by Angus Wells
Finally he must admit himself beaten and settle on the bench, his dark face flushed with anger.
He asked Rwyan, “Shall that thing harm you?”
Sunlight filtered through the bars, and the rays sparked brilliance from the little stone on her throat. Save for its malign power, it was a pretty bauble. I stared at it, hating it and the Changed who had put it there. She said, “It robs me of my talent. I cannot see or work magic.” Her voice faltered, and her hands clenched tighter on mine. “But save I wear it overlong, it shall do no lasting harm.”
Fear curdled anew in my belly. I asked, “How long?”
She said, “Is it like those we use, then some years.”
That was a small measure of relief. I said, “I think we’ll reach our destination ere then.”
“Our destination?” Her head cocked, her face turned awkwardly toward me. She seemed utterly vulnerable. I stared at her sightless eyes and fought back tears; I regretted those harsh words spoken earlier. “What’s our destination?”
I said, “Ur-Dharbek, save I miss my guess.”
“Ur-Dharbek?” She moved her head as if seeking some glimpse of me. “How can you know that?”
I said, “I don’t know it, not for sure; but …”
My words came in a flood, as if a dam were breached—all those secrets, the suspicions I’d held to myself, I now revealed. A part of me was afraid such honesty should earn Rwyan’s displeasure, that she might judge me and find me lacking; another part knew only relief that I should have no more secrets from her.
I told her all I’d learned during the months of my wandering, everything I’d seen. I held back nothing, and as I spoke, it was as though the sundry disparate pieces of the puzzle I’d sensed fell clearer into place. I told of seeing Changed and Sky Lords in congress; that the Changed communicated; of the bracelet Lan had given me, and what he’d said. I spoke of what Rekyn had told me, of the Border Cities and the Dhar’s lost ability to create more Changed.
“I think,” I said, “that Rekyn spoke the truth better than she knew—that the wild Changed do more than just survive in Ur-Dharbek. I suspect they’ve a society there, and that they’ve found crystals; the use of magic. I think we’re taken there, though why I cannot say.”
Rwyan said, “By the God,” in a hushed voice, her own fears forgotten in light of the picture I painted. Then: “Daviot, why did you not speak of this before?”
“I’d not much to say,” I returned her. “That I suspected?”
“You saw Changed and Sky Lords come together!”
Her voice accused me. I said, “Aye, the once, in a lonely place. Had I spoken out then, what should the outcome have been? A pogrom? Good honest folk like Pele and Maerke made suffer? Innocent Changed punished for crimes not theirs?”
I think that had we not found ourselves in such circumstances, Rwyan would likely have reported all this to Ynisvar’s mage, certainly to her College. Such was her sense of duty. But then, had matters proceeded normally, I’d have been put ashore at Ynisvar and she known none of it. As it was, I found it a palliation to unburden myself, even though she stiffened and pulled away from me, her forehead creased in a frown.
I’d believed her lost twice now: I’d not lose her again. I said, “Rwyan, do you believe me a traitor?”
She made no reply, as if she pondered the question. I went on, “Had I spoken of all this, think you the keeps should not have sent the warbands out against the Changed? Guilty and innocent alike? Think you there’d not have been terrible bloodshed?”
I waited until she nodded silent agreement. “And think you we Dhar treat the Changed fairly?” I asked her. “In Durbrecht, I named Urt my friend, and he gave no offense save to aid you and I to meet. He did no more than Cleton, yet he was banished to Karysvar—sold off, as if he’d no say in his own fate; no more say than any Changed. We made them, Rwyan—as if we Dhar were gods, to build life and govern it. We made them prey for the dragons, to save ourselves; and then to be our servants, too many treated as if they were still beasts.
“But they’re not! They’ve feelings like any Trueman. I’ve had kindness of them, and I’ve seen fear in them. I’ve played with their children. In the name of this God you call on, they have children and marry and love, just like Truemen. Yet we see them as beasts still, to be bought and sold, their lives decided for them, as if they’d not minds of their own, could not think. I know they do. I know them for folk neither worse nor better than we Truemen.
“So—knowing that—should I have consigned them to pogrom, to annihilation? I saw only a handful deal with the Sky Lords—perhaps some renegade group, gone into the hills. I know not; only that I’d not see such as Pele and her little ones, or Urt, brought down for a thing not their doing. I tell you, Rwyan, our hands are not clean in this.”
There was a long silence. Tezdal sat across the cabin, his bruised face grave as he studied us. I felt the galleass shift course slightly, moving farther out to sea. Ayl looked to avoid shipping, I supposed. At that moment I did not care. I thought nothing at all of the future, only of Rwyan’s response.
The moments stretched out. I feared she condemned me, that that sense of duty she held so firm must stand a barrier between us, my confession the death knell of our love.
But this was my Rwyan, who was ever a woman unique. She took my hand, and my heart leaped. She said, “Daviot. Oh, Daviot, how long you’ve lived with this.”
I said, “There was no one I dared tell. Save you.”
She said, “You give me much to think on. I’d not seen the picture so large till now.”
“You don’t condemn me?” I asked. “You don’t name me traitor?”
“Most would.” She smiled. Faint, I thought. “I think likely all would. But then, I think any other Storyman would have straightway reported what he’d seen; and none save you perceive it so.”
“I could not do otherwise.” I shrugged, seeking those words that might explain a decision I had not properly comprehended then and did not entirely now. “I feared to see the innocent suffer.”
“You’d ever a fine conscience,” she murmured, and her smile grew warm. “I cannot condemn you for that. Traitor? No, for you did only what you believed was right. And shall I condemn the man I love?”
I sighed and touched her cheek, knowing I had not lost her. Rather, I had found her again, more truly than before, for there was no longer anything hidden between us, only honesty and trust. I felt a great wash of relief.
She leaned against me and said, “Now, do you tell me why we’re kidnapped? Why we are taken to Ur-Dharbek?”
I said, “I think the Changed perhaps inhabit Ur-Dharbek just as we Truemen occupy Draggonek and Kellambek; perhaps they’ve cities. It would seem they’ve the means of communicating with their kin in Dharbek, and they must possess some knowledge of magic.”
I hesitated then, for what I now suspected must surely frighten Rwyan, and she had already suffered enough. But she urged I go on.
I said, “Perhaps they’d learn to use it better; or learn how you employ your talent. Perhaps they took me for what I know of Dharbek, And Tezdal …” I glanced at the Sky Lord. His presence opened vistas of speculation for which I cared little. “Perhaps they league with the Kho’rabi….”
I was surprised to hear Tezdal laugh. I turned toward him, motioning that he explain.
“Save they can give back my memory,” he said, “what use shall I be? Can your sorcerers not return it, shall these others? And I owe my life to Rwyan. I’ll not betray that debt.”
His eyes challenged me to refute him. I could not: I ducked my head in agreement. I think it was in that instant I came truly to accept him. He was no longer a Sky Lord but only a comrade, caught in shared adversity. I believed him and trusted him, and that was a strange realization. But then, it was a strange day.
We sat awhile in silence, digesting all we’d said. Then Tezdal asked, “Shall the Sentinels not bring their magic against this boat?”
&nbs
p; “Why?” Rwyan stirred in my embrace. “Save they’ve cause for suspicion, this shall appear only another ship traveling up the coast.”
“But when we do not arrive in this Durbrecht of yours?” he asked.
“Then the Sorcerous College will wonder,” she replied. “But it shall be too late then, no?”
“Perhaps not.” I was by no means certain I welcomed the direction of my thoughts, for they led to a parting of our ways. “Your College expects us?”
Rwyan nodded. “Word was sent secretly.”
I said, “The coast of Draggonek’s a longer reach than the Treppanek. So do we fail to arrive, shall the sorcerers not alert the keeps? We might be halted ere we reach Ur-Dharbek.”
“Perhaps.” Her voice was thoughtful; I heard uncertainty. “But the precise time of our arrival was never known, so they might assume the ship sunk, do the Sky Lords attack. Or Ayl has some plan.”
She touched the silver links as she spoke, nervously, and I kissed her hair. Quiet against my chest she whispered, “Daviot, whatever becomes us, know that I love you.”
I smiled at that, elation for a moment the hottest of my emotions. There seemed not much more to say, and we fell again into silence.
The days passed, the one blending furnace-hot into the next. We were fed well enough, and at night allowed brief freedom to walk the deck. We spent our time in talk and such fitful sleep as prisoners find, needed less for its restoration than as refuge from boredom. I told my tales, first those I thought should not offend Tezdal, then all of them. He showed no affront when I spoke of the battles between his people and mine, but rather a keen interest, as if he hoped to find in the stories some clue to his past, some reminder of who he was. I sought to help him down that road. I employed all those techniques taught me in Durbrecht, employed every artifice at my disposal; but none worked. His past remained a mystery.
He showed me those exercises his body remembered, telling me how he’d used them on the rock, and we performed the routines together.
Rwyan told of his finding, and of her life before and after. We confessed to the lovers we’d taken and consigned them to our separate pasts. We talked of magic, openly; of that possessed by the Dhar sorcerers and of that strange command of the elementals and the weather that the Sky Lords owned. I learned much of Dharbek’s sorcerers, and she of what it is to be a Storyman.
At night, in whispers, Rwyan and I spoke of our dreams and were surprised at the similarities we discovered. It was as though our minds had somehow remained all the time linked, despite the leagues and years that had lain between us.
I spoke to Tezdal of our history, of the age-old enmity between our peoples. And we agreed that we were not enemies, nor ever should be. We clasped hands in friendship and vowed we should never fight one another.
He knew nothing of the Changed, and I told him of their place in Dharbek’s history and of my own feelings concerning their status. We all of us talked at length of that, debating pro and con, and both Tezdal and Rwyan came to see the Changed and their status through my eyes.
“But still,” Tezdal said one sweltering afternoon as we lounged within the cabin, “they put that necklace on Rwyan. I cannot forgive them for that.”
“Nor I,” I said fierce, her hand in mine.
She startled me then. She said, “Can you not, after all you’ve said of them? You speak of your sympathy for them persuasively enough; I come to agree. You tell me there’s now scant difference betwixt Truemen and Changed, and that we are wrong to treat them as we do. Perhaps they see no other choice, save this—that they must take a sorcerer, to win some measure of freedom. To win—by your lights, Daviot—such respect as we should accord them by right. I’d not have come willing on this journey, and had I my talent unfettered, I’d use it against them. Ayl knows that, so what choice has he but to bind me? I think he must believe that what he does, he does for all his kind: his duty. Is that the ease, then I can forgive them.”
I sat surprised, mulling her words. I think it is ofttimes easier to see the wider picture, to deal in abstract notions, than in those matters personal to us. I thought then that if she could forgive, so must I. I felt humbled by her kindness.
I said, “Do you forgive it, Rwyan, then I must.”
She gave me back, “I’d not have either of you seek revenge on my behalf. I’d have us all survive this adventure.”
I stared at her, marveling. It seemed to me this woman I loved all the time revealed fresh depths. I said, softly, “As you wish.”
She smiled and turned her sightless eyes toward Tezdal. He scowled but then sighed and said, “I like it not. I’d have an accounting of them for these insults. But … would you have it so, Rwyan, then I obey.”
That was a solemn moment. I felt I learned much from Rwyan, that I came to understandings I’d not have found alone.
But still we were prisoners, and whilst we’d given up much hope of escape, we could not help but wonder what our fate should be.
The Sprite must have been well provisoned, for our rations were adequate and we continued northward without delay. I began to wonder if the Changed intended to row all the way to Ur-Dharbek without halting. But then one night I woke, at first uncertain what brought me from sleep. I felt a change I could not define and lay awhile with open eyes and straining ears, Rwyan’s breath soft against my chest. Something was different, and it troubled me. I eased my arm from under Rwyan’s slight weight and sat up. She stirred, reaching for me.
I said, “Something’s happening. Do you wait here.”
She murmured agreement, and I climbed from the bunk. Tezdal woke at the sound and came with me to the portholes.
The bars occluded full sight of the sky, but by dint of much crouching and craning of my head I was able to make a guess we had changed course. It seemed to me we no longer went north but had turned in a westerly direction.
I went back to Rwyan, Tezdal with me. I said, “I think we make for land.”
She said, “But we cannot be close to Ur-Dharbek yet.”
I said, “No, we must be still along Dharbek’s coast.”
“Then why?” she asked. “Surely they’ll not put us ashore in Dharbek.”
I thought a moment, then said, “Perhaps they take on fresh provisions.”
We could not tell, only wait.
In time our momentum eased, and the galleass hove to. The ports told me nothing, save that the night was starry and we had turned west. We heard activity—the pad of feet and muffled voices, faint cries as if from ship to shore. Tezdal and I pressed our ears to the door but learned nothing from that solid barrier. I thought I heard the noise a gentle sea makes, washing against rocks. Then we felt the ship sway slightly and heard such sounds as suggested hatches were lifted. I decided I was correct in my assumption.
There was a splashing then, as of dipped oars, and the Sprite shifted again. I felt the bow come around and hurried to the ports.
Rwyan called, “What goes on, Daviot?”
Her voice was nervous, and I said, “I think Ayl made landfall, to take on stores. Now we turn for the open sea again.”
I was right: sternward I saw the dark mass of a rocky coastline, pines etched stark by a westering moon, a soft swell breaking luminous on a tiny cove. For an instant I glimpsed a fire—a signal beacon—that was dimmed even as I watched. I pressed my face to the narrow opening, seeing the coast recede. The Sprite headed east of north, seeking the wider reaches of the Fend again. Soon there was nothing to see except the moonlit stretch of the ocean: I returned to Rwyan’s side.
We did not sleep again that night but sat talking of its events as the prow came around once more, once more on a northerly tack.
We agreed that Ayl had brought the vessel in to restock, and that was suggestive of even greater organization amongst the Changed than I had suspected. It suggested we were expected; and was that so, then perhaps our kidnap—at least Rwyan’s, and perhaps Tezdal’s—had been planned from the beginning.
; “How could they know?” Rwyan asked. “My arrival in Carsbry was not announced.”
“Perhaps Ayl simply acted on the opportunity,” I offered. “He saw the chance to take a sorcerer and seized it.”
“But how arrange this resupplying?” she said.
“Would word not have been sent?” I asked. “If not of you, then that the Sprite quit Carsbry?”
“That, yes,” she told me.
“And in the keeps, folk talk,” I said. “They speak of the comings and goings of Truemen, of vessels, in hearing of the Changed, never thinking the Changed have ears. The Changed are faceless to most Truemen; they speak in the presence of the Changed as they would before horses or dogs. It’s as I told you—Truemen do not see the Changed.”
Rwyan held my hand as we spoke, and I felt her grip tighten at that. She gasped softly, her eyes, for all they saw nothing now, wide as full realization sank in.
“Then nothing’s secret,” she said, her voice a whisper. “As if the walls of every keep had ears.”
“Yes,” I said, “and all through Dharbek, the Changed listen and pass word between themselves.”
Tezdal said, “Even so, how could they know this ship would go to that particular cove?”
I said, “I think likely they didn’t. I think it was likely just one cove of many where Changed wait.”
“By the God!” Rwyan’s voice was shocked. “Be that the case, then there’s a great conspiracy afoot.”
I said, “Aye, and I think we go to the heart of it.”
I believed I was right; I was also afraid that I was right. It seemed that all the pieces of the puzzle I had observed grew daily clearer, fitting one into the next. I believed it was the Changed’s intention to bring a sorcerer to Ur-Dharbek, perhaps to save a Sky Lord—an ally. I suspected I was brought along only because—as Ayl had suggested—I wore Lan’s bracelet, which marked me as a friend. I thought I should be safe; I suspected Tezdal should be safe. I did not know how they might treat Rwyan, and that frightened me. Should they seek to employ her magic against the Truemen of Dharbek, I’d no doubt she would refuse. … I could only guess what might be the outcome of such refusal. Was Ur-Dharbek filled with Changed, Tezdal and I should be poor champions.
