Lords of the Sky

by Angus Wells

  We three young men stood together on the foredeck, watching Madbry dwindle behind us. Ahead lay Durbrecht and a future none of us anticipated, I the least of all.

  The journey was the pleasanter for the company of Cleton and Pyrdon, whose recovered health revealed him to be as I had guessed: a cheerful, good-natured fellow, if a trifle timid. He was clearly in some awe of the aeldor’s son, even though Cleton took pains to assure us we were all equal, and his easy manner contained no hint of pride or superiority. Still, both Pyrdon and Kerym tended to deference, whilst I took him at face value. I suspect that was because both our captain and the tanner’s son had dealings with the aristocracy, and some sense of rank, whereas I had no experience other than of Bardan and his kin, and they had shown me only kindness. So I accepted Cleton for what he declared himself to be: only another student.

  Nonetheless, I remained somewhat intrigued that he should forgo his life in Madbry’s keep for that of a humble catechumen. It seemed to me he gave up more than he would gain, and one fine evening as we watched dolphins sport about the bow, I asked him why.

  “What’s the third son of an aeldor to look forward to?” he asked in reply. Then answered himself: “My oldest brother will inherit the title, and Decan stands to make a better marriage than I. Did I stay, it should be as a hanger-on, reliant on Mordan’s charity. That, or find myself wedded off to some hold-daughter too homely to win herself a first or second son. I’d sooner stand on my own feet.”

  He paused, grinning, and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, looking melodramatically about. “And I’m none too good a soldier, Daviot, for I’ve little taste for taking orders and a thirst for knowledge. I’d learn all I can about this land of ours. And how better do that than as a Mnemonikos?”

  I considered a moment, then said, “I think we shall have to take orders in the College, Cleton.”

  “Then I think,” he said, his voice and handsome face so solemn, I at first took him seriously, “that I shall likely find myself in trouble.” I laughed with him as the gravity quit his features.

  Of the remainder of that voyage there’s little enough of import, save that as we closed on the eastern ingress of the Treppanek, airboats were sighted.

  It was late in the afternoon of the fifth day. Kerym had the sail up to catch the breeze and the oarsmen bent to their sweeps, driving the Seahorse swift over the darkening blue of the ocean—our captain looked to win his wager. Mare’s-tails streamered white overhead, and the coastline to port stood shadowy as the sun went westward. The moon was not yet up, but the sky to the east grew gentian. I lounged on the foredeck, rolling dice with Cleton and Pyrdon. We rose as a Changed—Bors, I saw as I sprang up—vented a bellow that suggested his taurine origins. I stared to where he pointed, hearing Kerym’s voluble cursing echo Bors’s shout. The wind that drove the clouds across the heavens also drove more solid objects that I recognized instantly as the Sky Lords’ great airborne vessels.

  There were three, coming swift toward us, a little to the north, on a course that would carry them above the line of the Treppanek. They hung lower in the sky than any I had seen before, so that the sigils decorating the vast tubes supporting the baskets were clear; or would have been, had they not seemed to burn and writhe like living things, as if the magic imbued in the arcane forms clawed at the air like the arms of swimmers. The sky about the cylinders was itself distorted by the sorcery of the Kho’rabi wizards, roiling and boiling, tinged with red, as if the Sky Lords trailed fire in their wake. As with that first I had seen, I thought I saw nebulous creatures, elemental beings, dancing about the bloodred craft, speeding their passage faster than any natural wind might drive them. The sun was to our west, but shadow raced ahead of the airboats to encompass our galley, bringing with it a dreadful chill, a numbing stillness to the air. I shivered, hating that malign aura. At my side I heard Pyrdon mouth a prayer that the God defend us, Cleton utter a string of oaths. I saw that in moments their path and ours must coincide. I clutched the hilt of my dagger, a useless gesture, but somehow comforting.

  The airboats closed on the coast. They came so low, I saw the pale blurs of faces looking down from the black baskets. I heard Cleton say, “They make for Durbrecht,” his voice leached of its usual humor. I felt as if some occult hand reached down into my belly, squeezing tight and horribly cold. I felt afraid and knew that it was more than any natural fear—that was to be expected, faced so close with the terrible Kho’rabi knights. This was far greater; it was as if the shadow that darkened the galley, the sea itself, robbed me of hope, as if the magic of the Sky Lords pierced my soul. I felt paralyzed, my feet rooted to the deck, my hand frozen about my dagger’s hilt. All I could do was watch, gape-mouthed and trembling. Had a Kho’rabi dropped down then, I think I should have stood still and silent as he slew me. I do not think I could have moved.

  In moments the three airboats were directly overhead. It was as if an icy winter’s night fell. I did move then, for my teeth began to chatter uncontrollably, clattering in my mouth like madly beaten tabors. I felt my body begin to shudder helplessly. It seemed my eyes were connected by some occult thread to the airboats and I could only follow their progress, robbed of volition. They filled all the sky, and I thought I heard spirits howling, imps and malicious sprites delivered from Ahn-feshang to torment Dharbek. My head craned around; my neck ached with the pressure, but I could not shift my body. I saw nothing but the Sky Lords’ vessels. Cleton, Pyrdon, the Seahorse disappeared into some insubstantial occult shadow land. All that existed were those three vast airboats and myself. I had never before felt so utterly helpless; nor so dreadfully afraid. It seemed they hung an eternity overhead, but it could only have been moments, for as swiftly as they had come, they were moving inland, following the wide Treppanek westward toward Durbrecht.

  For a while the sky behind them continued to roil, and there drifted down a faint, sulphurous smell. Then they were hidden beyond the line of the coast, and I found I could move again. I spat: it seemed a foul taste filled my mouth. I saw Pyrdon vomit. Cleton stood pale and silent, a hand running slowly over his yellow hair. We stared at one another. His face was set in lines of rigid horror; I suppose mine was the same. Then I realized something of which I had been aware throughout that horrid interlude, but on a subconscious level that only now impressed itself upon my conscious mind: The passage of the Seahorse had not slowed.

  I turned to observe the oarsmen. They manned their sweeps as before, their rhythm unbroken. It was as though the ghastly magic of the Sky Lords had no effect on them. I saw Bors standing by the mast. His wide face was turned westward, to where the airboats had gone, and it seemed to me he wore a smile. I shook my head, blinking, and when I looked at him again his features were returned to their customary blandness. I decided I was wrong: that what I had taken for a smile was the residue of fear.

  I turned back to Cleton and said, “They seem not at all afraid.”

  He did not understand me at first and I said, “The crew—they went on rowing. The Sky Lords’ magic seemed not to affect them.”

  “Perhaps it does not,” he said. His voice was hoarse. “Perhaps they’ve not the sensibility.” He forced a laugh. “I’d name them lucky.”

  I licked my lips and wiped hands I suddenly felt were slick with sweat against my tunic “Still,” I said, “it seems strange to me.”

  “They’re Changed,” he said. “You’re a Trueman.”

  “And yet, when I saw a boat before, when I was young”—I frowned, recalling that evening on the shore when I had stood with my father watching that first airboat pass over us—“then all the animals in Whitefish village fled. Even the gulls quit the sky.”

  “What do you say?” Cleton asked.

  “I’m not sure.” I felt the furrowing of my brow. “Only that it seems … odd.”

  “That the Changed do not feel what Truemen feel?” he asked, and chuckled. “Daviot, they’re lesser beings than you or I; not really that much more than the an
imals from which they come.”

  “But that’s my point,” I said. “That even the animals sense the danger. These seemed … unaware … or not at all afraid.”

  Cleton’s shoulders rose in a dismissive shrug. “Kerym’s trained them well,” he said. “No order was given to cease their rowing, so they continued at their duty.”

  “Perhaps.”

  He was an aeldor’s son—he had far more experience of the Changed than I: I allowed him the point, but I was not convinced. I did not understand why, but I felt sure there was more to it. I could not explain my conviction. Indeed, I could not truly name it conviction; rather, it was an amalgam of what I had observed, or thought I observed, and inchoate suspicion. I could put it in no better words, and for then I bowed to Cleton’s judgment. Besides, we had much else to concern us, as Pyrdon reminded us.

  His face was gone again pale, and he wiped at his mouth, his breath sour with his puking as he stared to the west and said in a soft, horrified voice, “There were three. In the God’s name, there were three! And they’re headed for Durbrecht.”

  “I think they’ll not damage the College.” Cleton made a joke of it for Pyrdon’s sake, I thought.

  “But it’s not the time.” Pyrdon was too shocked to allow the jest. “The last Coming was but—what?—thirty years ago. It’s not the time.”

  “It was a little over twenty-nine,” said Cleton, no longer laughing. “But still I think they’ll not harm Durbrecht.”

  Pyrdon tore his gaze from the sky and faced us. “How can you be so sure?” he demanded.

  His eyes asked Cleton for reassurance. I found his mood communicated to me and realized I hung on Cleton’s answer. He said confidently, “There’s powerful magic in Durbrecht. Remember the Sorcerous College is there, too.”

  “And the Sentinels there.” Pyrdon flung an arm to the east. “And they did not halt the Sky Lords.”

  “Aye, there’s that.” Cleton faltered a moment, less assured, then said, “But still, the greatest of our mages reside in the College of Durbrecht, and they’ll know by now the airboats approach. Likely the Sentinels were taken by surprise—Durbrecht shall not be.”

  Pyrdon mulled this over. I could see that he wanted to accept it. No less did I, and when he nodded I felt relieved, as if his agreement took some weight from me. Then Cleton murmured. “And we’ll find out soon enough. All well, another day should see us there,” and I realized he was far less convinced by his own arguments than he pretended.

  I could think of nothing to say.

  I was roused from a dream in which I stood immobile on a becalmed galley as the sky above me filled with the Sky Lords’ airboats and a crew of Changed applauded the arrows that rained about me. It was a moment or two before I shook off the sensation of impotent horror and recognized Pyrdon. He said, “Come; look,” and there was such awe in his voice, I sprang immediately to my feet and followed him to the port side of the Seahorse. Cleton was already there, staring intently into the gray-white mist that hung above the water. It was not yet dawn, and the world was lit with the opalescent glow that presages the arrival of the sun. The forward running light cast a red illumination that reminded me of the Kho’rabi balloons. Pyrdon pointed and said, “There.”

  I followed the direction of his outflung arm and gasped, for only a short distant off it seemed the skeleton of some vast primordial beast thrust from the channel.

  Massive ribs curved upward, thick and black against the glow of the false dawn. The mist was damp and deadened smell, but even so I caught the aftermath of burning, as though a tremendous fire had been not long ago doused. Amongst the ribs I saw dark, solid objects that I did not at first recognize as the bodies of dead men.

  Cleton said, “One airboat at least failed to reach Durbrecht.”

  His voice was hushed by the enormity of the monolithic wreckage, and I said nothing, only nodded, staring. I wondered how many Kho’rabi knights had that boat carried, most sunk under the weight of their armor, those I could see caught amongst the burning spars of their vessel.

  Pyrdon said, “The God be praised.”

  I watched the wreckage go by, calculating the length of the airboat against that of the Seahorse. The Sky Lords’ craft was four times, or more, our length.

  Cleton said, “I wonder how the others fared.”

  “Destroyed like this, the God willing,” said Pyrdon.

  I turned to observe the skeleton as it slipped away astern. It was soon lost in the mist, and then the zodiacal light faded and I fetched my cloak from the deck as the morning grew chill.

  We none of us felt able to sleep after that awesome sight and stood on the foredeck wrapped in our cloaks as the sky behind us brightened. The sun rose, and before long we came in sight of Durbrecht. I felt my jaw drop.

  The Treppanek curved slightly north here, a low headland sheltering a wide bay. Atop the higher ground stood a wall that ran inland to sweep westward in a vast semicircle before returning to the shore. It encompassed all the sprawling city, and at each end there stood a pharos, like an aeldor’s keep in miniature. Penned within these ramparts there stood such a multitude of buildings as dwarfed all the towns I had seen on our journey. Madbry, Ynisvar, and Cambar might all have been set down here and gone unnoticed, so large was this marvelous place. On the riverside there was a harbor, jetties extending out from the long line of the wharf, myriad craft rocking at anchor, the dockside abustle. Farther back, past the docks and warehouses, splendid structures glittered in the early morning sun. I saw wide avenues, the greenery of parks, and spread across the rising flank of the hinterland, three enormous complexes of buildings. One I felt sure must be the College of the Mnemonikos, the others that of the sorcerers and the palace of the city’s commander, the koryphon.

  I started as Cleton nudged me and said, “Close your mouth, Daviot. Or would you swallow it all?”

  I nodded and smiled, and went on staring. To my left I heard Pyrdon say softly, “In the God’s name, I have never seen its like.”

  “Save for Kherbryn, it has no like,” said Cleton, and grinned hugely. “I believe we shall enjoy ourselves here, my friends.”

  I nodded again, lost for words, watching rapt as Kerym brought the Seahorse into the wharf and the mooring lines were made fast.

  Cleton needed to nudge me again before I shifted from my observation, reminded that I had best secure my gear, which did not take long, so that by the time the gangplank was run out, we all three stood waiting, eager to go ashore.

  I halted on the wharf, unsure what we should do next, thinking I should say something to our captain. For all I did not like him, he had surely brought us here safe and swift, even were it less for our sake than the winning of his wager. He resolved that problem readily enough, for he came after us down the gangplank and said, “Well, you’re here and my duty done. I bid you farewell.”

  He ducked his head and turned to go, halted by Cleton, who demanded, “What do we do now, captain?”

  Kerym frowned with ill grace and said, “Someone from the College will be here soon enough. Wait for him.”

  He delayed no longer but waved and walked away, soon lost in the bustling throng. Cleton said, “Doubtless he’s anxious to collect his winnings. Well, no matter, save I’d not stand here like some lost sheep.”

  “What else should we do?” asked Pyrdon.

  Cleton’s eyes roved over the anchorage, settling on a tavern. “We could find ourselves breakfast,” he suggested.

  “Is that a good idea?” Pyrdon shifted nervously from foot to foot. “What if the College sends for us and we’re not here?”

  “I imagine we can find our own way to the College,” Cleton said. “Likely we’re early, and not yet expected.”

  Pyrdon frowned, clearly ill at ease. Cleton grinned at me and asked, “How say you, Daviot? Do we stand here like goggling bumpkins, or eat and quench our thirst?”

  I was tempted, though I was quite happy to study the activity around us, and thought Pyrdon co
rrect in his caution. I mused a moment, then said, “Perhaps it were wiser we remain, Cleton. Likely the College knows of our arrival.”

  “I shall stay here,” said Pyrdon firmly.

  “Then does someone come for us,” said Cleton, “you can tell them Daviot and I may be found in yon alehouse. Eh, Daviot?”

  He grinned a challenge. I looked a moment at the earnest Pyrdon, then at the smiling Cleton, torn between sensible caution and the promise of adventure. Cleton’s cheerful disregard of authority was infectious. I shrugged and said, “I am hungry.”

  “Then come on,” Cleton said, and waved an expansive arm, “and I shall buy you breakfast.”

  I hesitated only a moment longer, then shouldered my bag and went with Cleton to the tavern.

  The sign outside depicted a lusciously breasted woman clad in nothing more than her long golden hair, her lower body a sweeping fishtail. I gazed, wondering if such a creature might truly exist. There were letters inscribed across the bottom of the board that Cleton translated: “The Mermaid.”

  “Can you read?” I asked.

  He nodded and said, “A little,” but his attention was focused on the alehouse.

  It was early yet, but the place was busy, loud with voices and the clinking of tankards, redolent of ale and tobacco and cooking food. We found a space at the long serving counter and ordered beer, then Cleton asked what fare was on offer. I let him choose and found myself soon confronted with a platter of sausages still spitting fat and warm bread. I had never tasted a sausage before, and I ate with gusto, studying the other customers.

  They were an exotic bunch: as many Changed as Truemen, though the Changed occupied tables to one side of the smoky room, the central aisle apparently a tacit demarcation line. I saw sailors and longshoremen, soldiers wearing Durbrecht’s plaid, traders and merchants, women both serving and sitting with the men. I drank it all in as thirstily as I swallowed my ale, thinking all the time: I am in Durbrecht! The enormity of it widened my eyes, and I think I must then have looked a true bumpkin, goggling at the marvels of the city.