by Angus Wells
He said, “Lady, there should be no need. Are you given to the crystals, you’ll tell us all, without let or hindrance. You’ll have no choice; and after, your mind should be a void.”
The chamber was warm, but I felt cold. I dared not speak.
Rwyan said, “My case is stated. Do you put yours?”
Some little hope there. Urt said, “We are not those meek Changed you know in Dharbek. We’ve power here, and I’d show it you. Do you witness our strength, and then decide.”
Rwyan said, “My decision was taken long ago, when I took those vows my College requires.”
I must admire her courage. At the same time I was possessed of a great desire to shake her violently, to clap a hand over her mouth and agree on her behalf. She appeared bent on destroying herself. The thought of my lovely Rwyan reduced to a mindless husk (I had absolutely no doubt Urt spoke true in that) set a cold and sour knot in my gut.
I heard Allanyn mutter, “Time wastes.”
Urt said, “Do you watch us restore the Lord Tezdal his memory and know our power. After, you may agree to what we ask and remain whole; or—”
“I’ll take her for a servant,” Allanyn said, the sally met with laughter from her supporters.
I could hold silent no longer. I turned to Rwyan and said, “Rwyan, for the God’s sake—for my sake!—agree to this at least.”
She faced me with an unfathomable expression. “Would you ask me to betray myself?” she demanded.
I was caught, my choice betwixt net and hook. I’d have her live, whole. But did I seek to persuade her to forswear her duty, I knew I should lose her. I groaned and shook my head. “Not that,” I said. “But the time’s not yet come for that. I say only that you agree to what Urt suggests—observe their power, and after decide.”
She held my troubled gaze awhile, then calmly she turned to the assembly: “So be it. Do you show me what you can do.”
Surely it took them aback, for none spoke awhile, not even fierce Allanyn. And then Geran said, “Very well. Let us prepare.”
They came down from their tiered benches then, all of them, gathering about us, and Geran said, “This shall take some little while. Do you go with these,” and we were surrounded by Changed wearing the golden circlets on their brows.
Tezdal made to leave with us, but the spokesman touched his arm and said, “Lord Tezdal, do you wait here. Your companions shall not be harmed.”
Tezdal shook his head, protesting. He pulled loose of Geran’s hand and moved toward us. The spokesman gestured, and Changed stepped close as if by accident but nonetheless blocking Tezdal’s way. I thought the Sky Lord would fight them, but Rwyan called out, “Tezdal, do you obey. There’s no harm shall come us yet,” and he frowned, hesitating. Rwyan called again, and he nodded. He seemed bewildered but made no further move to join us.
The movement of the throng hid him, and Geran nodded approvingly. “That was sensibly done, lady. You show wisdom.” He touched the band around his temples and said, “This signifies the talent. All those who wear these circlets command the gift of magic.”
He spoke mildly, but I recognized the warning. I was thankful Rwyan acknowledged it: she said, “I’ll not attempt to use my own power.”
Geran smiled as if he admired her audacity. “Then do you go, and when all is ready, you’ll be sent for.”
A tall, thin-faced Changed touched my elbow, indicating that I follow him. There were seven of the gifted attended us, and as they herded us away, I caught a glimpse of Urt through the crowd. He met my stare with a bland expression that told me nothing. I saw that he did not wear a circlet.
Folk made way for us as we were led from the audience chamber, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and hostility. On some faces I thought I saw pity. On one I saw unhidden hatred, and for all I’d not seen her clearly until now, I knew this was Allanyn. And that she was an implacable enemy.
She was tall and slender, and had it not been for the malign fire burning in her ocher eyes, I’d have thought her beautiful. Her hair was russet, falling loose about a narrow face dominated by those huge, fierce eyes. Her lips were narrow and mobile, curving in a smile as she studied me. She was undoubtedly feline: she had that sinuous grace, that predatory languor. The yellow gown she wore hid it no better than her smile hid her animosity. I’d not have been surprised had she extended claws. She wore a golden band about her brow.
Lightly, as if she were not at all afraid, Rwyan said, “That one bears us little love, I think.”
“Best ward your tongue, lady.” The thin-faced Changed spoke soft, and not without a hint of sympathy. “Allanyn’s one of our strongest, and she bears no love at all for Truemen.”
Rwyan nodded as if this were a tidbit of knowledge not unsuspected and gave the fellow a cheery smile. “My thanks for the warning,” she murmured. “But does Allanyn govern here or all the Raethe?”
“All have a voice,” said the Changed, his tone low enough that only we might hear, “but Allanyn’s is very loud.”
“Indeed,” said Rwyan, and laughed.
I was uncertain whether she was genuine in her apparent lack of concern, or only put on a brave face. For my own part, I’ll admit I was mightily nervous. I felt little doubt but that Tezdal’s memory should be restored him, nor any more that such demonstration of power should fail to persuade Rwyan. I knew with an awful certainty that she would refuse to give up her secrets willingly but rather fight the Changed to the end. I found her hand and forced a smile I knew was hollow.
We were marched along a windowless corridor that should have been dark but was not. Instead it glowed with a pale radiance that seemed to emanate from the surrounding stone itself. I had not seen its like, but Rwyan smiled as if such a marvel were familiar. Her expression suggested some private confirmation, but when I frowned a question, she only shook her head, indicating I remain silent.
I obeyed: it seemed she was in command now. I marveled that she could be so calm when all I felt was mounting trepidation.
We came to a door that appeared cut from a single slab of stone, and a Changed pushed it open, gesturing that we enter. The door closed behind us, and I looked about.
We stood in a square chamber that was neither quite a cell nor such a room as should be offered guests. Walls and floor and ceiling were all of the same white stone, unadorned. Light came from a single window, falling bright over two chairs of black wood that were the only furnishings. No latch or handle marred the pristine surface of the door, and when I tried to shift it, it remained resolutely sealed.
Rwyan said, “That shall do no good, Daviot. We can only wait.”
I grunted, crossing to the window. The rectangular opening was glassed, without hinges or shutters. I wondered how air might enter, and if we were left here to suffocate. Anger stirred, tainted with panic, and I struck the glass. That only hurt my fist.
Rwyan set a hand on my shoulder and said, “You’ll not break it, my love. We’re prisoners here until they choose to release us.”
I asked, “Your magic?”
And she shook her head. “I’m helpless here. Do you not sense it?”
It was my turn to shake my head. She gestured at the walls. “Magic surrounds us; I feel it on my skin, like a storm building. This place is mortared with crystals that leach my power.”
“But you can see,” I said.
“That little they allow,” she told me, “and no more. They’ve far greater command than I suspected.”
“Then why,” I asked, “are they not destroyed, made mad?”
She shrugged and said, “We’ve spoken of this before, no? These wild Changed are—different…. And mad? Do you believe Allanyn is sane?”
I thought of the rank hate I’d seen in those ocher eyes and shook my head again. Rwyan’s hand descended to fall around my waist. She rested her head on my shoulder. She said, “Do you heed your own advice and be patient. I’d know the fuller measure of their power and of their intentions, before … I decide what I m
ust do. I cannot give them what they ask, not willing.”
Something in her tone chilled me, deep in the marrow of my bones. I thought she must fear that terrible decision, that for her was no decision at all. I turned to face her, my hands on her shoulders, holding her at arm’s length that I might see her clear. I said, “Do you refuse, they’ll take it, and—” I sighed and drew her close, my face buried in her hair.
She said, calm against my chest, “And leave me mindless. I’d not have that.”
I said, “Nor I!”
She moved within my arms, leaning back a little that she might “look” directly at my face. “And surrounded by this power, my own is as nothing. I’ll not be able to match them—neither defy them nor fight them.”
I said, “Then you can only submit.”
“No!” Her hands moved upward to cup my cheeks, to hold steady my head that I look into her eyes. I saw her resolve and felt fear. She said, “But you …”
I said, “Me? What power have I?”
She said, “That given you by your College.”
I choked out a sour laugh. “The power of a Storyman? Shall I recite them a tale to change their minds, then?”
“Not that.” Her eyes held mine transfixed. “But one of those other skills taught you in Durbrecht.”
I did not want to hear what I feared she’d ask: I could not refuse. “Rwyan, don’t ask this of me.”
She said, “I must; and you must agree.”
I groaned. I thought I should choke on the constriction that filled my throat. Or empty my belly over this cursed white magic floor.
As if from far away yet very clear, I heard Rwyan say, “They’ll not watch you so close. You wear that talisman that marks you as their friend. And you’ve the skill.”
I shook my head and mumbled, “No.”
She said, “You’d rather see my mind drained? Left empty, like some discarded bowl of bone?”
I closed my eyes and shook my head and said through gritted teeth, “No.”
She said, “Then does worse come to worst, you must kill me
I opened my eyes and stood a moment blind, stunned and silent. There was a ghastly logic in what she asked, and damnation did I either refuse or agree. I said, “I cannot.”
She said fierce, “You must! Do they use their crystals on me, I shall betray Dharbek, betray what I am. I’ll not go willing to that; neither would I be mindless. Sooner dead!”
I blinked, my cheeks wet. It seemed the room spun. I felt Rwyan’s hands upon my cheeks, and it seemed they burned me. I loved her. I could only admire her courage. And hate her determination. I said again, “I cannot. Rwyan, don’t ask this of me.”
She said, “I must. I’ve no one else.”
That, I could not argue. I had anyway no arguments left; neither hope. I saw only despair ahead. Silently I cursed Ayl for his kidnap. The sorcerers who’d sent Rwyan out with Tezdal, myself; even Rwyan, that she should ask this dreadful duty of me.
Rwyan said, “One blow, Daviot my love. Only that.”
I groaned, shaking my head.
She said, “Do you love me, you cannot refuse.”
I said, “No.” I did not know whether I confirmed her words or denied them.
She said, “It were better I die than live mindless. Better I die than betray Dharbek.”
I said, “It were better you live whole.”
She nodded gravely. How could she be so calm? She said, “Aye, and if I can, I shall. But if that’s not to be, I ask this boon of you.”
I said, “I’d give my life willing for yours, Rwyan. But this? I doubt I could strike that blow.”
Urgent, she said, “You must, be it needed. You will, do you love me.”
It was hard to meet the implacable gaze of those great green eyes. They bored into me, alight with determination. Under my hands her bones seemed suddenly fragile. I saw the slender column of her neck and knew that I might snap it with a blow; might drive a fist against her face to send fragmented shards of bone into her skull. Keran had taught me well. I felt my breath come short, in gasps that seared my throat. It was as though a hand clamped hard about my heart. Blood pounded in my head, drumming loud in my ears. I thought my tears must flow sanguine. I burned and was chill, together. Had I not loved her so well, I’d have hated her for the imposition of this awful burden. Had I not loved her so strong, I’d have refused her.
I said hoarse and hollow, the words torn slowly out, “Do you truly ask it, then so be it.”
She said, “I do truly ask it.”
I said, “But not yet. Not now.”
She said, “No. Not whilst hope exists. But does the time come.”
I said, “Then I’ll do it.”
She drew my head down, and kissed me gently, and whispered, “My brave, strong Daviot. My love.”
Brave? I was a coward then. I asked the God I’d cursed and doubted that this burden be taken from me. That he work one of those miracles the Church promises, to take us both from this place, safe and together. Almost, I asked that I might die first. But not quite, for that should have been betrayal, and Rwyan taught me momentarily to be strong. Had she the strength to ask this of me, should I be so weak as to fail her? Almost. Oh, almost. But not quite. It was as if I drew strength from her; as if that pure purpose that invested her being bled into me. I held her close and kissed her fierce. Both our mouths were wet with tears.
When we at last drew apart, I said, “I cannot vouch for Urt’s loyalty, but did you not think the Raethe stood divided as to our fate?” I felt not much conviction. I thought that if factions did exist within the Council, then it was as likely Urt argued simply to thwart Allanyn as to aid us. That what we’d witnessed was some internecine struggle for power. I found it hard then to believe he was still my good true friend; but still I said, “Be that so, then perhaps he’s some plan to save us.”
Rwyan said, “To save us? Think you he’d betray his own kind?”
“Perhaps not that,” I answered. “But perhaps there’s some way he might save us without betraying the Changed.”
I wanted to believe. At the same time, I feared such hope—did I grasp it as my heart dictated, I thought I should lose that resolve Rwyan gave me. I feared I should succumb to hope and delay my blow until it was too late and thus betray my love. I dared not hope; I could not say that to Rwyan. So instead I said, “I pray it be so.”
When the sun was some time passed overhead and shadows lengthened outside, we were summoned.
Four gifted Changed escorted us through curving corridors lit by magic to a blank door. They halted there, and though none knocked or called out, the door swung open. We went through, descending a flight of wide stairs to the bowels of the hall, where an arch opened onto a large, circular chamber.
This was lit by that same occult radiance, and I stared about, wide-eyed with wonder.
Not least at sight of Tezdal.
I had seen him only in the plain garb of Dharbek or that simple gear Ayl had given us. Neither had I seen a Sky Lord undressed of all his armor. Now this man I named my friend stood before me in the clothing of his Ahn homeland.
His hair was oiled and dressed, drawn back tight from his swarthy face to fall in a long tail behind. He wore a shirt of what I took to be black silk, a crimson sash about his waist, a long dagger sheathed there in a silver scabbard. Sable breeks belled over calf-high boots of soft crimson hide, and over all this he wore a sleeveless crimson robe that descended to his ankles, all sewn with glyphs of rainbow threads that flickered and shone in the light. Lord Tezdal, the Changed had named him, and he looked the lord now, save that his face wore an expression of confusion and some embarrassment as he greeted us.
No less grand were the Sky Lords standing close.
Better than a score of them there were, and all garbed in similar magnificence. I saw that all their shirts and breeks and boots were of the same black and crimson hues, but each robe was a different color, with different symbols. They studied us with c
old curiosity. Two fingered daggers, as if they’d as soon draw the blades and slay us as leave us witnesses to the ceremony. When Tezdal greeted us as friends, they favored him with disapproving glances.
I looked for Urt and found Allanyn instead. Her eyes sparkled with malice, and I thought that did the Sky Lords attack, she’d not attempt to stay them; rather aid them. She stood with others of the gifted Changed. Beside the Sky Lords, their homely garb was drab, their brightest colors those circlets they wore in evidence of their talent.
I looked about the chamber and felt an unnamable power. I felt my skin prickled, like tiny nails scraping. My mouth was dry. Overhead the vault curved, only the floor flat, all white. Toward its center stood a ring of slim white columns, natural as stalagmites, save for their uniformity. Each rose an arm’s length from its neighbor, and atop each column rested a crystal, larger mates to the stone Rwyan had worn. They pulsed as if invested with arcane life, shimmering a spectrum of pale colors. I thought of those jellyfish that drift shining in the ocean and poison whatever comes within the aegis of their filaments. At the center of that circle stood a construction like a bier, draped with a golden cloth. I had never before set foot in any place of magic, but I should have known this for such a location, even had Rwyan not clutched my hand so that I felt her tremble, or seen the crystals.
Our escort moved to join their fellows, and from the group stepped Geran.
“We’d restore Lord Tezdal his memory,” he said. “Do you witness this and know our power. As you value your lives and his, do not interfere.”
I nodded. Rwyan said, “Are these all your crystals?”
“No.” Geran made a small negative movement of his head. “This valley is rich with them.”
Rwyan nodded as if a belief were confirmed and murmured, “I thought as much.”
“So do you stand here,” Geran said. “Silent.”
He turned away, devoid of any doubt but that we should obey. I caught Tezdal’s eye. I thought him none too happy. I smiled encouragement. No matter the situation, I counted him a friend; and thought it a dreadful thing to have no memory.
