by Glenda Larke
"Laisa's right," Taquar said. "On your own, no one gets water. With me, we have a chance. You are stronger and more experienced than you used to be, and I have been working on vapor extraction in the years since I saw you last. But we will talk of this again later, in Scarcleft." He snuffed the wick of his lantern now that the sky was pink with dawn.
"I'm not going back to be imprisoned by you all over again. You're sandcrazy to think I will! And what did you do to Terelle? Kill her the way you killed Amethyst?"
"I didn't kill Terelle, I assure you. She is free, living her own life. And who mentioned a prison? You will live in Scarcleft Hall with Laisa, Senya and me, an honored guest. The Quartern's Stormlord. You'll have whatever you need. My word on it."
"Your words are not worth as much as the air it takes to say them. How do I know anything you say is the truth?" Terelle. Ah, please let that be the truth. Jasper's heart thudded under his ribs as he dared to think of her, dared to hope she was alive and free.
Taquar shrugged. "Then think of the Quartern. Without me, you will never bring clouds to the Warthago, or anywhere else, either."
The horrible thing was, he was probably correct. Without help, will I be able to lift a single drop of fresh water into the sky from the ocean? He could move clouds all over the sky afterward; he could send them wherever he wanted-but that initial pulling of the vapor out of the salty waters of the Giving Sea was, as far as he knew, still beyond his flawed powers. They had been planning to go to Portennabar because Nealrith and Granthon had hoped being close to the sea would make it easier for him. Even Taquar had once suggested it as a possible solution. Jasper had always been dubious.
In no mood to be conciliatory, he glowered at Laisa. "You think the Quartern will be best served by having its only stormlord under the thumb of the man who as good as invited Davim to attack us?"
"Come now, Jasper. Think," she said in answer. "Taquar's reason for keeping you hidden no longer exists. If he was the only one who knew who you were and where you were, then he had power. His aim was to make us believe he was the stormlord." She smiled at Taquar, her glance gently mocking. "The irony of that, of course, was that it wasn't necessary. Granthon made him heir-if he'd waited, he would have had the power of a ruler legitimately, even if he couldn't be a proper stormlord."
She handed the pede reins to Senya and came forward to lay her hands on Jasper's shoulders. He was uncomfortably aware of her, of her perfume, of her sensuality. He was taller than her now, but she made him feel awkward, clumsy, and very young. He schooled his face into an expressionless mask as the first rays of the sun cast morning shadows across The Skirtings.
"But that has all changed," she said. "All Taquar wants to do now is keep you safe in Scarcleft and help you create storms. He needs water just as much as the rest of us, after all. If we abandon the other three quarters, the two of you may manage to supply all of Scarpen."
He was silent, hiding his rage behind the mask. She so easily dismissed the rest of the Quartern and all its people as if they were of no import. Faces skimmed through his memory: the Alabaster salt trader Feroze Khorash, who had offered aid when he needed it; the Gibber folk of his childhood. People like them would die of thirst, if Laisa and Taquar had their way.
He shook off her hand and bent to pick up his cloak and put it over his shoulders. The sun might have risen, but there was little warmth to the air yet.
Laisa added with unusual gentleness, "If Taquar wants to sever the power of the stormlord-you-from that of the Quartern ruler-himself-then let him. It's no bad thing, you know. People will not protest his rule. They are afraid, and they know Taquar is the strongest leader we have. It will not diminish your standing; you are a stormlord-the stormlord. You will be revered; you'll have everything you want."
He stared at her, wondering what her motive was, hating her because she could forget Nealrith so soon. Because she could forgive Taquar so easily. Because in a terrible, ghastly way, she too was right.
He looked away from her back to Taquar and said levelly, "I know what you plan. You want to give the north to Davim and his tribe to do what they want with. And you think you're going to rule in the south in a way the Scarpen and the Gibber have never been ruled before. As a-a-" he searched his memory for the correct word "-a tyrant. The cities of the Scarpen and the towns and villages of the Gibber will have no autonomy, no freedom. And what will be left of the Gibber, anyway, if it is sent no water?"
Laisa arched an eyebrow. "Autonomy? Where did a Gibber grubber learn a word like that?"
Senya sniggered.
He did not look at either of them, but kept his gaze pinned on Taquar as he continued, although he addressed Laisa, not the highlord. "I read a lot." His voice was steady, uninflected. He wondered if she guessed how inadequate her scorn made him feel. "Let's assume for a moment that Taquar and I, in combination, can indeed create some clouds as you believe. Tell me, Laisa, just what do you suggest I do when Taquar tells us to withhold water from one of the Scarpen cities, as punishment for an indiscretion on their part?"
She gave him a withering glance. "They would still be better off than if they were captured by Davim! The whole of the Scarpen is better off, including yourself, if you work with Taquar. Can't you see that?"
Taquar, still holding his stare, said urbanely, "I will send a message to Davim telling him I have you. I will insist his men return to the Red Quarter now and stay there unless invited back. And Davim has to do it, or risk having us send no rain to the Red Quarter."
"That won't worry him," Jasper pointed out. "He wants to return to a Time of Random Rain!"
"Yes, but in his time, and his own way. Gradually, so his people have time to adapt. He wants to make sure we will send rain. He still needs the aid of a stormlord; he has made that clear to me."
When Jasper didn't reply, Taquar continued, "Besides, I can tell him we not only have the power to send him rain-or not-but we could also ensure they get no random rain, if we so wish. You and I could divert natural clouds from the dunes, just as we could create clouds for them." He gave a malicious smile. "That won't have occurred to the red drover, but I intend to make it clear in due course. If he defies us, if he tries to seize our cisterns to bring us down or to steal our water, he risks ultimate unimaginable disaster for his people. I can still bring him to heel, believe me."
"You underestimate him."
"I don't think so. I can threaten him with you. Imagine what a single stormlord could do to his dune. You could drain his waterholes, empty his water jars, steal the water."
"Not so easy. I can't get at water enclosed in a jar! I might be able to steal all the water in a waterhole and dump it a few hundred paces away, I suppose, but I'd have to be a great deal closer than this."
"You could steal water from a waterhole by turning it into a cloud. After all, it's not salty," Laisa said.
He contradicted her. "Not necessarily. I can't make vapor from muddy or dirty water, either."
"The threat is all I need," Taquar said. "I doubt Davim knows the details of your abilities! Anyway, reverting to the other part of your argument, do you really think the poor of the Quartern have ever had choices about the way they live? Freedom means nothing to someone who has to wonder where his next full dayjar is coming from!"
"Are you telling me what it's like to be poor?" Jasper asked, incredulous.
"Yes, because you have evidently forgotten. You aren't the only one who was once a dirt-grubber, you know. Although in my case it was more often the midden heaps of Breakaway. That's where I started and I'm damned certain I don't want to end there. When did your Gibber family ever care about who ruled in Breccia City? What did they care about autonomy? As I recall, in your village they thought rainlords were gods!" Taquar's sneer stabbed at him, all the more hurtful because it was true.
Feeling himself under assault, he was silent.
Laisa had not finished with him, either. "And anyway, let's be honest, Jasper. Do you really want to be the ruler of the Quartern? Can
you imagine the responsibility? You are hardly more than a child. In the past there have been as many as ten or so stormlords at any one time, dividing the duties of cloudshifting and cloudbreaking. You will have to do the work that was once shared between many. Why would you want to burden yourself with the additional task of governing?"
He thought of replying to that. Of telling her even an incompetent ruler would be better than Taquar. Of telling her he had an inkling-no, he had a vision-of a better world. Of a place where Gibber urchins could get an education, where a snuggery girl could rise above her fate, where a rich upleveler couldn't pay for extra water so he could have an extra child or two even as lowlevelers thirsted. But he knew when he was beaten. The trick was to put yourself in a position of strength before the fight began; he had learned that much from Kaneth and Ryka.
He forced himself to be calm. "No, of course I don't want to be the ruler of the Quartern. You're right-it would be more than I could do. More than I would want to do." He switched his gaze to Laisa. "How wise of you, Laisa."
The look she gave him was sharp, wondering how he dared to mock her, not quite certain if he did. She said, "Anyway, what are we doing discussing this in the middle of The Skirtings? Let's go to the city and have a civilized meal and a bath, and thrash out the details of an agreement between you and Taquar in more pleasant surroundings."
"Indeed," Taquar agreed. "Much more pleasant-and once there, I will tell you all I know about what became of Terelle."
They waited for Jasper's reply. He looked from one to another, sickened, hating their cynical manipulation, their selfishness. But what choice did he have? In the long run, what mattered was the Quartern-and its water supply.
He nodded, unable to speak, and thought of Terelle.
***
In the end, it was just Taquar and Jasper who had the discussion. Jasper had washed-using as little water as he could, even though the servant attending him had offered to heat an entire bath full to the brim-and changed into the clean clothes provided. A lavish meal was delivered to his room, and he found to his surprise he was ravenously hungry. When he thought back, he realized he had no memory of eating much on his journey from Breccia. When he was finished, a servant led him to the highlord's sitting room. Neither Laisa nor Senya were anywhere in evidence.
"I thought we might do better without them," Taquar said. "Women tend to complicate things. Please sit down and allow me to pour you something refreshing. Do you drink amber now? You must have endured quite an ordeal over the past few days and I imagine a drink might be welcome."
Jasper sat, but did not reply to the question. "Where's Terelle?" he asked instead.
Taquar shrugged indifferently and poured two goblets of amber. "I've no idea."
Dragging in a deep breath, Jasper curbed a desire to slam a fist into the man's face. "I know you had her-you forced her to write that note to me. You said you'd tell me what became of her. Do so."
"I don't know where she is. Nor do I have any interest now you are here." He handed one of the goblets to Jasper.
You wilted bastard. You're playing games with me. He took the goblet, but did not drink. "In the letter you sent, you threatened to kill her. To torture her, if I did not return."
"And you were supposed to believe it. But really, I am not the monster you think me to be. Having written the note, the little whore was free to go. After a while, she did." He turned to look at the portrait of himself on the wall. "She left me that, a memento of our times together, the little jade! Quite a fine painting, don't you think?"
The feeling smothering Jasper was so intense he could hardly breathe. It was every searing event he had ever endured: the moment when Citrine had been thrown into the air and skewered on the chala spear; the moment when he had seen carvings on a pede and known its owner was the man who had killed her; the moment he had drawn his blade across Nealrith's neck; the moment one of Davim's bladesmen had uttered Mica's name only to die. It was the last time he had seen Terelle, when Harkel Tallyman, Scarcleft's seneschal, had said so casually: "Kill her."
Silent, struggling with the intensity of his feeling, he stared at the painting and saw all Terelle had put into it: the despair, the hate, the fear of the power intimidating her. Worse, he also saw Taquar's sexuality, his attractiveness, through her eyes. The allure. Terelle had looked at this man and part of her had been mesmerized by him.
Jasper's bitterness stirred. Is that what attracts a woman? Sensuality coupled with a callous indifference to others? An attractive body coupled with the reality of power?
He battled his jealousy, knowing it was ridiculous. No, not Terelle. Never Terelle.
Yet the pain of those thoughts ebbed but slowly. Expressionless, he looked at Taquar. "Yes," he said. "It's a very fine portrait. And you are lying. What happened to her?"
Taken aback, Taquar blinked.
Good, I've disconcerted him.
"You saw the damage to part of the city as we rode in."
"The earth shook and walls fell down, you said. What did you call it? An earthquake? What has that to do with Terelle?"
"She escaped that night. She was here in the hall. You're right; I had no intention of letting her go. I thought if I had her, I had a way of ensuring your cooperation. Believe me, the last thing I ever wanted to do was hurt her."
"Did she have her paints?" Jasper asked suddenly.
Taquar blinked in surprise at the question. "Yes, she did. So?"
"Nothing. Nothing that matters now, anyway." But inwardly he smiled. He knew now what had brought down the outer wall of Scarcleft Hall. Terelle had not escaped by accident-she had painted her way free. "I am sure you tried to find her afterward," he said. "Where did she go?"
"It was a day before I realized she was even missing. We were somewhat preoccupied in the aftermath of the earthquake," Taquar said, his irritation surfacing.
"I can imagine. But I still know you tried to find her. Are you saying she escaped your clutches leaving not a single clue behind?"
"Not exactly. Harkel found out she went to that old man-the waterpainter. What was his name again?"
"Russet Kermes."
"Russet, that's right. The two of them left Scarcleft on a pede, immediately after the quake. No one saw which way they went. By the time we found out, there didn't seem to be much point in searching."
Jasper considered, wondering if he should continue to needle the highlord or if he now had an approximation of the truth. He was inclined to think so. A spike of grief jabbed at his heart, then receded to a dull ache. The odds were he would never see her again. Russet had wanted to take her to his home, way beyond the borders of the Quartern. Terelle was lost to him.
"All right," he said. "I'll accept that as the truth. But it's not the only thing I need to know. You told me you had no knowledge of Mica's fate. But all the while you were allied to Davim. I assume you asked him what happened to my brother. What did he tell you?"
"That he had placed your brother in one of the Reduner tribes. He didn't tell me which one. Several years later he told me Mica died in an accident with a pede. That's all I know."
He went cold all over. Mica was dead? Only a few days earlier, back in Breccia, he'd talked to one of the invaders from the Red Quarter who'd known Mica and he'd begun to hope again that his brother was alive. "Was-was that the truth?"
"I can't think of any reason he would lie."
Jasper put down his drink, untouched, and stood up. He went to stand at the window, looking out, yet seeing nothing beyond his memory of the day Wash Drybone Settle had been slaughtered. The fires, the blood, the screams, the dispassionate killing by men who simply didn't care. He remembered hearing Mica calling out to him as he was taken away.
I didn't believe he'd died, he acknowledged. I never truly admitted it was even possible. Even now, I go on hoping.
How long he stood there grieving, yet refusing to lose hold of hope, he did not know. If Taquar spoke to him, he did not hear. When he turned once more to
face the highlord, he said calmly, "Now, shall we see if we have any real basis for a partnership? I want to know if you can truly raise water vapor from the Giving Sea."
"Now?" Taquar appeared dumbfounded.
"Why not? I have no intention of staying here unless there is good reason. And cloudmaking is that reason. The only one." He put his drink down. "Do you have a stormquest room?"
Taquar drank the last of his amber. "Yes. Although it hasn't been used as that for as long as I remember. It's the library now." He rose to his feet. "Follow me."
The library had the elements Jasper had come to think of as essential to stormshifting: a view out toward the Giving Sea, lecterns suitable for looking at scroll maps and a large table for bigger maps. For the time being, though, he was unconcerned about where to send water. He just wanted to know if they could do it at all.
He walked straight over to the open shutters. He could not see the sea in the heat haze of the horizon, but he could feel it: a vast expanse of water impinging on him as a vague presence just at the edges of his conscious thought. "Show me."
Taquar came to stand beside him. Without speaking he stared outward. Jasper waited at his side, sending his water-sense seaward, concentrating to feel the first movement of pure mist wisping out of the salt water. It came, such a tiny spiral of vapor he almost missed it. He gathered it together, controlling it with ease so it didn't escape and dissipate. Easy enough, especially when the amount was so small. He searched for other misty half-formed clouds typical of the coastal areas and started to pull them together. Not enough to form a rain cloud, he had to admit, but it all helped.
He glanced at Taquar. The highlord was sweating with the effort.
Pede piss, Jasper thought. Is this the most he can do? If a cloud hardly the size of a myriapede took this much effort, how were they ever going to create clouds containing enough water to supply even Scarcleft, let alone the whole of the Quartern? Impatiently, he tugged at the vapor, pulling it upward away from the surface of the sea, dragging it out of Taquar's hold as fast as the highlord created it.
