Lords of the Sky

by Angus Wells

  I debated putting these thoughts into words. I suppose it was a kind of cowardice that I did not: instead, I told myself I should only frighten Rwyan, and she be better comforted by my silence. But then, the enormity of the conspiracy only just burgeoning, I was myself alarmed enough, and more than a little confused. So I held my tongue, and put an arm around her, and told her we could do nothing save wait.

  One morning when it seemed we had sailed forever and should likely go on and on until we came to the ends of the world, there was a most marvelous thing occurred.

  We sat in the cabin, accustomed by now to its stuffy confines, to air that moved only when our actions stirred it, to sweat-damp clothing, and to that lethargy excessive heat and inaction produce. Rwyan shifted on the bench, turning her head from side to side. I saw she frowned and thought her troubled, but when I asked what disturbed her, she only raised a hand and said, “Do you not feel it?”

  Without waiting for an answer, she rose and groped her way to the nearest port. I followed her, Tezdal close on my heels. I saw Rwyan smile. And then I recognized what gave her such pleasure.

  There was a breeze.

  I felt it on my face, a caress I had resigned to memory alone. It was like a lover’s touch; like Rwyan’s fingers gentle on my skin. I moved my head; I opened my mouth to taste it on my tongue. I scarce dared believe it was there. I wondered if we fell into madness.

  Then Tezdal said, “A wind,” in a voice filled with wonder.

  I swallowed, almost afraid to believe. I felt the sweat that beaded my brow chill, and bellowed laughter, taking Rwyan by the shoulders and dancing her around, drawing her close as I shouted, “Aye! By the God, you’re right! There’s a breeze!”

  We clung together, laughing, pressing our faces to the ports that we might savor this simple, wondrous, impossible thing.

  It grew stronger. We heard orders called, and then a sound I knew well and had not thought to hear again—the marvelous sound of dropped canvas, of bellying sails. We staggered as the Sprite heeled over, the floor tilting under us so that we, so long accustomed to even boards, to the absence of any real movement, were pitched across the cabin, fetching up in a tangle on the bunk.

  I saw Tezdal frown, worried, and cried, “Ayl tacks, only that. He’d catch the wind.”

  I hugged Rwyan, and for a while we only laughed and bathed in that glorious breeze.

  But then her face grew serious, and she pulled away. I said, “What’s wrong?”

  And she gave me back, “Do you not see what this means? What it must mean?”

  I said, “That the Sky Lords’ magic is gone.”

  “That, yes,” she said. “But how long have we been at sea? Where are we now?”

  I thought a moment. Realization dawned: I said, “Ur-Dharbek.”

  Rwyan said, “Aye. The magic’s not gone; we’ve only passed beyond its aegis. We reach our destination—we’ve come to the Changed’s country.”

  It was the midpart of the morning that I heard the familiar sounds that herald land—the snap of furling sails, the slap of waves on stone, the mewing of gulls. Then the boards shifted under my feet, and I heard voices, greetings shouted, those creaks and groans a harboring vessel makes. The motion of the galleass ceased, replaced by a gentle rocking, as of craft at anchor. I set my face to the starboard port and saw gray stone. I waited with bated breath, a hand on Rwyan’s shoulder, Tezdal wary on her farther side.

  The cabin door opened, and Ayl beckoned us out.

  It was strange to stand again under a summer sky unsullied by magic. Gulls wheeled screaming overhead, and a salt-scented breeze blew off the sea. The sun stood bright in the eastern quadrant, and to the north I saw billows of white cumulus moving on the wind. It had been too long since I’d seen cloud.

  I described it all to Rwyan as I helped her up the ladder to the topdeck. How the Sprite stood within the shelter of a curving bay, headlands like protective horns extending north and south, fishing boats drawn up on a beach of gray-silver sand all strewn with seaweed, nets hung out to dry just as they’d be in any fishing village of Dharbek. I told her of the plank we must cross to the mole of rough stone, flagged along its upper level, and of the village I saw and the Changed who watched us.

  It was a village so similar to Whitefish, I hesitated, staring, so that Ayl must urge me on. He did it courteously enough, but I think he was amused by my amazement, and I talked all the while we passed through the onlookers toward the buildings.

  They were cottages of stuccoed stone, white and bright blue and pink, with vegetable gardens and chicken coops, outhouses and storage sheds, frames for the nets. They flanked a road that went away inland from the harbor, broadening to a village square where the cottages stood thickest. I saw a mill, its sails creaking around, and what I took to be an alehouse, racks of fish curing in the sun. All that was missing was a cella. The folk who fell into step behind us might have been ordinary villagers, too, for here there were only we three Truemen to mark any difference between our kind and theirs. They stood tall and short, not many plump, male and female and children, dressed like any honest, hardworking folk, all curious. Only the children came near, brave as children are, darting close to stare up at our faces, a few touching us. I thought they had likely never seen Truemen.

  We came to the square, and Ayl directed us to the building I had thought an alehouse—which, indeed, it was—and sat us at a table, for all the world as if we were guests, not prisoners. A gray-haired Changed came, not in the least hesitant, with mugs of ale and a plate of crisp dried fish. He smiled when I caught his eye, but not in any triumphant way. It seemed to me he did not gloat at the sight of Truemen taken captive but smiled only as would any innkeeper at his patrons. The ale was cool and brewed well.

  I waited for Ayl to speak, thinking this little village unlikely to be our final destination, and after several hearty swigs of his beer, he said, “No doubt you guess we’re come to Ur-Dharbek. Do you think of escape, know that the Slammerkin lies leagues distant, and the magic of the Border Cities shall deny you return no less than we.”

  I said, “Then you cannot go back?”

  He laughed, as if I made a splendid joke, and shook his shaggy head. “I’d not,” he said. “I’ve fulfilled my commission, and now I’ll live amongst my own kind; free.”

  “And us?” I asked him. “Where do we go?”

  “To Trebizar,” he answered me. “To the Raethe—the Council.”

  I frowned inquiry.

  He said, “Trebizar is our capital, where the Raethe sits.” I did not properly comprehend this talk of a council: I told him so.

  He said, “We’ve no Lord Protector in Ur-Dharbek, neither koryphons, nor aeldors, nor churchmen. We live free here, and the Raethe is our government.”

  I coughed ale, I was so surprised. I asked him, “Do you not fight, then? Are there not rivals for power?”

  “Our fight,” he gave me back, with such solemnity I thought at first he jested, “is for freedom alone. The freedom of all Changed to live as they will, not as servitors but freemen, equal to any.”

  I nodded slowly, realizing he was entirely earnest. He said, “I’d thought you saw this, Daviot. Urt claims it so, and Lan.”

  I turned the bracelet around my wrist. Surprised anew, I said, “Urt? You’ve word of Urt?”

  “Urt’s in Trebizar,” he said, as if this were not at all surprising. Then chuckled as I gaped. “He crossed the Slammerkin and now dwells in Trebizar. He’s a seat in the Raethe.”

  That Urt should find prominence did not surprise me. That he was hale, and I should before too long meet him, delighted me. But there were other considerations I could not overlook: I gestured at Rwyan and said, “Shall you take off that cursed necklace now?”

  Ayl’s smile faded, his expression become grave. He turned his gaze on Rwyan and asked her, “Were it removed, what should you do?”

  She said, “My best to return to home. I’ve a duty there with the Great Coming imminent.”
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  I deemed that needlessly honest, but Ayl appeared pleased with her candor. He ducked his head and said, “Lady, I admire your integrity. But we’ve all a duty, no? And mine is to deliver you safe to Trebizar.”

  I asked him bluntly, “Why?”

  He said, “The Raethe shall explain.”

  “And take off the necklace?” I asked.

  “Likely,” he replied. “I think it may be safely removed there.”

  “Why there?” I demanded. “But not here?”

  At that he smiled, and tapped his nose, and would give me no more explanation. I thought of all I’d heard, all I’d wondered and surmised, of crystals and magic.

  “And what of Tezdal?” Rwyan asked.

  He said, “You shall all be safe. No harm shall come you, do you but accede to the Council.”

  “Accede?” Rwyan frowned and found my hand. “What does that mean?”

  “The Raethe shall explain,” Ayl told her. “You’ll learn their wishes soon enough.”

  And with that we must be satisfied, though I liked not the sound of it. Nor Rwyan, whose fingers clenched tight on mine as the bull-bred Changed pushed back his chair and bade us remain.

  We could not have easily done otherwise, for his fellow crewmen were there and watched us as he quit the alehouse. They offered no overt hostility, but still I had the feeling we’d be soon enough constrained did we disobey. I felt confident we stood in no immediate danger: I believed Ayl in that, but still there remained the reason for our kidnap. Also, I was greatly intrigued by all Ayl had said. Clearly, Ur-Dharbek was not the barbaric wasteland we Dhar imagined but a country civilized and organized. I could not deny I was curious to observe this place at first hand.

  Which opportunity came soon enough.

  Ayl reappeared, summoning us out, and when we stepped again into the square, I saw a wagon drawn up. It was a sizable vehicle with four deep-chested bay horses hitched to the pole, the bed surmounted by a wattle cage. This, I assumed, was to be our transport to Trebizar.

  I was correct: Ayl motioned us on board.

  I said, “You speak of freedom, Ayl, but treat us as prisoners.”

  He gave me back, “Did Truemen not treat we Changed as they do, you’d not be dealt with so. But …”

  He shrugged huge shoulders. I could not fairly dispute his argument, nor contest his strength. Rwyan touched my arm, and I handed her on board. I climbed after her, and Tezdal sprang up behind. Ayl swung the gate closed, fastened with a length of chain and a sturdy-looking lock. Rough benches had been fixed along the sides, and cushions and blankets scattered the floor. It was not uncomfortable. I tested the bars and found them solid. At least we had a view.

  Ayl took the forward seat, another bull-bred at his side, and the wagon lumbered out of the square.

  Out of the village the road climbed a shallow cliff where black pines grew and birds sang, emphasizing the normality of the weather. Beyond the rim spread fields, sheep and cattle grazing there, hogs grunting over pastures walled with stone. It was a landscape not much different to that of my home. Somewhat harsher, I thought, the hursts I saw comprised mostly of firs and spruce, with not much oak or beech, but the grass green enough, which was a pleasant sight of itself after Dharbek’s arid summer.

  I thought to ask Ayl about that, and he told me, “The Sky Lords’ quarrel is with Dharbek, not this land. We give them no offense, and they do not send their magic against us.”

  “Do you ally with them?” I asked. “The Raethe shall explain,” he answered, as if by rote. I said, “On the west coast I saw Changed meet Sky Lords.”

  He only shrugged and called the horses to a faster pace. I thought he left more unsaid than spoken, and that I should get no more answers from him. I settled on the bench beside Rwyan, took her hand, and described to her the countryside we traversed.

  The road we took was hard-packed dirt for most of its length, but as the sun went down and twilight fell over the land, the wagon’s wheels began to drum on stone. I saw that we now moved along a paved track, and soon stone walls flanked our path. Ahead were lights; and then out of the dusk came a village.

  There was no wall, nor any keep, only a sprawl of houses and barns clustering about the road as if the inhabitants felt no need of defense. It seemed to me a very open place. Ayl brought the wagon to a halt in a wide plaza, where the smell of smoke and cooking food hung homely in the air, and unlocked our cage.

  A Changed whose ancestors had been, I suspected, canine, stood framed in a lighted doorway, studying us with obvious but not impolite interest. He gave Ayl cheerful greeting, and the bull-bred answered him in kind. As I stepped up onto the porch and saw his face full lit, I saw that he was old, his features seamed and kindly.

  He ducked his head as if I were some traveler come welcome to his establishment and said, “Greetings. I am Thyr.”

  I nodded and told him my name, and he smiled and said, “Ah, yes. Urt’s friend the Storyman.”

  My eyes widened at that, that I was known even here, and Thyr chuckled and said, “Your fame travels far, Daviot. Welcome to Bezimar.”

  Ayl gave him Rwyan’s and Tezdal’s names, and he stepped aside, inviting us to enter. My curiosity mounted apace.

  It seemed we entered an hostlery. The room was large, an empty hearth against the far wall, a counter on which stood mugs and bottles to one side, chairs and tables across the floor. There were folk drinking, who looked up as we came in, their conversation ceasing. Thyr led us to a door, ushering us into a chamber dominated by a single long dining table. Tall windows stood on one wall. I noticed they were glassed, affording a view of the yard behind, where I saw the wagon brought. Thyr tapped a keg and filled mugs. I stared around, finding no difference between this place and any inn of Dharbek.

  Ayl noticed my inspection and smiled. “What did you expect?” he asked. “That we should live in caves? Or lair in the fields?”

  I said, “I did not know what to expect.”

  He chuckled then and said, “We’re not so different, Daviot.”

  I went to a window, tapped the glass. I said, “You’ve manufactories?”

  He nodded. “Glazieries and metal shops and breweries. We are not uncivilized.”

  I said, “No. Save you take prisoners.”

  “And Truemen do not?” he returned. “Was I not Tyron’s prisoner? Had I wished, could I have quit his service? I could not—no more than might a bull owned by a farmer! Are we Changed not imprisoned in Dharbek?”

  Such argument I’d used myself: I could not dispute him, and so I smiled and ducked my head in acknowledgment. Surprise piled on surprise in this place, not least that Ayl spoke so eloquently. I had always found the bull-bred Changed as prosaic as their bovine forebears, but this fellow was articulate and more than a little skilled in debate. I deemed it wiser to make no remark on that, lest I offend him. So far, he proved a most courteous jailer, and I’d not change that. I returned to the table and found a place by Rwyan.

  She had listened in silence to our exchange, but now she ventured to question Ayl. She fingered the crystal at her throat and asked, “You’ve the talent for magic now?”

  I saw Ayl hesitate at that and sensed there were some matters he’d sooner not discuss; or was forbidden to discuss. He said, “Not I, lady.”

  This was obvious prevarication. Rwyan smiled. “Not all Truemen have it, only a few. Is it so here?”

  I thought the Changed embarrassed then, as if he regretted his role. He said, “Doubtless all shall be explained in Trebizar.”

  Rwyan said, “But you’ve crystals. Some of you must have learned their use, else I’d not wear this.”

  Ayl said, “No,” and then, “I’ll see does Thyr have our dinner ready.”

  He rose and went to the door. His companion (a dark, silent fellow whose name was Glyn) remained with us, and so we did not speak of what he’d said—or rather, left unsaid—until later, when we were alone.

  Before that opportunity came, we dined well.
Thyr set a fine table, and we ate our fill, the food washed down with dark beer. Then Ayl declared that we should find our beds, as we must depart early. Thyr carried a lantern before us up gently creaking stairs, and we were shown rooms. Tezdal was directed into one, and the door locked on him, Thyr turned to Rwyan and me. Once again he succeeded in surprising me.

  “Shall you share a chamber?” he asked. “Or take separate quarters?”

  Before I could overcome my amazement, Rwyan said, “We’ll share.”

  Thyr smiled and said, “Then here,” indicating a door across the way from Tezdal’s room.

  Save we were not allowed a lantern and the windows were locked shut, it was a chamber no different to many I’d known in Dharbek. I described it to Rwyan as the door was closed, and I heard a key turn in the lock.

  “They treat us well,” she said.

  I said, “Yes,” crossing to the window.

  She said, “We treated Tezdal well enough, but still we planned to use him.”

  I looked out over the sleeping town. A dog barked twice and was after silent. The moon stood high, close on its full, shining on shingled roofs and smokeless stone chimneys. It was all so ordinary, so normal, I could scarce believe we were in Ur-Dharbek, behind a locked door. I put my arms around Rwyan. I said, “Tezdal is—was—a. Sky Lord—our enemy.”

  Her smile was equivocal. “Think you the Changed do not see Truemen as enemies?” she asked me.

  I said, “Perhaps. But we are treated so kindly, it’s hard to think they mean us harm.”

  “Perhaps not harm,” she said, “but use. That, I think.”

  I said, “I’ll not let them harm you.”