His powers matched hers, so it might only take the help of a few more sorcerers to surpass her in strength. She doubted any of these Muraian sorcerers could be trusted to act as her protectors. But then, as Tarran had taught her, it wasn’t always the strongest sorcerer who won, but the first to take all the available magic. She didn’t have to approach Tyen either. She could read minds until she found a Doumian who knew where he stood in this conflict.

  And if he is involved? She shook her head. He can’t be. He wouldn’t.

  The truth was, she couldn’t be sure.

  The mosaic-makers had returned to their workshop area. They stood around the largest table, and as she approached they all turned to face her. Few of the faces were friendly. They blamed her, she saw, for ruining the profitable arrangement they had in Murai, and for endangering their lives by bringing strife here.

  “Bowlen,” she said, finding the master. “The Claymars planned this invasion all along—even before the merchants attacked the Grand Market in Doum. I can assist you to flee to safety, if you wish.”

  Bowlen shook his head. “We can take care of ourselves.” Though he approved of her offer, his resolve did not waver. His lips pressed into a firm line. “We no longer wish to use your designs.”

  She nodded once. “I understand. Good luck.”

  So that was that. What should she do now? She started towards her “rooms,” making a mental list of what to pack and what to abandon. At once she thought of Timane, the servant she had helped. While Rielle had taught her to use her magical ability, it was a small one and no defence against the average Doumian sorcerer. Looking towards fabric covering the entrance, she saw it twitch. She looked closer, and caught a rapid, repetitive thought.

  Take me with you. Take me with you. Take me with you.

  Rielle reached the hanging and pushed inside. “I must leave this world,” she told the girl as she strode through. “I may never return. But I will take you home first.”

  “No!” Timane shuddered. “They’ll just sell me into servitude again. Take me with you.”

  “Is there anywhere else I could take you?”

  “Nowhere. I have nowhere else to go.”

  It was not entirely true, but Rielle understood the girl’s reasoning. Anywhere Rielle took her that was safe would mean beginning afresh in a strange place, so what would it matter if that place was in Murai or another world?

  And who knew what taint the girl had now, having been the sole servant of the otherworld negotiator who’d failed to discover the Doumians’ plans for invasion?

  As Rielle grabbed a few personal items and her store of gemstones, Timane dragged a bulging pillow cover out from behind the column. “I found your jewellery and grabbed a change of clothes.”

  “Thank you.”

  The girl did not hand the makeshift bag over. She stared at Rielle expectantly. Rielle considered her. What if she changes her mind? I suppose I’ll have to bring her back. Well, I can do that, if I have to. It’s more than I was able to do for Sesse. If she had been able to go back to check whether her servant in the Raen’s new palace was alive and safe, she would have, but she couldn’t without risking her and Qall’s life. Maybe this time she could make sure someone who had served her ended up in a better, not worse, place.

  “Where’s yours?” Rielle asked, nodding at the pillow cover.

  “I don’t own anything valuable.”

  A boom came from the direction of the front of the palace, sending a vibration through the floor. Dust tric
kled down from where the columns met the roof. In the corner of her eye, Rielle saw the artisans vanish. In the distance, servants were running for the river—the closest exit from the palace.

  Timane remained standing, trembling with fear. Rielle held out a hand. The girl’s face lit up with surprise and delight. Taking it, she closed her eyes in anticipation.

  “Take a very deep breath,” Rielle instructed. “There is no air between worlds.”

  Timane’s chest expanded. Rielle drew enough magic to get her to Doum and back, and to defend them if attacked. It was tempting to draw all the magic from around the palace to slow down the invasion, but she resisted. The Emperor did not want her interference. She pushed out of the world.

  All the way to Doum, she considered how she would find Tyen. Guessing that the Doumian sorcerers had travelled to Murai from Alba, as it was the city closest in alignment to Glaemar, she sought their paths. Sure enough, many of them had cut through the place between. She followed one until Alba began to resolve out of the whiteness below her. The path angled away rather than descending to the city, so she left it and plunged down towards the metropolis.

  Choosing a shadowy, empty alleyway, she brought them into the world. Timane immediately exhaled then sucked in air. As the girl regained her breath, Rielle scanned the minds around her, looking for a name. It did not take long to find it.

  … Tyen Wheelmaker returns, he will be angry …

  … a shame. I liked him. But he isn’t in charge. The Claymars are. And if they think it’s safer for us to throw him out …

  … what they did to his house. No chance he’ll be setting up here again. Forrel even destroyed his wheel. A waste, that. The Claymars said nobody is to say a word against those who worked for him, so I reckon that goes for the wheels they worked on too. I’m not …

  The images she saw through the eyes of these minds were of a crumbling, smoking ruin. Tyen’s home and workshop. Rielle let out a little sigh of sympathy and relief. Tyen wasn’t behind the invasion. When he returned he was going to be in for a shock, however. All his possessions had been burned—if they hadn’t been looted first—by a people he loved and had tried to help. People who had used him badly.