Sharani series Box Set

by Kevin L. Nielsen

  “You’re likely right.” Talha sniffed and turned her head to look at Lhaurel. “Come now, Lhaurel. Let us be off. This journey is a short one.”

  Lhaurel gestured for Josi, who still stood close behind her, to follow and the three of them headed toward the back of the craft in the direction that Lord Creager had gone. Talha moved quickly, reaching the raised section and gesturing for one of the sailors to open a door there, which he did with quick, economical movements. Talha strode through into the short corridor beyond. Lhaurel nodded at him, but hurried after Talha, her priestess tagging along behind. Talha opened a door and walked in, leaving it open for Lhaurel and her priestess.

  “I hate politics,” Talha fumed as Lhaurel walked into the room. Talha kept talking, but Lhaurel missed the rest of the words as the sheer opulence of the room overwhelmed her.

  Shimmering cloth in seven distinct colors hung from the walls, swaying with the motion of the ship. Couches, chairs, and oddly rounded pillows in bright, puffy patterns lay in neat arrangement through the surprisingly large chamber. Bottles and bottles of wine and other drink lay in racks against one wall, nestled behind a sort of table with no legs. A tall man stood behind it, his lower half obscured by the table-like counter. He was an older man, with a squared face and somewhat exotic hair that seemed to stand up at the sides and sweep backward toward his neck.

  “Lhaurel!” Talha snapped, the edge in her voice making it quite clear how she felt about being ignored. “I asked you a question.”

  Lhaurel forced herself not to flush. She needed to stop doing that. She was one of the Seven Sisters now, given respect by all and feared even more.

  “What was the question?”

  “Would you like a drink?” Talha snapped, throwing a hand toward the man at the counter, who looked at her and bowed slightly.

  “Just water, I think.” Lhaurel said.

  “Lance,” Talha said. “Water for her and a tall glass of a dark wine will do for me.”

  “Yes, Great One,” the man, Lance, replied with another bow. His voice was oddly lilting, almost as if he were about to burst into song. He wore a strange outfit, a red leather overcoat with several leather cords strung from one shoulder to the other that were quite clearly not necessary to hold the outfit closed. A strange ruffled shirt was underneath, the wavy-patterned collar poking out from beneath the overcoat. “Is there a particular year or vintage you’d prefer?”

  Talha flopped down into one of the slope-backed chairs and fished in a pouch at her waist, pulling out a small, leather-bound book and a pencil. “The usual, Lance. It doesn’t ever change.”

  The man nodded and began pulling out glasses, polishing them with a stark, white cloth, and looking through the racks of bottles.

  “Sit, Lhaurel,” Talha said, gesturing with her pencil to anther of the squashy, slope-backed chairs, then looked over at Lhaurel’s priestess, who still stood behind her. “You go over there.” Talha gestured toward one corner of the room that was partitioned off with some cloth hung from the ceiling. “Do not speak.”

  Lhaurel rankled at the way Talha addressed her priestess, but let it go as she took a seat on the edge of her chair. It was softer than she expected and she almost fell backward at the lack of expected resistance, but her staff saved her once again. It was proving rather handy. Talha had placed hers in an ornately carved stone barrel-thing near the door. Josi bowed and strode to the other side of the room.

  “I hate politics,” Talha complained, the end of her pencil tapping against her bottom lip.

  “So you’ve said.”

  Talha waved the hand holding the pencil. “That was not a statement. It was an introduction.”

  Lhaurel rolled her eyes. Another lesson.

  “Lhaurel, this is important.” Talha leaned forward, her tone as earnest as Lhaurel had ever heard before. “You think we’re infallible as Sisters, that we’re this great, untouchable thing. That’s the image we portray to the world. We have great, deific power, but we’re only seven women. We’re mortal. We can be killed. And we’re limited.”

  Lhaurel leaned back from the intensity of Talha’s words, feeling fear grip her chest. Her mind called up the memories of the dream where Beryl had killed the other Sister back in Elyana’s day. She felt suddenly vulnerable and she wanted nothing more than to draw on her abilities. The absence of her magic was another stark reminder of her utter weakness in this foreign land.

  “Politics is a strange beast of perception and presence instead of knowledge or understanding. It goes against everything I understand. There is nothing concrete or factual about it. It’s like trying to define what salt tastes like. Some things, by their very nature, are so unique they become the definition of itself. Politics is one of those things.”

  Lhaurel tried not to let her focus wander.

  “Dack Creager is a master of politics. House Creager wasn’t even considered one of the Great Houses when he became head of the family. Now he is the head of the Council of Houses and is as slippery as an eel.”

  Lhaurel recognized the word from Elyana’s memories. The council of Great House representatives, the political government’s balance to the religious might of the Seven Sisters. A direct influencer of the economy and trade within the Empire.

  “His beard is a little odd for one so powerful,” Lhaurel observed, coming to the slow understanding that she most likely had not presented herself well in their first meeting.

  Talha stared at Lhaurel as if she’d just grown a third eye.

  “The man is power, Lhaurel. He follows the path of Power, though oft times he leans heavily toward Conquest. Those two are difficult to separate. The point is, he does what he wills. He defines the fashions of Estrelar and Anichka. You’ll see dozens emulating him, just as you saw that woman back in Geithoorn.” Talha blew out a long, clearly exasperated breath.

  Lance approached and handed Talha a glass of dark, amber colored wine. She took it without looking at him. Lhaurel took her glass of water when Lance approached, but didn’t drink it. Lance retreated back toward his counter. Talha swished the wine around in her glass for a long moment before taking a sip, placing her notebook and pencil down next to her. She half smiled in satisfaction and looked down at the glass in her hand, then took several large swallows.

  “You must always be cognizant of the fact that politics is at work. It breathes with the life force of the Empire—it flows through all action, especially here. Don’t ever believe anyone who offers to help you for nothing or who seems to ask too many or not enough questions. The wrong words at the wrong time or to the wrong people can get you killed.”

  “Killed?” Lhaurel asked, looking up sharply. “We’re Sisters. Can we be killed? I mean really killed?”

  Talha snorted and took another drink. The glass was almost empty.

  “Of course we can. We’re not infallible. One of the benefits of being in the Path and having achieved our Iteration is that the death of one life, one body, isn’t the end. We return. But there are . . . gaps, when that happens. We try and minimize them, but they happen. Memories get jumbled, prior lives are sometimes lost, and things of that nature. So yes, we can be killed, but it doesn’t really stop the Path.” Talha took another long drink. “I’ve missed this wine. Lance, another glass.”

  Lance hurried over and poured more wine into Talha’s glass from an old, yellow glass bottle. There was dust on the outside of the bottle.

  “Politics is a game that everyone you meet in the Empire is playing. You are playing it too, even if you don’t realize it. I will teach you what I know of it, but you must be wary. What you say will be remembered. What you do will be spoken of to others. What you are, that you must keep to yourself.” Talha gave Lhaurel a significant look, then took another drink. “Politics. Oh, how I loathe politics.”

  Lhaurel’s head spun with the implications. She’d already thought being a Sister was complicated. This sense of political wrangling and strife was even more so. How did anyone juggle it all?r />
  Talha got to her feet after placing the empty wine glass on the ground next to her chair. Lhaurel looked over at her as she walked over to her staff by the door and pulled it free of the container it was in.

  “I am not feeling well, at the moment,” Talha said, swaying slightly. “I shall retire to another room to rest for the few hours it will take us to reach Estrelar. You—well, you should stay here, I think.”

  With that, Talha left.

  Chapter 23: Crude Magic

  “To an extent, the Progressions themselves are also real, but who dictates the walkers thereon? Not who currently does, but who has that right?”

  —From the Discourses on Knowledge, Volume 19, Year 1259

  A few days after seeing the Orinai army and making plans with the Rahuli leaders and Tadeo, Gavin walked down along the lower half of the valley, finally able to find the time to go and speak with Samsin. He tugged at the collar of his uniform, not yet used to the new, stiff fabric. Still, despite the discomfort, he was quite proud of the Rahuli women for getting all forty-eight made in such a short time. The uniforms were a deep, rich green, stiff at the collar and shoulders, but form fitting and snug through the chest, fastening with a double row of brass buttons down the chest. Though they were a bit of an annoyance to fasten, they kept the fabric formfitting even while sitting.

  The shirt was long enough that the belts each man wore were fastened over them. Each man was also given white trousers made of a thick, tough material, matching boots, and a matching cloak.

  Farah had gotten one of the smiths to fashion some small metal pins to go on his collar in the shape of a raindrop turned on its fat end, with several lines behind it. She had said it was a representation of the three mystic powers and would help him, Cobb, Evrouin, and her stand out as the leaders of the group when Brisson’s people saw them. Gavin wore one on each side of his collar. Cobb, Evrouin, and Farah only wore one on the left side. All in all, even without the leather armor, the uniforms were better than Gavin could have hoped for and he’d already noticed a difference in how the former slaves in the valley treated him and the other Rahuli. A change that would, hopefully, begin to work in their favor.

  Gavin stopped fidgeting with his collar and dropped his hand instead to the hilt of his greatsword. He had a long knife on his other side to balance out its weight, but the greatsword was a constant companion now. He’d noticed how the others in the valley watched it. When Gavin asked, Benji had been quick to tell him that the weapon was something of legend as well, but not in the same way as Gavin understood it. Greatswords weren’t able to be manipulated by magic, not even by the Great Ones. They were weapons designed to kill magic users, to kill Great Ones, those who were, like Samsin, the next level of power up on the Schema and a higher Iteration, to use the correct term. So, even though Gavin no longer really cared for the weapon, it remained at his side whenever he was around anyone who could see.

  Benji had taken to living with Gavin and the others quite well. In fact, Shallee had immediately taken the boy under her wing, cleaning him up and making sure he had clothes and shoes and whatever else he needed. At first, Benji had seemed uncomfortable with all the attention, but he’d soon adjusted to it and now spent almost as much time with her as he did with Gavin. Shallee didn’t seem to mind.

  Gavin turned away from the path after a while and headed toward the circle of boulders nestled against the cliff wall that hid Tadeo’s little group of huts. It was far enough away from the main path that it wasn’t likely to ever be discovered even though Gavin often wondered how Tadeo had managed to keep Samsin hidden for so long. When Gavin had asked during one of the—now infrequent—moments that he and Tadeo had a moment free from listening ears, Tadeo had refused to answer. Gavin had let the matter drop. It didn’t really matter that much anyway.

  Samsin was waiting for him, leaned up against the side of a boulder like he’d been three days before. He looked stronger than he had, though he was still bruised, broken, and bandaged almost from head to foot. When he saw Gavin coming, Samsin managed a smile and gave a half-hearted wave.

  “I wondered when I would be seeing you again,” Samsin said, nodding toward a stump where Gavin could sit and talk to him. “Tadeo said you’d gained a little time and have a plan to distract the army.”

  Gavin nodded.

  “That’s good. The snows will come by then, I have no doubt.”

  “I wish I could be that certain,” Gavin said, unable to keep the frustration out of his voice.

  Samsin sat up straighter, adjusting the cloak he was using as a blanket over his bottom half. “Part of my powers as a Storm Ward allows me to feel the weather,” he said. “The threads of winter are there in the sky. I can feel them, even if I don’t have the strength yet to manipulate them. It’s harder now, with what I had to do in the Arena, weather is all linked together, you see. The Sisters will have a hard time in the coming years, organizing Storm Wards to fix the chaos it will cause.”

  Gavin studied the man, looking for signs that what he was saying was true.

  “How can you feel it?” Gavin asked. “I can’t even get enough energy pulled together to light off more than a few sparks. From what I know, your abilities as a Storm Ward are just more powerful versions of my own.”

  “That’s an extremely crude way of putting it. Were I the man I used to be, I’d likely take offense. As it is, I’m only mildly annoyed.”

  Gavin met Samsin’s gaze. So the condescending, arrogant Samsin who Gavin had gotten to know was still there somewhere.

  “Still, it all starts with the same basic principles,” Samsin said after a long, awkward pause. He shifted his back and adjusted his shoulders, apparently trying to find a comfortable position against the boulder. “You found the man you were looking for then? The other mystic?”

  Gavin nodded. Tadeo had found Darryn early yesterday morning about ten miles south of the valley, once again trying to leave. This time he’d tried using his powers to get away and Tadeo had been forced to put an arrow in him. Apparently Tadeo, as a former member of an Honor Squad, used glass tipped arrows instead of metal ones. Tadeo had had one of Evrouin’s men bring him back to be healed, but it had been hard to explain to Maryn and the other women there.

  “What principles?”

  Samsin made a wheezing noise that Gavin only identified as laughter by the fact that Samsin’s eyes glinted with mirth rather than tears.

  “Not easily dissuaded, are you? Very well. I will retract my earlier proclamation that I would not betray my people and let you know the secrets of the Great Ones. I will teach you what I can, but first you must do something for me.”

  Gavin sighed. “What this time?”

  Samsin raised an eyebrow, making the bruises on his face shift and seem to undulate. “This time? No, I’m going back to the original time. I said I had information from Nikanor on where other Orinai detractors could be found, ones who could be persuaded to move against the elements in Estrelar.”

  “And what good will that do us?”

  “Use your head, boy,” Samsin snapped. “Don’t be a fool. You’re not an idiot; I know that for a fact. Don’t act like one.”

  Gavin felt his temper flare, but bit back a retort. Though barbed, Gavin recognized the tempering the statement had gone through from the way Samsin would have said if before. He truly wanted Gavin to think.

  “I don’t know what Estrelar is,” Gavin said slowly, thinking it over while still attempting to still his anger and annoyance. “But additional allies would mean more people. They can’t get to us because there’s an army out there and we’ll soon be cut off from them by the winter snows.”

  “And what do you think that army is going to do while you’re all holed up here? Sit quietly and play pairs?”

  Gavin frowned at the unfamiliar expression, but shook his head. “Of course not. They won’t leave either, despite what Brisson says. No, while we’re here they’ll . . . they’ll . . .” Gavin trailed off as realizatio
n hit him and it all made a sudden sense. “They’ll be sending for more men to augment their armies. They’ll know we’re here and they’ll also know there’s no place we can go. By the time the snows melt and we’re ready to face them they’ll have twice as many soldiers.”

  “Or more.”

  “So . . . so we send out messengers to these other people Nikanor knew. Maybe they could stop the reinforcements or at least delay them a while.”

  “Precisely.”

  Gavin dropped his head down into his hands, running his fingers through his hair on both sides. He and Evrouin had already been out on several patrols in the last two days, though they’d been mostly gathering information on terrain and the area around them rather than any sort of offensive or military maneuvers. The best they could hope for was to circle around to the other side of the army and attack them from there, hoping to draw them away. Without additional men, from Brisson’s people or from outside, they couldn’t do any more than that. Even if every able man inside the valley were trained and armed, it wouldn’t be enough to defeat the hardened Orinai troops which far outnumbered them. Problems on top of problems on top of problems.

  “Alright. That means we don’t have much time to try and get information out then, do we?” Gavin said, looking up, but keeping his elbows on his knees. “The same snows that trap us in here will also keep any messengers from getting out. How long do you think we have before they arrive, then?”

  “Four or five days, if the patterns I feel hold true. The weather is a fickle mistress, as changeable as the sea.”

  “That doesn’t help.”

  Samsin shrugged and then grimaced at the pain.

  “I need to speak with Evrouin and the others again, then,” Gavin said, getting to his feet. “I will be back to discuss the magic and Estrelar. Do you think you can tell me where these others are, without a map?”

  Samsin nodded. Gavin turned to leave, then stopped and looked back at Samsin. “Thank you,” Gavin said.