by Angus Wells
We had made our camp within the shadows of the gorge, finding its egress a little after sunrise. The road descended here, down into a verdant bowl cupped within the encircling peaks like a jewel held in stony hands. Great stands of deodar spread dark green before us, the colors softening on the lower slopes to the shades and hues of autumnal woodland, high green pastures. Far off toward the notional center of the bowl (that cirque defied eye’s sure measurement), I thought I detected a hint of blue, as if a lake lay faint in the distance.
The road ran true through the woods, and as we descended I noticed first that the wind dropped away, and then that the temperature rose. Not to summer’s heat but to the clean freshness of autumn, so that we shed our cloaks, and later our jerkins, to ride shirt-sleeved. Above us, the sky was no longer gray but again blue, as if the ringing hills denied inclemency entry. All this I described to Rwyan.
She said, “Yet we climbed for what? Five days? It should not be so warm, save …”
She paused, head turning as if she’d test the air. Tezdal said, “This place reminds me of your island.”
And Rwyan nodded and said, “Aye. There’s likely magic abroad here,”
I looked about with different eyes. I thought that if magic did indeed shape this place, then did the Changed command it, they were powerful sorcerers. And yet I’d seen no evidence of magic elsewhere, no mages in the settlements, no hint of talent amongst the folk we’d encountered. Perhaps it was some natural gift, and none of Changed making; perhaps these hills were rich with crystals. Perhaps what sorcerers the Changed had all dwelled here. Questions buzzed like troublesome flies, and I could find no answers; only ever-increasing curiosity.
Down we went, the road falling gently for two days, the woodland thinning as we came to level ground. We passed meadows where placid cows and black-faced sheep grazed; fields of corn; orchards; solitary farms and tiny hamlets where we were given shelter and hearty country food. We crossed rivers bridged with wood and stone, and the trees scattered into the hursts of gentle, lowland climes—hickory and walnut, oak and birch and ash. It was a bucolic landscape; and entirely unnatural. I was certain that we drew near to Trebizar, and companion to my wonderment there grew a sense of unease. We approached Ayl’s goal, and there should be taken decisions that must surely affect all our lives. I began to brood on what fate awaited us.
Then I saw the city, distant at first but growing ever more distinct as Ayl lifted the horses to a swifter pace.
It was lacustrine, built along the shores of the lake that lay like a blue jewel at the center of this amazing cirque. It was not large, either in spread or height. Set beside Durbrecht, it should have been dwarfed; indeed, it seemed no greater than many of the holds I’d known in Kellambek. No structure stood taller than two stories, and only a few were built of stone at their lower levels, the upper all timbered, with balconies and colonnaded walks. I had not expected walls, and there were none; neither any towers nor other fortifications. Piers thrust out into the lake, and I saw boats moored there, more out on the water, white sails bellied in the breeze.
Ayl turned, speaking over his shoulder: “We come to Trebizar.”
I set an arm about Rwyan, speaking low of what lay before us.
And then I gasped, my fingers digging hard against her flesh, as I saw what lay beyond the city.
I could scarce credit the evidence my eyes gave me. I closed them, thinking it should be gone when next I looked. It was not: they hung low on the shore past Trebizar, still as basking sharks. I stared, the configuration of those bloodred cylinders familiar, the sigils painted down their sides pulsing faintly in the sun, more on the black baskets beneath. I saw the mooring lines, and the disturbance of the air where elementals shifted in their occult traces like restive horses. My mouth was abruptly dry. I licked my lips; swallowed against the lump that seemed to clog my throat.
“What is it?” Rwyan asked.
Hoarse, I said, “Skyboats.”
“What?” Amazement and fear to match my own echoed in her voice. “How can that be?”
I said, “I know not. Only that they are there—skyboats.”
From the corner of my eye, I saw Tezdal staring at the craft. He seemed only curious: there was no sign of recognition on his face.
Then the buildings blocked our view, the skyboats lost. It was as though I hallucinated. I knew I had not. I stared around, thinking to see Kho’rabi come storming at us. I saw only a wide avenue flanked by low buildings, pavements of smooth flagstones either side of the road. Folk moved there—Changed going about their business as if this were an ordinary town, the day normal; as if there were no Sky Lords’ craft moored beside that perfect lake. I saw all this with a strange tremendous clarity, as if pure shock heightened senses already trained to record all I saw. The buildings were, decorated, doors and balconies and shutters all cut with simple patterns, sunbursts and crescent moons, scatterings of stars. Pillars were carved, twined round with vines in bas-relief, clusters of acorns, and ears of wheat. The folk we passed were dressed not much differently to us, the males in breeks and shirts and jerkins, the females in plain gowns or masculine attire softened with scarves and ribbons, little displays of white lace. None wore weapons other than plain belt knives; a few carried staffs, as if they were herdsmen come in to trade. There were children, babes and older, playing in the streets or watching us go by. We passed horsemen and some carts. I realized I felt none of that awful unnerving dread that came with the presence of the Sky Lords.
What dread I felt was created by sight of the airboats alone. By what their presence here likely meant.
I started as the wagon halted.
We stood in a large square, the avenue continuing north, others entering from east and west. I could see the lake shining blue between the buildings to the east. I could not see the skyboats.
Our guardians sprang down. Glyn looked to the horses; Ayl came to the rear of the wagon. Our cage was not locked, and when he beckoned us out, I let Tezdal go first, handing Rwyan down to him before I followed.
“Come.”
Ayl indicated that we enter the closest building. It was of stone about its base, wood above. Wide double doors hung open beneath a veranda, glassed windows to either side. I could see no space that was not covered with decorative carving, and from the veranda’s roof hung numerous baskets filled with plants that trailed creepers, all covered with little flowers of blue and red and white. I smelled ale and food cooking, and as we went through the doors I saw this was an inn. I stared: I had expected a prison. Sight of the Kho’rabi vessels had dislodged all notions of companionship, of discovery and adventure. Curiosity was replaced with unease. I took Rwyan’s elbow to guide her across the floor.
It was not yet noon, and there were not many patrons at the tables. Those present favored us with curious glances but said nothing to us or to our warders. (Warders? I was no longer sure what was our relationship with Ayl and Glyn.)
We found a table to the side, a little way apart, and Ayl went to where the landlord stood scrubbing tankards. I watched as they spoke, but I could not hear what was said. I examined the room, which was like any taproom, save perhaps cleaner than many in Dharbek. Rwyan held my hand in a tight grip.
Ayl joined us and said, “The Raethe sits now, likely until dusk or past. So do we eat?”
“And then?” I asked him.
“Then I think perhaps best you remain here until your presence is required,” he said.
I said, “Those were skyboats I saw, no?”
He said calmly, “They were.”
I said, “What truck do you have with the Sky Lords?”
He said, “Doubtless the Raethe shall explain. If it sees fit.”
I ground my teeth in helpless anger. Clearly I’d have no answers of Ayl. Either he lacked the knowledge, or he chose to hold it from me. I grunted and said, “So be it.”
He ducked his head again and then leaned closer, his voice dropping to a bass rumble that none save we migh
t hear. “Do you heed my advice, Daviot,” he said, “you’ll curb your impatience. Only wait, and you’ll have your answers. And that necklace Rwyan wears be sooner removed.”
I frowned, unsure whether he issued honest advice or a non-too-subtle threat. Certainly, I believed he prevaricated where the Sky Lords were concerned. I’d have spoken up, but Rwyan squeezed my hand in warning, and I bit back my retort and nodded my acceptance.
Ayl lounged back, as if he’d not a problem in all the world. He appeared entirely at ease, unsurprised and comfortable as any regular visitor to this inn, any inhabitant of Trebizar—like a man come home. I supposed he was; and then that, had he not lied to us from the start, he could not be. Had he told the truth, then he could be no more familiar with this place than we Truemen. Nor any better acquainted with the road or the towns—I perceived fresh mystery here.
I studied his face as brimming mugs were set before us and thought of another oddity. No payment was asked, neither here nor in any place we had halted. The landlord only set down the tankards, nodded casual greeting, glanced at Rwyan, Tezdal, and me as if he were not at all surprised to find three Truemen seated in his taproom, and walked away.
I said, “It seems we were expected.”
Ayl lowered his tankard only long enough to nod.
“Nor’s payment asked,” I said.
Ayl said, “No.”
I said, “Is that the way here? Is there no currency?”
“We’ve coinage,” he said. “But those on the Raethe’s business travel free.”
“How are you recognized?” I asked. “You wear no badge of office that I can see.”
He chuckled then, gesturing with his mug. “Think you it’s a common sight,” he said, “three Truemen on our roads?”
That, I must admit, was likely rare; I asked him, “How did you know the road, Ayl?”
He shook his shaggy head, and I saw the mask again drop over his features. “Daviot,” he said kindly enough, but nonetheless firmly, “doubtless you’re agog with curiosity, but it’s not my place to answer your questions. Do you follow that advice I gave and bide your time. Ask of the Raethe, not me.”
His eyes met mine, and I saw that he would speak no more of such matters. I shrugged and drank ale, our conversation becoming a desultory affair, designed more to fill the awkward silence than satisfy the questions that teemed in my head.
We sat thus as our tankards were refilled and food served us. I was uncomfortable, and that somewhat leached my appetite. Rwyan, too, was nervous, but Tezdal seemed not at all discomfited. I supposed that for him all had been strange since his awakening on the rock, and consequently this no odder than any other situation. I wondered how he should react did we encounter Kho’rabi. Should that engage his memory; might some Sky Lord present here recognize him? For all I’d done my best, I’d had no success in restoring him his lost past. I wondered should I feel so kindly toward him did he return to what he’d been. Or for that matter, he to me.
I pondered all this as our table was cleared and Ayl interrupted my silent musing.
“For now,” he said, “you must remain here. But I understand the rooms are comfortable, and there’s a bathhouse.”
“I’d see this fabulous city,” I said.
At which the Changed smiled apologetically and told me no, repeating that until the Council granted us audience, we must confine ourselves to the inn.
Rwyan said, “A hot tub should be a luxury.”
She squeezed my hand as she spoke, which I took to be a warning or a request, and so I acceded. I thought my agreement afforded Ayl some measure of relief, as if he’d avoid open argument. That surprised me, for I now saw us more truly as captives, and I wondered why he should concern himself with my wants or displeasures.
He sent Glyn to arrange it and called the landlord to show us to our chambers. Once again, Rwyan and I were given shared quarters, Tezdal in the adjoining room. Unusually after so much latitude, our doors were locked. My unease waxed, and I inspected the chamber as Rwyan took her bath.
It was as Ayl had promised. A wide bed spread with fresh linen stood against one wall between two windows. I checked them both and found them secured beyond my undoing. They gave a view of rooftops, a section of street, the lake blue beyond the farther houses. I could not see the skyboats. There was a wardrobe and a washstand; a screened partition hid a commode. There were two comfortable wooden chairs set either side of a small table, on which stood a decanter of pale wine and two glasses, a flask of water. The floor was spread with colorful rugs and a lantern hung from the ceiling. It felt suddenly like a cell: I paced impatiently.
Rwyan came back perfumed with sandalwood, and I led her around the room, that she might familiarize herself with its furniture. Then Glyn escorted me to the bathhouse. I was aware the Changed stood sentry outside as I scrubbed myself. This sudden concern with our security disturbed me, and I bathed swiftly, going back damp to the room.
The door was locked behind me, and I crossed to where Rwyan sat on the wide bed.
“I cannot understand this concern,” I said. “Why lock doors now? Why deny us the freedom we’ve had so far? In the God’s name, we’re in the heart of Ur-Dharbek—we could scarce hope to escape from here.”
She touched me and, finding me still somewhat moist, began to towel my hair.
“I think there must be things here they’d not yet have us know,” she said. “How many skyboats did you see?”
I took my head from under her busy toweling. “Perhaps a score. Hardly enough for invasion. At least, not yet.”
“You believe it so?” She dropped the towel. I picked it up; flung it aside.
“What else?” I said. “I’ve seen Changed and Sky Lords together; their airboats here. Do they not agree it, then I think they must talk of it. Alliance, at the least … discussion of terms, of strategy…. The Sky Lords defy the Sentinels now, so the Border Cities should likely prove no greater obstacle.”
“Aye,” she said soft. “Doubtless they should strike down no few skyboats, do they mount the Great Coming. But not enough, do they come in numbers. The God knows, they’ve always found ways past us, and now … now do they attack across the Fend and across the Slammerkin; do the Changed of Dharbek rise to support them …”
She’d no need of elaboration. The land already bled under the wounding of that unnatural summer. Jareth was regent, deemed weak, his elevation a source of discontent amongst the aeldors. Was the Great Coming launched, did the Changed rise—I shivered at the thought. Better than any save this woman who sat with me, I knew how subtle were the secret ways of the folk we Truemen had made, how surely they communicated, that their eyes and ears were everywhere, hidden by their very station. It was as if the sorcerers had created some hydra, a monster invisible until it struck.
“Dharbek’s lost,” I said.
Rwyan ducked her head. “And the Changed have magic now,” she whispered, fingering the necklace glinting at her throat. “They can do this. They’ve made this valley, and as you describe it, only great magic could create such a place. I think the hills must hold an abundance of crystals. Changed have dwelt here long enough, they absorb the magic. They develop the talent!”
“But surely long exposure destroys,” I said. “You told me that. It brings madness.”
“Is war not madness?” she returned. “But yes, I told you that. And so it is—for Truemen. Perhaps the Changed are different; perhaps the crystals do not destroy them.”
“Then why take you?” I wondered, though I’d already a horrid suspicion. “Can they do all this, what need of you?”
“I’m not sure,” she said, and shuddered, so that I put my arms about her and held her close as her voice dropped low.
“Save …”
“Save what?” I prompted, thinking I’d not welcome the answer.
Nor did I: Rwyan said, “Save they’d plumb my mind. Learn Dharbek’s secrets—our usage of those crystals that ward the Fend, the Slammerkin—learn the
limits of our magic.”
She trembled in my arms. I felt her tears against my chest. I raised my head, staring blindly at the ceiling. Beams stood dark against white plaster. They reminded me of gallows trees: I lowered my face to Rwyan’s hair.
She pulled back a little way. I looked into her blind eyes, the green shining tearful now. She said, “Daviot, I cannot betray Dharbek.”
I studied her face. I saw a strength I dreaded, a determination I feared. I read the direction of her thought. I’d run from that compass save it should have been a betrayal of this woman I loved, of the strength that made her what she was. I owed her better than that, and so I said, “What can you do, does worse come to worst?”
And she smiled—so brave, my Rwyan!—and told me, “Perhaps it shall not come to that. But does it—what choice have I, save to defy them?”
Almost, I said that she should speak put, answer whatever questions were asked, give whatever information was demanded; only survive, because without her my life should have no meaning. But that was selfishness and insulting to her courage. And I think she’d have scorned me had I said it aloud. So instead, I said, “The God will it not come to that.”
A small laugh then; and: “The God, Daviot? I’d thought you doubted his existence.”
“I do,” I said. “But be I wrong, then I ask he spare you. You deserve better.”
“I doubt,” she said, “that ‘deserve’ comes into this. It seems to me more happenstance—that I helped bring down Tezdal’s skyboat; that I was there when we found him. That he came to trust me, and I was chosen to escort him to Durbrecht. Even that the Sprite was the ship chosen. All happenstance, no?”
I wondered if she sought to strengthen her resolve with words or set aside contemplation of that resolution. If so, I’d help her: I said. “Happenstance? Or is there a pattern, and I’ve a part in it? Had we not met, should you have been sent so soon to the Sentinels? Had I not come to Carsbry when I did, I’d not have found you. Had Lan not given me this token—which he’d not have done save I knew Urt, who helped you and I to meet—then Ayl should surely have cast me overboard, and we’d not be together here. Aye, surely there’s a pattern too subtle for mere happenstance. It seems more like our fates are linked.”
