Like all bound devices, its casing and hands were forged of gold. It resembled a gentleman’s chainwatch. It was round, and fit neatly in the palm of his hand. As soon as Tobias touched it, he sensed its power. It would work for any Walker, but this one was his, the first he’d ever called his own. Did he simply imagine that its power twined itself with his, or was that connection real, something other Walkers experienced upon being presented with their chronofors?
The lustrous face of the device was divided into three equal, graduated circles, each with a sweep hand, for bells, days, and turns. Each dial had a corresponding stem, which allowed the user to set the hands to the desired target time. A fourth stem, larger than the others, jutted from the top of the chronofor. This activated the device once the target time had been entered.
Wansi had promised Tobias that Haplar Jarrett, the sovereign’s Binder, would build him a fine chronofor, and Master Jarrett didn’t disappoint. The workmanship on this device was as fine as that on any of Wansi’s chronofors. The golden face had been buffed to a mirrored shine, and a stylized eagle, sigil of Hayncalde, had been carved into the gold on the reverse.
“Thank you, sovereign,” Tobias said in a whisper. “I’m–”
“You will set the chronofor for twelve days and two bells ago. I think that ought to do it.”
Tobias gawked. “You want me to Walk now?”
The sovereign shifted fractionally, enough to reveal a straight nose and rounded cheeks. “Is that a problem?”
“Well, I–”
“You were sent here to Walk at my bidding. I am asking you to Walk now. If you can’t do this, I may need to rethink my arrangement with your chancellor.”
“No, I can… I just wasn’t… I’ll do it right now, sovereign.”
“You’ll address me as my liege, or Lord Sovereign.”
“Yes, my liege.”
Twelve days! In all his training, he had never gone back more than a day or two. Every journey – to the past and back to the present – cost a Walker the amount of time he Traveled. And so the palace masters hadn’t taxed him too heavily in his training. The cost of too many practice Walks would have been considerable.
He knew his trade, though. He knew what to do, and how to do it. Still he was afraid. Twelve days. He stripped off his clothing – aside from the chronofor, he could take nothing back with him. Any other object, even something as small as a ring on his finger, would keep the chronofor from working.
Once he was naked, he picked up the device again. His hands still shook, and a trickle of sweat tickled his temple. He pulled out the middle stem and set it back twelve clicks. Using the left stem, he added two more bells. He took a deep breath, and pressed the top stem.
The instant he heard the stem catch he felt himself pulled backward and up, as if some great hook had pierced his heart from behind. The light changed, became inconstant, uncertain. Sounds pounded at him – a din of voices, a cacophony of music, an incomprehensible roar of ocean breakers, birdsong, clashing weapons, wheels on stone, and so many other noises he couldn’t separate amid the clamor. His skin prickled with sensations subtle and gross. A melange of smells assaulted his nostrils; he gagged on a hash of a thousand flavors. He hurtled through a riot of sensory experience, guided always by that invisible, uncompromising barb.
When he had Walked under Wansi’s supervision – in a distant corner of his mind it occurred to him that “Walked” was too benign a term for this abrupt, violent experience – the tumult lasted but a few heartbeats. This time, with his target a dozen days away, the time between dragged on much longer. In his fear and discomfort, he tried to draw breath – a novice’s mistake. Despite all he perceived, there was no air here. As the between stretched on, panic took him. He gulped for breath again. Nothing. He couldn’t even fill his lungs to scream.
As abruptly as it had begun, his journey back ended. He staggered, braced himself against the sovereign’s desk, breathed in blessed air. His pulse raced, and his vision swam, but otherwise he had come through the journey unscathed.
The sovereign sat at the desk, startled amusement on a face that was not nearly as fearsome as Tobias had anticipated. He was clean-shaven, with bright blue eyes and a dimpled chin. Tobias had thought the sovereign of one of Islevale’s great powers should be imposing or dashing or at least unusual in appearance. This sovereign was none of those. He might have been a peddler or a farmer or a common soldier.
“You’re the Walker, I presume.”
“Yes, my liege.”
“Your name?”
“Tobias Doljan, my liege.”
“Very well. There are clothes on that chair.” He indicated a chair against a near wall. “Dress yourself and we’ll speak.” The sovereign’s voice followed him to the piled clothes. “I’m afraid they might not be a good fit. I didn’t know what age Walker your chancellor would send, or even what gender.”
“I’m sure they’ll be fine, my liege.”
“Do you prefer to be called by your name or by your title?”
I have a title! “I’ll answer to whatever you decide is most appropriate, my liege.”
“Very well.”
The white silk shirt fit well enough, but the breeches, made of brown flax, were too short in the legs and too wide in the waist. Tobias managed to cinch the belt tight enough to keep them up. He hoped he wouldn’t have to wear them for long.
Once dressed, he crossed back to the desk and stood before the sovereign, his hands at his side. “I have a letter of introduction, but it’s back in the time from which I Walked.”
“And when was that?” the sovereign asked. “How long from now will you arrive?”
“Twelve days, my liege.”
A frown flickered in the plain features. “More time than I would have liked. I sent payment more than a full turn ago. My original thought was to have you Walk back to that day. I think I’m glad I didn’t. Your arrival in this time was… rough?”
Tobias hesitated.
“No harm can come of a frank answer. You’re here now; there’s nothing for it. I’m not going to toss you over for another Walker, like you’re a hat that doesn’t fit right.” His smile and boyish shrug put Tobias at ease. Perhaps there was more to being sovereign than looking the part.
“It was worse than I thought it would be,” Tobias said. “We train with journeys of a few bells, at the most a day or two, and the between is short, almost nothing. But this was… It took a long time.”
The sovereign didn’t answer right away, and when he did, it was with a question. “How old are you, Tobias?”
“I’ve just turned fifteen, my liege.”
Mearlan exhaled, stared off to the side. “I thought they would send someone older,” he whispered.
“I don’t know what the chancellor’s letter says, but I excelled in all my studies. I might be young for a court Walker, but I was no less advanced a student of history, theology, mathematics, the arts, philosophy, diplomacy, or the natural sciences than any of the other novitiates. And I was as good with a blade or a firearm as any of my cohort.”
“I have no doubt as to your competence, Walker. Still, I must ask: were there no disciplines that gave you trouble? None at all?”
Tobias blushed, thinking of what the chancellor had said during their final encounter. You’re brash. Royals don’t like that, especially in green travelers…
“I sometimes struggle with mathematics and the sciences.”
“My demon was philosophy.” The sovereign indicated a nearby chair. “Please sit. I found all the old philosophers to be an utter bore,” he went on, as Tobias lowered himself into the seat. “And I was more than convinced that they were full of ox dung.”
Tobias laughed.
“I didn’t mean to suggest that I was questioning your credentials. Chancellor Shaan wouldn’t have sent anyone he didn’t believe was up to the task. I merely…” He shook his head. “You’re young. There’s no other way to say it.”
“Yes,
my liege. And I intend to serve you and your house – if you’ll have me – for many years to come.”
“That’s well said, Walker. But I’m afraid we don’t have that kind of time.”
Chapter 9
4th Day of Kheraya’s Ascent, Year 647
A cold, unsettling frisson ran through Tobias’s body.
“I don’t understand,” he said. “We don’t have time for what?”
“That’s a difficult question to answer.” The sovereign raised a hand, forestalling Tobias’s reply. “I’ll do my best, but I have more questions first. The truth is, I’ve had Travelers in my court for some time. I have a Spanner and a Crosser. But you’re my first Walker; I want to be sure I grasp fully the implications of your power.”
Tobias acquiesced with a stiff nod.
“You said you traveled back in time twelve days to get here. Am I right in assuming this means you’re now twelve days older than you were when you arrived in Hayncalde?”
“Yes, my liege.”
“And when you return to your correct time, you’ll have aged yet another twelve days.” He offered this as a statement.
“That’s right.”
The sovereign blew out another breath. “As I suspected.”
“Why did you send me back here, my liege? Couldn’t we have had this conversation the day I arrived?”
“We could have. I was testing you. As I say, I’ve never had a Walker before, and I wanted to see how it works, what the… the journey does to you.”
“May I speak candidly, my liege?”
“Please.”
“That shouldn’t be your concern. I was sent here to serve Hayncalde as a Walker. I understand the nature of my power, and the costs of it. I was trained for this. For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to serve in a great court. Now I have that opportunity. You should simply use me, and my talent, as you see fit.”
The sovereign’s smile couldn’t mask the concern in his eyes. “Would that it were so easy.” He walked to the window at which he’d been standing when Tobias first saw him, twelve days hence. “You know that we’re at war.”
“Yes, my liege.”
“On two fronts, actually. With the Aiyanthans, we’re fighting the Oaqamarans in the Aiyanthan Sea. And we’re also fighting privateers in the waters around Westisle. Two wars at once. That’s my fault. It takes a certain amount of hubris to undertake such a thing, but arrogance was ever the sin of my forebears, and it seems I’m not immune.”
“How go the wars, my liege?”
The sovereign cast a long look his way. “That’s the question, isn’t it? No one would find fault with fighting two wars if we were winning them both.”
“I take it we’re not.”
Mearlan’s brow smoothed. “‘We.’ Already you consider yourself one of us?”
“I didn’t mean to presume–”
“You didn’t. I’m grateful to you. To answer your question, no, we’re not. The privateers… They’re canny and elusive, but we can afford to be patient. They’re a threat to commerce, but not to the stability of the isles. The Oaqamarans are the greater danger by far, and that war has not been going well. I’m waiting for a report from my admiral in the waters off Aiyanth, but I don’t expect good news.”
Tobias kept his silence, but he thought of his initial encounter with the sovereign: the man’s terse instructions, his refusal even to look Tobias’s way. Had he received bad news from the Aiyanthan Sea?
“I’m still confused, my liege. You wanted to test me. Why? What is it you want me to do?”
“I can’t answer that. Not yet, at least.”
“But you have an idea. Obviously testing me in this way wasn’t something you did without forethought. You were awaiting my arrival; you had clothes for me.” He paused, thinking the matter through. “You want me to go back farther, don’t you?”
“I honestly don’t know yet.”
The journey back to this time had been harrowing. Going back several turns or more would be even worse. Nevertheless, if that’s what the sovereign asked him to do, he’d do it.
“I will, if you require it. That’s why I’m here.”
“And I’m glad you are. Now, though, I think it’s probably best if you make your way back to the time in which you belong.”
Tobias faltered. He liked this version of the sovereign better than he did the glum man who greeted him the day he arrived in Hayncalde.
“Is something wrong?”
“No, my liege. I’ll… I’ll set the device and be on my way.”
He set the chronofor ahead twelve clicks and two, and pulled off the clothes he had been wearing. The sovereign continued to gaze out the window, granting Tobias a modicum of privacy.
He inhaled deeply, filling his lungs, and then depressed the top stem. The hook grabbed him again, this time pulling him forward into the maelstrom of light and color, noise and smell, flavor and feeling. He resisted the urge to draw breath, but in every other way this Walk proved as much a trial as the previous one.
He stumbled out of the between, once again catching himself on the desk, which shifted under his weight with a scrape of wood on marble.
“Welcome back,” the sovereign said, standing much as he had when Tobias first arrived.
He murmured a thank you and dressed with haste.
His letter of introduction still sat on the desk, unopened. Tobias wondered how much time had elapsed between his departure and this second arrival.
“Was the journey any easier this time?” The sovereign faced him at last. A mere twelve days had gone by, but clearly they hadn’t been kind to the man. Dark rings lurked under his eyes and his skin had a pasty quality.
“Not much, no,” Tobias said. “You’ve had bad news from the north?”
His smile was thin, mirthless. “You’re observant. I like that. Yes, the war goes poorly.”
“I passed your test. I can go back in time and return. That’s what you wanted to know, isn’t it?”
“It’s one of many things. Forgive me for the abruptness of your welcome. These are difficult days, and I sense my options dwindling. I have less time for social niceties than I’d like.”
“I think I understand.”
“You’re kind. We’ll have a chance to speak of this at greater length tomorrow. I… I haven’t made any final decisions. For today, as you say, you’ve passed this test. I have another one for you, of a different sort. I’d like you to dine with my family and me this evening. A few of my ministers will be there as well, and so will my Spanner. All of them are eager to meet you.”
“I’d be honored, my liege.”
“Good.” Mearlan scooped up a silver bell from his desk and gave it a single, hard shake. It chimed once, and while that ring still faded, the door to the chamber opened, revealing a young page. “Take Walker Doljan to his quarters. See to it that he’s comfortable and has everything he needs. If he requires anything you can’t provide, talk to the steward.”
The page bowed and with a quick look Tobias’s way, stepped back into the corridor.
“Until later, then,” the sovereign said.
“Yes, my liege.”
He left the chamber and followed the page, who led him down the same stairway he’d ascended earlier, and across the round courtyard to a second, deeper within the palace. This one was square and contained neither a fountain nor gardens, though with its white stone archways and carved masonry, it held a subtle beauty as well.
The page said nothing as they walked, and Tobias, preoccupied as he was with his encounter with the sovereign, made no effort to start a conversation. Just how far back did Mearlan want him to go? And to what end?
Sovereigns and monarchs were said to use their Walkers much as Captain Larr had proposed to use him: to correct past errors in judgment, to change poor decisions or take advantage of squandered opportunities. Through Tobias, Mearlan might send a message to himself a turn ago, or more. Although not much more. With a twist of grief in
his heart, Tobias remembered Vaisan Ojeyd telling him that any journey longer than three turns could be dangerous. Having endured the between of a twelve day Walk, he understood.
He knew as well that an ancient decree from Windhome barred royals from sending their Walkers back more than a year. Any sovereign who demanded such a journey of his or her Walker abrogated the contract binding Walker to court, and risked sanctions from Trevynisle. A century ago, an Oaqamaran autarch sent his Walker back nearly three years. The chancellor at that time learned of the transgression – in a message from the Walker – and proclaimed that Oaqamar would receive no Travelers of any sort for five years.
That same year, Oaqamar severed its ties to the palace in Windhome and built its own training facility for Travelers. The autarch also had the Walker executed for what he saw as the woman’s betrayal. The isle hadn’t summoned a Windhome Traveler since.
Mearlan could only send him back so far. Tobias should have taken comfort in this, but he didn’t. Something in the sovereign’s manner told him that Daerjen’s need was great and that whatever Mearlan required of him would tax him to the limits of his abilities and the bounds of what his contract allowed.
He followed the page into another tower, climbed to the second story and followed a corridor to a plain oaken door. The page unlatched the door, pushed it open, and stepped aside so that Tobias could enter.
Tobias faltered. He hadn’t paid attention as they walked. He wasn’t at all certain he could find the chamber on his own. That, he decided, was a problem for later. He stepped past the lad, and surveyed his new quarters.
Light from a single, glazed window illuminated a chamber both smaller and more sparsely furnished than those of the masters he had known back in Windhome. Yet, here was more private space than he’d ever called his own.
A simple pallet, with a pillow and woolen blanket, stretched nearly from the far corner to the front wall. A stand bearing a wash-basin stood near the head of the bed. A desk and plain wooden chair were set against the opposite wall, which was unadorned, and a wardrobe loomed beyond them, opposite the bed. Already clothes hung there – formal robes from the look of them. Several, all identical. He assumed they were of different sizes.
Time's Children Page 8
