by Angus Wells
He shrugged: his only reply. I sought to employ those maieutic techniques Bael was teaching us and said, “Aren’t those of your folk who so wish allowed to go there?”
Urt said, “Is their service done.”
I wondered if I heard resentment in his voice, but when I sought to see his face, it was turned away, intent on some invisible dust.
“You mean when they are too old to work?” I asked.
He nodded and said, “Or does the master grant permission.”
“Why should he do that?” I inquired. Urt shrugged again and said, “Sometimes … as a reward.”
“Is it a reward?” I asked. “To leave the civilized lands for such a wilderness?”
“Some deem it freedom,” he muttered, then busied himself, as if he regretted that admission.
“Would you go there?” I asked.
“I cannot,” he said.
“But when you’re older,” I said. “Then?”
He said nothing, setting aside his broom in favor of a cloth, which he commenced to apply industriously. Bael had taught us something of body language and its interpretation, and I read Urt’s clear: he was uncomfortable with my questions. Even so, I pressed on.
“On the galley that brought me here,” I said, “the captain told me when your folk are old, they may remain in Dharbek, dependent on the charity of their fellows; or they may cross the Slammerkin. Which would you choose?”
Urt’s answer came muffled from beneath my bed: “I’m not old yet.”
That was equivocation, and I asked, “But when you are?”
His head emerged, nose twitching, and he sneezed prodigiously. I thought it subterfuge and was about to continue my interrogation when a thought abruptly struck me and killed the question on my tongue. None spoke much of Ur-Dharbek, save in terms of the past, and whenever I had heard the wild Changed mentioned, the speaker had soon after fallen silent or changed the subject. Even my tutors, who surely must know as much as any, avoided the topic; or, when I had pressed them, claimed to know only that wild Changed dwelt there, and nothing more. It seemed some unspoken taboo existed. Urt was obviously loath to answer my queries. I felt convinced he knew more than he admitted; and feared that did I continue, I might lose the trust established between us. I opted for tactful withdrawal and said, “Forgive me. I’d not pry, save I’d learn all I may of the world.”
He looked at me then and I saw surprise on his face. I could not at first understand why—perhaps he had grown so accustomed to my interrogations he found it startling I should give up so easily. Then he smiled, and in his expression there was genuine fondness. I shrugged myself and said, “I apologize for pestering you.”
He stared straight at me. His eyes were very dark and set with pupils of a singular blue. They were difficult to read, but his smile was broad, a most human expression for all that it revealed sharp teeth.
I frowned, confused, and said, “What? What is it?”
He said, “No Trueman has ever apologized to me.”
That simple statement robbed me of words. It was such a little thing; and an enormity. It summed up the status of the Changed and the attitude of Truemen. I had apologized unthinking, in part for fear I gave offense, and also, I had to admit, for fear I should dam the flow of information I got from him. But even so—that none should deliver so simple a courtesy? All I could find to say was, “Never?”
Urt shook his head, still staring at me, still smiling. “Never,” he said. I could not then read his expressions well, but I felt that in his gaze, in those whiteless eyes; I saw gratitude, and something else I could not define. Speculation perhaps, or hope. I could not be sure, but I felt our relationship was changed in some subtle fashion. I grinned and shrugged, uncertain what to say and curiously embarrassed, and before we had chance to speak again, Cleton entered the room.
He came flinging in with his usual enthusiasm, greeting me with a smile, barely noticing Urt.
“So, are you ready? We’ve the rest of the day to ourselves. Come on!”
At that moment I had sooner remained with Urt, that we might continue our conversation, but when I glanced at the Changed, I saw that moment of intimacy was lost. He had returned to his cleaning: returned to his lowly status. Cleton ignored him, impatiently beckoning me. I said, “Urt,” and he looked up, his expression bland, and asked, “Master?” In Cleton’s presence he always used the honorific term. Only when we were alone did he show that truer side, and even then kept a part of himself hid. I smiled and said, “Nothing. We’ll speak again later.”
“Yes, master.”
He ducked his head, turning away. I checked my purse for coin as Cleton fidgeted by the door, and we left him.
That past year had been grim. The great bloodred vessels of the Sky Lords had fouled our air too often, Rumors had spread of a new, untimely Coming; the koryphon had recruited ever greater numbers to his warband; there had been talk of conscripting squadrons of Changed, even. Fifteen nights Cleton and I had climbed to the rooftops of the College to watch the terrible pyrotechnics of opposing sorceries light the sky. On several others Ardyon had confined us to our quarters under threat of a twelvemonth of punishment. Word had come of sightings and groundings throughout Dharbek. The Lord Protector Gahan had led his own war-band against twelve fylie of Kho’rabi knights whose airboats had come down close to Kherbryn. Throughout the year itinerant Storymen had brought the College tales of battle, of victories and defeats, and whilst none of the Kho’rabi had survived, still keeps and villages had suffered horribly.
Then, with winter’s advent, the Comings had ceased. It was as though the gray skies with their skirling snowfall denied the Sky Lords crossing of the Fend. We had heard from the Sentinels that no airboats were seen, and Dharbek breathed a little easier, tending her wounds. But seasons turn, and as the snow gave way to rain and the air warmed, folk began again to speak of attack. Trevid had been busy that winter, constructing great war-engines that now sat atop Durbrecht’s walls in augmentation of the mages’ sorcery. Cleton and I had—of course—inspected them, marveling at the cunning that allowed machinery to hurl great bolts skyward, like vast bows. It was said that Kherbryn, too, was defended by such engines, and that the Lord Protector promised to see every keep in the land equipped as well. But still, as the rain gave way to the blue skies of spring, it was feared the Sky Lords should return, and folk doubted even those impressive engines could stand against the magic of the Ahn. If the Sky Lords could defeat the sorcerers of the Sentinels, they said, how should mere man-made engines halt them? It was the chief topic of conversation in every tavern and aleshop, and as spring advanced it seemed that Durbrecht held its breath in horrid anticipation.
It was a palpable mood, but there was no Coming, neither against Durbrecht nor any other place, and as spring became summer, the city relaxed. The Church, which these past months had offered prayers that the God defend us, now held services of thanksgiving. This Sastaine was to be a great celebration, for Gahan and the Primate both had decreed the Sky Lords defeated. The Ahn, so the official word had it, had mustered all their forces to attempt invasion and had failed. Their threat was done, said Kherbryn and the Church, and for that give thanks to the God and the stout hearts of Dharbek.
We of the College doubted this was so. We studied history: we knew more of the Ahn than did our fellow Dhar, and we believed it unlikely the Sky Lords should forsake an ambition held so long, so avidly. We held our peace and spoke not at all of our beliefs save amongst ourselves. Better, Decius advised us, that the people have hope, that their confidence be allowed to grow. Should we find ourselves questioned, he told us, then we should speak of victories, of past glories, not of gloomy matters. I saw then, for the first time, that the task of we Mnemonikos was more than the recording and recounting of history; that it was as much our work to firm the people’s hearts, to instill in them a faith, a loyalty to Dharbek, that they be better able to withstand the depredations of the Sky Lords.
It was a perfe
ct summer’s day: the sky was blue and cloudless, the sun benign. The streets were bright with flowers, and pennants fluttered overhead. Bells carilloned from the towers of the churches, vying for attention with the musicians who strummed and blew and beat in the plazas. Stalls with vivid awnings sold trinkets and tidbits, favors of blossoms or ribbons in Durbrecht’s colors, skewers of grilled meat, sugary confections, votive offerings.
We fell into a portentous discussion of the various merits of our favorite taverns as we proceeded on our pleasure-bent way. We had done our best to sample them all, a program much aided by the coin Cleton had from his father. The small sum my own had given me, and the stipend we got from the College, did not stretch far in this metropolis, and I was somewhat dependent on my friend’s generosity when we went adrinking, or to the house of Allya. That had embarrassed me at first, and as I saw my hoarded wealth depleted, I had made excuses that Cleton cheerfully refused to countenance. He had persuaded me, or I had allowed him to, and so we drank and whored by courtesy of Madbry’s aeldor. Our faces were by now well known in numerous of Durbrecht’s alehouses.
No less by our favorite cyprians. I had at first balked at the notion of purchasing a woman’s favors, but I had met no one to satisfy the natural longings of a healthy young man, nor any desire to take that path some of our fellow students chose, and consequently spent long months frustrated. I had thought to meet some city girl, but when we were allowed to roam free, I had discovered few willing to engage themselves with a man destined to depart ere long. We Rememberers, I found, had a reputation for unfaithfulness—it was a hazard of our calling that we must go awandering as Storymen; it rendered us poor prospects for respectable young women, who turned cold faces to our blandishments and whose parents ofttimes threatened a hotter reception. So Cleton had told me of Allya’s house, recommended him by no less an authority than his father, and we had made ourselves known there. Thais was my chosen companion; Vaera, Cleton’s. They were both our senior by several years (which rendered them all the more attractive in our estimation, and we the more sophisticated) and skilled in their chosen calling.
So it was in a mood of cheerful optimism that we made our way into the city. We were not required to return to the College until dawn, a concession to the Sastaine festival and the apparent cessation of the Kho’rabi attacks, and we were determined to make the most of such freedom.
We had decided to investigate the fair set up in the central plaza. There was dancing, we understood, and gaming stalls, acrobats, and jugglers, even a dancing bear from the highlands of Kellambek. That, we felt, should carry us through to dusk, when we would eat and afterward visit our cyprian mistresses. It was a satisfying prospect, and after quenching our thirst we strolled link-armed to the plaza.
That errant gift of our talent that enabled us to drink close to excess without suffering the consequences afflicting ordinary folk served us well that day. We were neither of us drunkards (as some Rememberers become), but we soon enough found a beer stall where we drank some more. We were happy, somewhat heady, and bent on taking our fill of pleasure: we emptied our cups and joined the dancers. We tried our luck at toss-penny and won as much we lost. At skittles we each won tokens in Durbrecht’s colors that we pinned with mock solemnity to one another’s tunics, delivering proud accolades to our undoubted skill. We ate skewers of charcoal-roasted meat of indeterminate origin and washed it down with more ale. We listened to a balladeer, accompanied by a dwarf who played the kithara rather well, sing songs of love thwarted and requited.
Finally, as dusk turned into night, we wandered away, our bellies pleasantly awash with ale and now in need of more solid sustenance.
There was an eating house not far distant that was a favorite of we students. The fare was plain, but good, and not expensive: we went there.
The streets were still crowded when we emerged. I remember the moon stood huge overhead, like a great round of butter, and stars spangled the velvet blue of the sky. Moonlight and lanterns rendered the streets bright. They were loud with laughter and music It seemed all Durbrecht was abroad this night.
As we walked toward Allya’s, I espied a woman I took at first to be a cyprian, but then, as she came within the compass of a tavern’s light, I saw she wore the blue gown of the sorcerers. I halted in my tracks, staring, for I had never seen so beautiful a being. This, I know, was a personal reaction, some individual chemistry sparking within me so that my mouth gaped open and I clutched at Cleton’s sleeve, pointing dumbstruck. I was rooted where I stood. My friend did not see her through my eyes, for he only shrugged and said, “Not bad, but Thais awaits you, and you’ll have little luck with that one.”
Indeed, it did seem she hurried. Likely she took this road for a shortcut. I said, “Cleton, I am in love.”
I jested, then. I held no hope it should go further; none that I might effect a meeting. Thais did, indeed, await me.
But … as she passed into brighter light, I saw the long spillage of her hair burn like molten metal, red and gold, and that her face was a pale oval, her mouth wide, her lips full and very red, as if the blood ran hot there. I thought of cooling that heat with my kisses. I saw that her figure was slim, yet deliciously rounded, and that her eyes were huge and as green as the sea at that moment just before the sun climbs above the horizon. I saw that she was blind and used her talent for sight. I cursed myself for a clumsy, tongue-tied oaf as I struggled for some excuse to approach her, some words that should persuade her to linger awhile, to agree to an assignation.
All I found was, again, “I am in love.”
I did not then know I spoke the truth. I gaped; I stood as Cleton laughed and clapped my shoulder and said, “Come on. There’s surer target for your love not far.”
I grunted, or moaned, and allowed him to push me a faltering step onward, he still laughing, I still staring.
Then the God, or fate, or whatever powers command our destinies, took a hand. Three mariners—westcoasters by their look, come trading down the Treppanek, and rough as all their kind—emerged from a tavern ahead of my desire’s quarry. They were in their cups.
They spied her and called for her to join them. She answered mildly that she could not, for she went about the business of her College and must not delay. They took this for no answer at all and surrounded her, blocking her path, and their comments grew bawdy. They would not let her pass. She asked they leave her be, and they refused. I took a step toward them and looked to Cleton for support. He shrugged and said that she was a mage and so quite capable of defending herself, and that we were forbidden—on pain of Ardyon’s wrath—to brawl. I thought that likely she was under some similar stricture; certainly I believed that I sensed in her a reluctance to use her magic against men. I stood a moment longer. The westcoasters were plucking at her gown now. One touched her magnificent hair.
That was enough for me: I strode toward them.
The sailors were big men and wore long knives sheathed on their belts. Their eyes were reddened and their faces flushed with ale. Their breath smelled. I suppose mine did, but theirs was offensive. I suggested—politely—that they find some more amenable woman, indicating the green lanterns strung all along the street. They laughed and cursed and told me I should find my own doxy; that this beauty was theirs.
I ignored their taunts and offered her my arm. I said, “Shall I escort you to your College?”
She turned her face toward me and smiled, but before she had opportunity to speak, a sailor set a rough hand on my shoulder and said, “Go your way, boy. Find your own whore.”
He pushed me back. That was too much: I took hold of his wrist and spun around, driving an elbow into his ribs. It was as Keran had taught me—but those lessons were in the gymnasium, and our blows were halted short of harm there. I was angry now. No: I was incensed. I felt bone break and heard the man yelp. I turned more, twisting his arm so that he fell unbalanced, the limb I clutched dislocating at the shoulder. He screamed, and I experienced a savage satisfaction.
I let him go, seeing his swarthy face paled, his mouth hung open in surprise and discomfort. His companions drew their knives.
They were experienced: they crouched, the blades thrust forward, edges uppermost. One said, “You pay for that, boy.” The other, “I’ll have your heart for a purse.” They moved apart, intent on attacking me from both sides.
I heard Cleton say, “Best take your friend and go. Else we must hurt you.”
Both sailors laughed, an ugly sound. Cleton moved to my side, confronting one of them. His eyes were pale and cold, the blue of a winter moon. He was smiling.
The woman said, “For the God’s sake, stop!”
A sailor answered, “When this is done, I’ll stopper you, my lovely.”
He lunged at me as the sentence ended. I took a pace back, letting the blade slice air a finger’s width before my belly, and then a pace forward. I set a hand about his wrist and drove my other, flat-palmed, against his elbow. At the same time I kicked him hard in the knee. I felt his elbow tear as he fell. His scream was shrill; the knife dropped from his grasp. I kicked him again before he could rise, hard, just below the buckle of his wide belt. He made a choking sound and began to vomit.
I turned to see Cleton dispatch the other with a hand’s edge delivered sharp against the westcoaster’s neck. The man’s eyes bulged, his mouth springing wide. Then both eyes and mouth closed as his chin struck the cobbles. A thread of blood dribbled from between his lips.
The man I had first struck was staring at us. His right arm hung loose, his left was pressed against his broken rib. I asked, “You’d have more?” He shook his head, eyes wide.
Cleton said, “Keran would be proud of us.”
I thought he might; and that Ardyon would be only angry. I glanced about, but saw no one from the College, nor any watchmen. There were only drinkers and doormen, staring admiringly. Someone called, “Well done, lads.”
