Lords of the Sky

by Angus Wells

  “And was laughed at,” I said. “But even so, those dreams return, time and time again. And even when we were parted, Rwyan shared them; then Tezdal. Now you.”

  His expression was blank, empty of understanding. “Do you explain?”

  I said, “I cannot.”

  Rwyan said, “I believe there’s a pattern, Urt. Some weaving of destiny joins us, perhaps sends us these dreams.”

  “To what end?” he asked. Warily, I thought.

  And now Rwyan must frown and shrug and tell him, “That I cannot say. But I feel it a good omen.”

  Urt nodded without much conviction. Then his head turned, cocked in attitude of attention. Urgently, he said, “Are you questioned, say only that I sought to persuade you; naught of anything else.”

  His hearing was far more acute than mine: he caught the approaching footsteps long before Allanyn stalked into the clearing. She wore a gown of emerald green that emphasized the feline grace of her movements. Her hair was gathered up, the golden band bright on her brow. Her eyes shone spiteful.

  “So,” she demanded, “are they persuaded?”

  “I put our case,” said Urt. “They consider it.”

  Allanyn studied him a moment. Then, lazy as a cat toying with a trapped mouse, turned to us. For long moments she only eyed us, her lips parting to expose sharp white teeth.

  “They consider it?” Her tone was mocking, oily with malice. I was uncertain whether her spite was meant for us or Urt. “They’ve not so much time they should dwell overlong on a matter foregone. Before this winter’s out our Sky Lord allies shall have all their ships and all their warriors in place. By summer’s advent—by Ennas Day—we’ll be ready—our battle shall commence then, Urt. In Dharbek, our people will rise; and from across the seas and over the Slammerkin will come the skyboats. Ere then, I’ll have this mage’s knowledge, willing or not.”

  Her voice rose triumphant as the sentence ended; I felt Rwyan’s hand find mine. Brave, she said, “Not willing, Allanyn.”

  The feline Changed smiled at that, horridly. Her eyes returned to Urt. “Perhaps the mage should be better persuaded by other methods. Perhaps we should put her lover to torture and let his pain deliver our arguments.”

  Her tone was casual: I felt a chill. I was prepared to die, but I’d not thought to be tortured. I saw Urt frown his distaste and shake his head. In a voice so calm it was an insult, he said, “Would you soil us with such methods, Allanyn?”

  Her ocher eyes blazed. She stiffened. She said, “I’d have those answers we require; and soon.”

  “The Raethe has agreed,” he gave her back, “that they’ve until the Lord Tezdal wakes. Do you now assume to command us all?”

  I thought she might fling her magic at him for that. I could not doubt but that these two were enemies. I watched as Allanyn spun round; striding back the way she’d come. Over her shoulder she hurled a parting sally heavy with threat: “Not yet, Urt. But when that day comes, beware.”

  BY ENNAS Day! By summer’s beginning: it seemed to me time ran faster now. Those days on board the Sprite, the slow trek to Trebizar—they seemed an idyll, a leisurely journey for which we now paid the price. I thought it could not be long before Tezdal woke and I must strike that blow I dreaded. And after—Allanyn’s threat vivid in my memory—I thought I should likely face not clean death but slow torture. I saw no escape. How could there be? Even was Urt still truly a friend, still there seemed to me nothing he could do. He had admitted he saw no answers; neither had he suggested any means by which we might evade Allanyn’s wrath. Indeed, likely the wrath of all the Changed did we attempt escape. Which seemed to me impossible….

  My thoughts ran around and around in circles….

  The Sky Lords prepared the Great Coming…. The Changed prepared for war…. The fylie of the Kho’rabi should soon descend on Dharbek from both east and north…. The wild Changed go bellicose across the Slammerkin…. The Changed of Dharbek rise like some invisible army…. The land would run red.

  I’d not be there to witness that carnage; nor Rwyan. I wondered if time’s clock might have run different had I spoken of what I’d seen that night when I saw Changed and Sky Lords together. I’d still no doubt but that pogrom should have ensued, but might that not have been the lesser abomination? Could my warning have changed history’s course? Had I delivered my country all unsuspecting to destruction?

  I slumped morose in a chair as twilight fell over the gardens, my head all aspin with awful doubt. Rwyan spoke to me of hope, but I could find little place for such optimism. She spoke of the pattern, but I could see only the snapping of its threads here in Trebizar. I thought death should be welcome; sooner the Pale Friend’s embrace than witness of what must surely come.

  I ate a few mouthfuls of the meal they brought us, my appetite quite gone, and would not be cheered by Rwyan’s optimism. I could not be: I saw no space for hope. I drank wine that had no taste. I wanted only to hold her and for a little while push back the bloody darkness that loomed about me.

  She held me. She kissed me and stroked my hair. But she would do no more: she told me we must wait, that Urt would make good his promise of revelation. I thought that revelation should be poor comfort.

  Then, when the sky was all velvet blue and filled with stars, Urt came. For an instant I dared hope he had some plan—that he’d somehow spirit us away. I was unsure I’d even want that—not knowing we left behind the destruction of my homeland.

  I need not have tormented myself so: he had no plan, only a crystal.

  He came in furtive, motioning we be silent as he eased the door ajar and went to the table. From a pouch on his belt he extracted a glowing stone. It was larger than that obscene jewel Rwyan had worn; not so large as those in the crypt where Tezdal—so he advised us—slept still. He set it down and unthinking wiped his hands against his tunic, as if the crystal left behind some physical taint.

  “Lady.” He addressed himself to Rwyan. “I think you’ll know the use of this. Do you show Daviot, and before morning I must have it back.” He shrugged, his eyes mournful. “I can do no more. Perhaps you’ll find an answer in the stone.”

  I said, “Shall it free us? Shall it grant Rwyan power?”

  He said, “I think not that, but perhaps understanding. I’ve not the talent for it, but the gifted use these stones—they send them south to Dharbek, to the Changed there; to spread the word.”

  He hesitated an instant, as if some dire secret were revealed. I was reminded of that clandestine meeting I had witnessed, when Changed and Sky Lords came furtive together. I said, “In Kellambek I saw your people and Kho’rabi meet by night. Was this the reason?”

  Urt nodded. “Likely. Those little boats the Sky Lords command defy Dhar magic to bring the stones south.”

  I grunted as that mystery was resolved and gestured that he continue.

  He said, “Perhaps do you commune with this, we three can find some way …” He shook his head helplessly. Then smiled without sign of humor. “You asked for proof of my friendship, Daviot? Well, is it known I give you this, I’m dead. This secret is close-guarded, and should the gifted learn what I do, my life is forfeit. Allanyn shaped this crystal herself, and she’d not hesitate to take my life.”

  He spoke with absolute conviction, and as I watched his face, I felt my doubts dissolve. It seemed a weight lifted off me.

  He was once again the old friend of my youth, the one who had first shown me that secret world of the Changed. The true friend who’d carried my messages to Rwyan and hers back to me. Without him, I’d not have known my love: I thought then that it was he had first set my feet on the road that brought me here. I suppose I might have hated him for that, but all I felt was love, our comradeship rekindled. I went to him, taking his hand as I’d done so long ago in Durbrecht.

  His smile grew warm at that, and he answered my grip firm. There was no need of words, for which I was thankful—I had none at that moment. I felt only shame that I’d doubted him and heartfe
lt regret that this world we Truemen made should force enmity on us. Urt was not my enemy, nor I his: those roles were chosen for us by the past. I felt sad that our tomorrows looked to be soon ended.

  He said, “I dare not delay. Allanyn already seeks to brand me traitor. ‘Trueman’s Friend,’ she names me.”

  Still gripping his hand, I said, “Is that a crime, Urt?”

  “To some; to Allanyn surely.” His grin brought me memories of his usual good humor. “Was it not ever the way—that Changed and Trueman live apart? Our situations reverse, eh, Daviot?”

  “I think,” I said, “that had I a choice, I’d sooner face Ardyon than Allanyn.”

  His grin faded at that, his expression become again grave. He said, “Aye. Ardyon seems as nothing beside her.”

  As we spoke, Rwyan studied the crystal. She did not touch it; she seemed to me wary of the stone, as someone loath to handle a sword might regard the blade they know they must soon wield. Her face was troubled as she turned toward us. “Does this give us answers, Urt, shall you be with us in their deliverance?”

  He met her sightless gaze unflinching and said, “I’ll not betray my people, Rwyan; but can you find a way to avoid this war and free my kind—then, aye. What aid is mine to give, you shall have.”

  “Good.”

  Rwyan returned to her observation of the crystal. I looked from her to Urt. There was much we had to say to one another; there was not the time to say it. He smiled grimly and said, “I cannot linger, lest I bring suspicion on you. Do you employ that thing, and I’ll come back ere dawn.”

  I said, “Shall it be safe till then?”

  “All well,” he answered. “Save the Lord Tezdal wakes. Does that happen, we’re lost.”

  I nodded, and he clasped my hand again. “Daviot, for good or ill, I am your friend,” and then he was gone.

  I turned to Rwyan. “What is it?” I asked her.

  She said, “Am I right, then such magic as should delight you, Daviot. Am I right, this stone holds memories.”

  I gaped, going to her side. The crystal lay on the table. It was the size of my clenched fist, a pale blue that pulsed faintly, like water struck by sunlight. Sparks of pink fluttered through it. It was a pretty thing. It seemed quite harmless, save for the strange sense of slumbering power emanating from it. Or did it slumber? I experienced a strange sensation as I came near. I thought the crystal … eager … as if it anticipated contact. I felt suddenly nervous. I felt … I can only describe it as a call, in the channels of my blood, in the roots of my brain. Perhaps it was only that I knew the stone for an occult thing; perhaps otherwise I should have thought it only some chunk of quartz, grist to the lapidaries and no more.

  I asked, “Can you use it? I thought your talent denied you here.”

  Rwyan licked her lips and said, “Be this so powerful as I suspect, I think it shall commune with us both. I believe it asks to be unlocked, and it shall overcome those gramaryes that limit me.”

  I saw that she felt scant enthusiasm for that contact. “Do you fear a trick?”

  Her smile was fleeting. She said, “Such thought had crossed my mind.”

  I said, “Then leave it be.”

  She said, “Do you not trust Urt, then?”

  I shook my head. “I trust him. But he’s no sorcerer. Might Allanyn have let him bring this?”

  She closed her eyes a moment, then forced a smile. “Let us find out,” she said. “Do you sit and take my hand and not let go.”

  I took a chair beside her. Her hand was warm in mine, our fingers interlaced. I felt wary as she reached toward the stone. I saw it pulse brighter as her free hand drew near. The stone flickered more red than blue. It seemed to me hungry. Rwyan set her fingertips on the crystal, and it became all brightness, like spilling blood. Her hand was lost in the glow. I heard her murmur, the words too low I might discern them. I felt the magic engulf me, flowing out from the stone in a torrent of occult power, Rwyan the conduit.

  I cannot properly describe that sensation: as it is with dreams, so ordinary words, mundane concepts, are insufficient to the task. As in dreams, I saw clearly, I was aware, and yet all was governed by an indefinable logic, defying rational analysis. Knowledge was instantaneous, a flood that washed over me and into me. There was no order, save what my mind must impose that I be able to digest it all. Understanding was imparted wordlessly, instinctive as the child’s first inhalation.

  I must use inadequate words to describe what entered me.

  I saw the Changed left behind in Ur-Dharbek by we Truemen, that they be living safeguard against the dragons. I felt their fear, their anger: I was Changed. I was aware of their survival, of time’s slow passing like impossibly long summer, nurturing resentment of their unfair fate as they hid from the predators. Too many died.

  Images, then, of crystals, of discovery, of burgeoning awareness, the sense of wonder as the talent was discovered, the Changed found the gift of magic Never so many of them they might overcome the Border Cities I saw built, guardians of the Slammerkin, an occult wall to Dharbek’s north, but enough they could defend themselves, conceal themselves from the dragons and then drive off the sky hunters.

  Time then, slowly passing, the world turning, the dragons no longer a threat save to children, become creatures of legend. A bountiful time ensuing, peaceful, the gifted coming to better understanding of the magic they used unthinking, the slowly burgeoning realization it stemmed from the crystals.

  A hunt: to gather the occult stones and bring them where they should be hidden from Truemen, piled to build the magic of the Changed—to this valley of Trebizar. The first of the gifted formed the Raethe, and Trebizar became the heart of Ur-Dharbek, power spreading. … I saw the wastes mastered by Changed magic, made a pleasant land, a secret, contented land, save for … the memories these crystals held, always reminding those gifted with the talent of what had been, of Truemen’s treachery. And those memories nowhere stronger than in Trebizar, amongst the gifted of the Raethe.

  I choked on bile as waves of bitter resentment, of raw hatred beat over me. I knew then that Allanyn had held this stone and was mad, consumed by crystalline dreams of revenge. I knew that all those Changed possessed of the strongest talent were crazed. I felt an awful guilt for what my kind had made of these folk.

  I saw, too, that their magic took a different path to that of the Dhar sorcerers. These Changed lived closer to the earth than we, and their magic—once the dragons were gone—was not needed in defense of their land, but employed to render the wastes habitable. I saw that most were peaceable, and in that found some small hope.

  And then despair as events unfolded in my mind, and I saw the first Kho’rabi skyboat, driven north by Sentinels and Border Cities, come drifting down to land, to make alliance with the wild Changed.

  To those most gifted—those bent fiercest on revenge—it was a boon unimaginable.

  As the paths of Changed and Truemen’s magic had diverged, so had that commanded by the Sky Lords. Their will was bent on conquering the Worldwinds, on binding the elementals to their cause, that they mount the Great Coming and take back their ancestral land. In the wild Changed they found allies both physical and magical: they joined in union.

  Changed had always come north over the Slammerkin—the rebels and the discontented, the dreamers. But only north: now the Sky Lords showed how that barrier might be crossed southward.

  Their great invasion craft were whales in the ocean of the sky; their little skyboats were barracuda, swift. They evaded the magic of the Dhar. They carried wild Changed south to speak with the oppressed and kindle the dream that grew amongst their northern kin. To we Truemen these agitators were faceless as their servile southern brethren—they came and went unnoticed. Thus was the flame of discontent fanned, the torch of rebellion lit; thus would the Changed of Dharbek know when the time was come.

  I saw the whole design now, or the larger part of it. I saw how Ayl had his knowledge of this land. I saw those little piece
s of the puzzle I’d recognized as I wandered fall into place. It was a terrifying alliance. I knew it must shatter Dharbek. I saw how blind we Dhar had been, and were still.

  It began already, for the crystal told me it was Allanyn’s agent had poisoned Gahan, and that Jareth’s ascendancy delivered the land to disunion. I saw that soon the Kho’rabi would mass in Ur-Dharbek, and that from Ahn-feshang would come such an invasion fleet as must surely overwhelm the Sentinels, whilst from the north would come that other, Sky Lords and Changed together.

  From the crystal came a sense of immediacy, of anticipation. A sense of terrible hunger.

  I was barely aware when the flood of images, of impressions, ceased. I knew that my head ached and my mouth was dry, that my eyes felt scorched as if I’d wept. I felt a touch upon my shoulder and found a cup of wine pressed to my lips. I drank and looked into Rwyan’s eyes. Her face was pale and grave.

  I said, “Can there be any doubt?”

  She shook her head. “But perhaps some hope,” she said.

  I frowned and drank again. I was not used to this communication with the occult. I said, “What did you see that gives you hope?”

  She filled a cup and drank herself before replying. I saw that the crystal was no longer bright, but only faintly pulsing now. Beyond the window night reigned. The knowledge of centuries had flooded through my aching head, but the angle of the moon told me it was scarce midnight.

  Rwyan said, “The talent brings its own curse here. Allanyn and her ilk are quite mad.”

  I said, “Old news, Rwyan; poor news.”

  I did not mean to speak so sharp. I felt fear and despair in equal measure: now more than ever I could see no hope.

  Rwyan ignored my poor humor. She set down her cup and said, “But not all are crazed. Neither all the Changed, nor all the Raethe. Urt’s sane enough, for one.”

  I said, “And is but one; and helpless against Allanyn.”

  She said, “Save he finds allies.”

  “Allies?” I shook my head. “Allanyn’s strong in the Raethe—Urt’s own warning, no? And what I saw suggested only bloody war.”