War of Magic (Dual Magics Book 4)

by Meredith Mansfield

  When he’d revealed the Lie, Vatar had never expected it to remain a complete secret, but he hadn’t expected it to become common knowledge this quickly, either. Naïve. He might never have paid much attention to the way information flowed in Caere, but he knew well enough how it would work among the Dardani. Faced with a similar situation, his stepfather would tell the other chiefs—just as the Smiths’ Guild Master would tell the other guild masters—because he would consider it their right to know. One or more would tell their life mates (wives, here in Caere). At Zeda it would be the waterhole where women gathered to exchange gossip; here, it would be the marketplace. The story would lose—and gain—elements as it was retold, but it would spread from there.

  He’d set the wolves in the midst of the herd when he told his guild master about the Lie. He’d believed it was necessary. And he still did. But it had certainly not simplified the issues besetting the city that had become his second home. This was his fault. And he had to find some way to fix it before it led to disaster for all of them.

  He scowled at the tickle of Far Speech that interrupted his thoughts—not that his thoughts had been doing more than going in circles anyway. He almost didn’t respond. Wouldn’t have, likely, if it had been almost anyone else. “Father?”

  “I’ve been asked to extend an . . . invitation for you to appear before the High Council.”

  Vatar could hear the tension in his father’s mental voice. This was not an invitation that could safely be refused. And it probably wasn’t only about the news of the alliance between the Exiles and Gerusa, either. With a sigh, he answered, “When?”

  “Now.”

  Vatar shook his head, even though he knew Father couldn’t see it and it might make his guild master wonder about him. “Not possible. I’m on my way to meet with the Guild Council.”

  “This is important, Vatar.”

  “I got that. But so is the Guild Council.” Vatar drew in a deep breath before deciding to plunge on. “And, of the two councils, the Guild Council is the only one really trying to manage any of the problems in Caere right now.” Belatedly, he bit down lightly on his tongue, as if he’d actually spoken the words. That hadn’t been a very kind thing to say to his father, however frustrated Vatar might feel.

  Father sighed. “I know. But the High Council will not be as . . . civilized with their next summons if you refuse this one.”

  Vatar blew out a breath and then drew in another, slowly, trying for calm. “All right. I’ll let you know as soon as the Guild Council ends. That’s the best I can do.”

  “Did you really reveal the Lie to the guilds?” Father sounded frightened.

  The thought of facing the High Council’s wrath made Vatar’s stomach churn. But he’d accepted that when he’d made the decision. “Yes. But only to the guild masters. It was time they knew. It was impossible to move forward otherwise. You and Cestus have been trying for almost two years with no results. Something had to change.”

  “The High Council will not be pleased.”

  That was an understatement. “I never expected that they would.” He let out a sigh. “And if I’d known about this latest threat, I might not have done it—yet. In the end, honesty is the only way.”

  ~

  Vatar followed the guild masters through the corridors of the Merchants’ Guildhall to the meeting room. The Merchants’ Guild Master, it turned out, had already summoned the other guild masters to an emergency meeting, it being the Merchants’ turn to host the Guild Council. Vatar hadn’t been inside the Merchants’ Guildhall before, but he understood why the Guild Council rotated its meeting sites. It prevented any one guild from putting itself above the others.

  The Merchants’ meeting hall was almost indistinguishable from the one in the Smiths’ Guildhall—a large, windowless room lit by oil lamps. The table was a little more ornate and so were the chairs—all but the extra one that was hastily brought in for him, which didn’t match the others. It wasn’t usual for the guild masters to bring guests to their meetings, but this was a special case.

  “So, there are no Sea Gods,” the Fishermen’s Guild Master said before Vatar had even settled into his seat.

  Vatar huffed. With a real threat looming, he had to find a way to get the guild masters past that revelation. “I never said that. I don’t actually know the answer.” He paused. He could understand why a man whose livelihood depended on the sea would be the most upset by the Lie. Perhaps there was a little more he could tell them. “My people—the Dardani—believe in Spirits. I know they’re real. Not just as a matter of faith. I’ve had proof of the Spirits of the Lion and the Eagle more than once. And their help. I’m perfectly ready to believe that there are Spirits of the sea, too—what you might call Sea Gods. I only know that the Fasallon are not such Spirits—and never were. Maybe . . . maybe now that you’re freed to look for them elsewhere, the Sea Gods will reveal themselves to you the way our totem Spirits do to the Dardani. Maybe.”

  The Fishermen’s Guild Master sat back, looking thoughtful.

  “Why didn’t you tell us about this sooner?” The Weavers’ Guild Master asked.

  “I only learned about the Lie at about the same time I gave my honor pledge not to interfere with the High Council in return for their promise that my family would be safe from them. I couldn’t violate that oath. Not until after they’d failed to keep theirs, anyway. And then . . . well, at first I didn’t see what good it would do. Caere—and the other cities—were thriving under the Fasallon. At least, until recently. Now I see that the Fasallon are so wrapped up in the Lie—trapped by it—that they can’t see past it to deal with the city’s more immediate problems. The only way forward is to get beyond the Lie.”

  “I’d have liked to know about this before we paid our tributes at the Festival. Why didn’t you tell us then?” The Merchants’ Guild Master asked.

  Vatar turned to face him directly. “I wasn’t here before the Festival. I had joined Arcas’s survey party, looking for the best course for a road between here and Tysoe.” That was true enough. He had joined Arcas on his return from Tysoe several days before the Festival, though he wasn’t with him that day. There was no need to confuse matters by describing how he had been captured and held captive in Kausalya. Far less, how he’d used magic to escape his prison.

  “Well, it seems to me that Cestus or Veleus could have told us,” the Fishermen’s Guild Master grumbled. “They met with us about the last Festival and never said a word about this.”

  Vatar leaned forward. It was very important that these men understand this. “They couldn’t have. They—and their families—live within the Fasallon compound, bound by the Fasallon laws. Among the Fasallon, to reveal the Lie is . . . was . . . considered one of their greatest offenses. Either of them would have faced severe punishments if they’d said anything. Their families would have suffered for it, too. I gather the High Council was . . . irritated with Veleus for talking to you as it was.”

  The Smiths’ Guild Master laid a hand on Vatar’s shoulder. “Will you be in any danger for telling us?”

  Vatar drew in a breath and let it out. “Probably not. I don’t know yet. The fact is, I’ve been summoned before the High Council directly after this meeting.”

  “Well, they’ve no authority to punish one of my guild members,” The Smiths’ Guild Master said. “Do you need any help?”

  Vatar smiled. He’d defeated the High Council once before. He was almost certain he could do it again. Almost. But it was good to know he could call on help if he needed it. “I don’t think so. But if I do, I’ll have Thekila contact you.”

  “How will she know?” the Weavers’ Guild Master asked.

  “Whatever happens, I’ll be able to communicate with Thekila.” Vatar looked around the table. Maybe this was the opportunity he’d been looking for to get them to realize the benefits of continuing to cooperate with the Fasallon and the High Council. “The Fasallon succeeded in mimicking the Sea Gods for so long because they have
magic. And not just the kind the Healers use. They concealed the rest of their magic from you for fear you’d realize that they’d lied to you. One of the things they . . . we . . . can do—one that might be of interest to you going forward—is to talk to each other over distances. Freed from their self-imposed restrictions, that might be one of the ways the Fasallon could be of real use to you in the future.”

  “How great a distance?” the Merchants’ Guild Master asked.

  Vatar shrugged. “That varies. But there are those who can communicate all the way from here to Kausalya—or up the coast to Chrysaor or Tesserae.”

  “Now that would be worth the tribute we paid,” the Merchants’ Guild Master said.

  The Smiths’ Guild Master rapped his knuckles on the table twice. “All right. Let’s move on to this new business, shall we? If we’re going to have a war with Kausalya, we probably should prepare for it, don’t you think?”

  Chapter 5: High Council

  The sun was well past its zenith before Vatar finally left the Merchants’ Guildhall and started toward the Temple. The Guild Council meeting had run a long time, but at least they’d finally moved past complaining and started to think about ways the two groups of people who called Caere home could cooperate for their mutual benefit. And to counter the threat posed by the Exiles and Gerusa.

  Vatar doubted the next meeting would be as productive. He reached out with Far Speech. “Father, I’m on my way.”

  “Well, that took long enough.” Father sounded grumpy.

  Vatar mentally shrugged that off. “Yes. We finally started to accomplish something worthwhile.”

  “I’ll let the other Councilors know you’re coming.”

  Vatar thought back on the Guild Council meeting just concluded. “Let them know I’ll be bringing Teran and Terania with me”

  “Why?” Father asked.

  “Because they know the Exiles better than I do.” And, hopefully, Teran had found something helpful in the Archives. But Vatar didn’t pass that thought along to his father. Not yet.

  Vatar continued on reluctantly. He wouldn’t have been enthusiastic about going before the High Council again at the best of times—and these circumstances weren’t going to be anywhere near that good. He grimaced. As much as the meeting ahead, what he was really dreading was the short boat ride across the strait to Palace Island. All those waves. He shook his head. No help for it. There was no way he was going to persuade the High Council to come to him. Not even in the Temple, which would still be very much their turf. It just wasn’t the way they worked. And they didn’t care how much he disliked being on the water.

  Vatar passed through the buildings and strolled through the Temple gardens in no hurry to reach the boat dock. He still arrived at the pier sooner than he wanted to. Any time was too soon as far as he was concerned. Even in the bay, the water was rough today. He shuddered at the sight of the high waves breaking against the rocks near the shore and almost turned around. That was far too much like the wave of the flash flood that had killed his best friend almost eight years ago. There was a reason why those who made their living from the sea mostly stayed on shore during storm season.

  He’d used Far Speech to speak to Teran earlier, so Teran and Terania were waiting for him. Teran held several promising scrolls.

  “Information on catapults?” Vatar asked.

  Teran nodded. “Maybe you can take a look at it while we cross the strait.”

  Well, the trip wasn’t all that long—thank all the Spirits—but anything would be better than concentrating on being surrounded by that much water.

  Despite his misgivings, it wasn’t as hard to step down into the boat as he remembered from the previous three times he’d done it. Well, all right. The last time he’d been too angry and too afraid for his children to notice much else, but still . . .

  You don’t feel guilty for not saving Torkaz anymore. The comment was accompanied by the thin whistle that indicated it came from Taleus. You probably won’t ever like rivers, lakes, or the ocean, but it’s not the same as it was.

  Since that night along the Gna River when Vatar had finally understood that, even if he’d known how to use his magic, he still wouldn’t have been able to save his friend. Well, maybe Taleus was onto something.

  On the other hand, the drop as the boat crossed over the breakers and into the choppy water beyond made Vatar very glad that the strait between Palace Island and Caere was narrow. Apparently not being too terrified to care about anything else was a mixed blessing. He’d never noticed how queasy small boats made him before. And he was concentrating far too much on not losing his last meal to absorb much from the scroll Teran passed to him. He climbed out of the boat with as much relief as he ever had, turning back just long enough to give a coin to the rowers. Then spun to face the broad stone stairs that led up to the entrance to the Palace of the Fasallon. He squared his shoulders and started up, Teran and Terania following a step behind.

  The big double doors led to a long, windowless hallway. From experience, Vatar knew that the doors on the left opened on pleasant rooms with comfortable chairs and large windows looking back toward Caere. He inferred that the doors on the right led to less pleasant rooms. But his focus was on the desk at the far end and the man who sat there. “Hello, Dinus.”

  “Fair day, Vatar,” the older man said with the ghost of a smile. He gestured upward. “They’ve sent one of the Guards down five times now to ask if you’d arrived yet.”

  Vatar shrugged. “I saw no reason to hurry for this meeting. I don’t expect it to be pleasant.”

  “Trouble?”

  Vatar smiled. “Nothing I need help with, I don’t think.” Well, he hoped, anyway. “I think I remember the way.”

  Dinus nodded and pointed to the staircase behind him. “Just keep climbing until the stairs run out. You can’t miss it.”

  Vatar grinned. “That, I’m unlikely to forget.”

  As the three of them started for the staircase, Dinus held up a hand. “The Council have requested that the emissaries remain down here—I’ve got refreshments for them in the first room on the left. They’ll send down for them when they’re ready.”

  “Why?” Teran asked.

  Vatar gave him a wan smile. “They probably want to haul me over the coals first—in private—for revealing the Lie. It’ll be all right.”

  “And if it’s not all right?” Terania asked.

  “Then tell Thekila to let my guild master know.” Vatar continued on alone to the stairs. “I doubt they want to start trouble with the Smiths’ Guild right now.”

  The chamber where the High Council met was at the very top of the Palace of the Fasallon. The only room at that level, it had windows on all four sides, providing sweeping views of Caere, the fishing and merchant fleets, and the mouth of the bay. But for the fact that most of the High Councilors lived only a floor below, it would have been the least convenient place on the whole island. As it was, starting from ground level, Vatar had a lot of stairs to climb before he confronted—or was confronted by—the High Council.

  Vatar paused to catch his breath on the landing below the Council Chamber, just outside the smaller room where he and Theklan had waited for the Council’s verdict four years ago. This was likely to be very like that time— hostile and dangerous. The stairs weren’t enough to seriously wind him, but he wanted to be at his best when he walked into the chamber above. He needed to be ready for a fight.

  After a moment, he tugged his tunic straight and climbed the last flight of stairs, striding into the Council Chamber like he belonged there.

  “Finally!” the woman at the head of the table said.

  No chair had been provided for him at the near end of the table, but one seat remained vacant, last on the row on the side opposite the door. Vatar jerked his chin up, abruptly unwilling to continue playing this game by their rules. He glanced at that empty chair, which had a barely visible coating of dust on the seat, indicating that no one had sat there recent
ly, then up at his father. “Is that Calpe’s seat?”

  “Yes,” Father answered.

  Without a word, Vatar slid that chair around to the end of the table and sat down.

  Father’s eyes flew wider. “Are you claiming that seat, Vatar?”

  Vatar started to shake his head. He didn’t want a seat on the Council. But cold certainty descended on him like a splash of frigid water. This wasn’t about what he wanted. He let out a long sigh. “I think I’m going to have to.”

  “By what right do you take that seat?” Montibeus’s voice thundered in the small room.

  Father turned to his old friend and ally. “He is Calpe’s descendant.”

  “That’s impossible. Calpe never remarried after her first husband died. And they had no children. Calpe had no descendants,” Montibeus said.

  Vatar smiled slightly. “Calpe was pregnant when Taleus died. But she didn’t agree with Celeus’s plan to deceive the Caereans. Neither did Taleus. So Calpe hid her pregnancy and bore her twin sons on Dragon Skull Islet with only Tabeus, and the . . . ghost is not the right word . . . spirit of Taleus as witnesses. Then she hid the babies among the Caereans, shutting away their Talents. When they were old enough, Tabeus taught them to work iron and steel. They were the first smiths. I am descended from Calpe and Taleus on my Caerean mother’s side and from Tabeus on my father’s.”

  “And how do you claim to know this?” the woman at the head of the table demanded.

  Vatar let his smile grow just a little. “Taleus told me. Tabeus had somehow bound his twin to Dragon Skull Islet, even after his death.” Vatar nodded toward Montibeus. “When you sent me out to that rock as part of my manhood test, that original binding was loosening and Taleus became bound to me, instead.”

  Montibeus turned to Father. “How long have you known this?”

  Vatar answered, intending to keep some degree of control. “About two years. Taleus was somewhat . . . reluctant to identify himself until he was forced to it.”