Voice of the Gods

by Trudi Canavan

She looked at Nekaun. “But I have discovered a weakness here. You do not truly understand your own people. You may read their thoughts, but you won’t accept that there is too much hatred between our peoples now for peace to come so easily. Either side will resist any attempt to ally with those that killed their kin. They crave revenge, and if they get it vengeance will be dealt out in kind. It may go on and on, year after year, century after century. Why? Because your gods urged your people to invade mine.”

  He stared at her, then slowly smiled.

  “Ah, but have you ever wondered why they did?” he asked. “Because yours won’t tolerate followers of any gods but the Circle. Don’t the peoples of the world deserve the freedom to worship who they wish?”

  The litter was coming alongside the Sanctuary steps. Auraya met Nekaun’s eyes. “Perhaps they do, but if your gods thought invading Northern Ithania would free mortals from Circlian intolerance they made a supremely grand mistake. All they did was kill a lot of people, Circlian and Pentadrian, and ensure many more would continue to die.”

  The litter stopped. Nekaun gave no orders, instead considering her words.

  “To that I can only make two replies. Firstly, that the decision was not the gods’, as they leave such matters to us to decide. Secondly, that we will never find peace if we never look and strive for it. It may take time and much effort.” He smiled. “Unlike you, I have all the time in the world.”

  Since announcing that the servant had reached his destination and ordering Yem, Gillen and Danjin back into the platten, Ella’s attention had been caught in some distant place. The men now spoke in hushed voices to avoid distracting her. When Gillen won a game of counters his comical choked noises and gestures of suppressed glee made Danjin’s loss of coin less painful.

  It helped that Danjin rarely lost to Gillen. Yem, on the other hand, was surprisingly adept at the game. Fortunately Yem was as scornful of wagers and gambling as Gillen was enchanted by them. Losing to him only cost Danjin a little pride.

  Gillen had put away the set now and was sitting with his eyes closed. Slowly the man’s head tilted sideways and his mouth opened. A soft snorting filled the cabin.

  Yem didn’t appear to notice. He was sitting with the relaxed ease of a younger man, his eyes almost closed and his gaze distant. He went into this meditative state whenever conversation lapsed, and Danjin would not have been surprised to find it was a skill all warriors were taught. Whenever there was a loud noise or someone spoke, Yem’s eyes would open and he was instantly alert.

  I could do with that skill, Danjin thought.

  He turned to regard Ella, and was surprised to find her watching him. She smiled.

  “Have you learned much?” he asked.

  She nodded, then glanced at Yem, who was now regarding her expectantly.

  “I will tell you,” she said. “Then we must sleep as best we can. We will travel through the night to lessen the chances of the villagers learning we are coming. A platten passing at night might attract some curiosity, but if we travel during the day we are sure to be noticed.”

  “The arem will not last,” Yem warned.

  “Then we will purchase more.”

  Yem’s brow furrowed, but he said nothing. Danjin had seen the warrior helping the servants tend to the animals, and had even heard him murmuring into one of the arem’s ears soothingly when a distant howling in the forest had spooked it. Few Dunwayan warriors owned reyna, but those that did all but worshipped the animals. Danjin had never seen a warrior show any regard for the slow, practical arem.

  Danjin looked at Gillen, who was still snoring. He nudged the man’s foot with the toe of his sandal. It took a few taps before he woke up.

  “What? Are we stopping now?” Gillen asked, blinking at them.

  “No. Ellareen is going to tell us what she has discovered,” Danjin replied.

  Gillen rubbed his eyes. “Oh.”

  “Take a moment to wake up properly,” Ella said gently.

  The ambassador slapped his cheeks. “I’m fine. Go ahead.”

  Ella smiled and shrugged. “The story I’ve pieced together from the villagers’ minds is this: almost a year ago a Pentadrian ship was wrecked near a village named Dram. The villagers rescued as many as they could and welcomed them into their homes. The survivors repaid them by working in the fields or with domestic chores. When they expressed a wish to stay, the villagers helped them build homes and find work, with the permission of the clan that owns this land.

  “What they don’t know was that the ship had been deliberately wrecked, and that those on board had not struggled to live in their infertile homeland, as they’d claimed. They were Pentadrian priests and their families, sent to befriend and then convert Dunwayans.”

  She scowled. “They’ve managed to convert half the village so far. The rest accept the conversion of their fellow villagers, though a few resent the newcomers for various petty reasons.” She looked at Yem. “Once settled, the Pentadrians began to arrange for discontented servants to be brought to Dram. I don’t know why the local clan has allowed these Pentadrians to stay, but I intend to find out. The villagers believe the increase in produce from the extra workers ensures their leaders aren’t looking too closely at matters.”

  Yem shrugged. “We don’t often see the Correl clan in Chon. They pay their taxes and cast their votes, but otherwise keep to themselves.”

  “I want to pay them a visit,” she said.

  “We will pass the road to their fortress tomorrow,” he told her.

  Ella looked thoughtful. “Good. We’ll need their help rounding up these Pentadrians.”

  “You risk warning the Pentadrians of your arrival if you visit the fortress,” Gillen warned. “What if there are spies there?”

  “I will find and deal with them,” she said firmly.

  Yem shifted in his seat. “What will you do with the Pentadrians?”

  Ella frowned. “That will be up to Juran and I-Portak to decide.”

  “Along with the fate of the villagers?”

  “Yes.”

  Yem’s brow furrowed again, but he stayed silent. Gillen grimaced and sighed.

  “The villagers were deceived,” Danjin pointed out. “All they are guilty of is extending a helping hand to people they thought were in need. Surely they won’t be punished for that.”

  “The clans won’t care,” Gillen said. “They will want to make an example of them, to discourage servants from leaving their masters or hiding the enemy.”

  “They will be given a chance to explain themselves,” Yem assured Danjin.

  Will it do them any good? Danjin wondered. Dunwayan justice tended to be unforgiving and brutal.

  “They turned from the gods,” Ella said darkly. “They are not completely guiltless, Danjin.”

  He stared at her, perturbed. Her eyes narrowed and he felt a chill run down his back. Why do I feel like she is looking for signs of disloyalty? He pushed the feeling aside. My role is to advise. I’m supposed to ask uncomfortable questions.

  “What of those villagers who did not turn from the gods, who do not know they were deceived?”

  “Who ought to have reported the presence of the enemy?” she asked in reply. “Nobody is guiltless in this case, Danjin.”

  “The lack of interference from the clan may have been taken as approval,” Danjin argued. “They would have feared to speak against their masters.”

  “You don’t know that, Danjin,” she said, smiling, “but we will find out soon enough. If it will ease your conscience, I will look for such thoughts among the villagers. I doubt, however, that the clans will be as sympathetic as you are.” She looked at Yem, who shrugged resignedly. “Now let’s get what sleep we can. Tomorrow will be a busy day.”

  28

  The hall in which the Voices held formal dinners for guests echoed with Reivan’s and Imenja’s steps. Five places were set at the end of the long table. Just five people dining in this enormous room. It seemed ridiculous, but it was all p
art of Nekaun’s efforts to impress Auraya.

  As Reivan and Imenja neared the end of the table a door opened nearby. A woman entered and for a moment all Reivan saw was the white garb of a Circlian Priestess, and she felt a rush of fear.

  Then she saw Nekaun following the woman, Turaan trailing behind. The black of his robes were a contrast to Auraya’s white. An equally powerful statement. She felt fear subside to a nervous excitement.

  With both Imenja and Nekaun present, Reivan was safe enough. Auraya could not hope to overcome Nekaun and Imenja in magical strength…though it was hard for Reivan to imagine the two Voices cooperating.

  They would if they had to, she thought. Taking a deep breath, she hoped her fear hadn’t shown on her face. Of course, that wouldn’t help much if Auraya could still read minds. She glanced at Imenja.

  :Can she?

  :We are not sure.

  “Priestess Auraya, this is the Second Voice, Imenja,” Nekaun said. Turaan translated the words into Hanian. “Imenja, this is Priestess Auraya, formerly of the White,” Nekaun finished.

  “Welcome to Glymma and the Sanctuary,” Imenja said in Avvenan. “It is much better to be facing you over dinner rather than a battlefield.” Auraya’s expression remained blank until Turaan translated, suggesting to Reivan that Auraya could not read minds.

  The former White smiled faintly. “It certainly is—for myself as well.”

  Imenja turned her head slightly toward Reivan, as if reluctant to stop watching Auraya for even a moment.

  “This is my Companion, Reivan.”

  Auraya met Reivan’s eyes. “I am honored to meet you, Companion Reivan. Nekaun has told me much about you, including how you led the Pentadrian army out of the mines.”

  Reivan felt her face warm. “I am honored to meet you, too.” How much did he tell her about me? Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Reivan. He’s not going to discuss matters of the heart with a former White.

  The former White looked amused, no doubt because of Reivan’s blush. Reivan was relieved when the woman’s attention shifted back to Imenja, who said something about Reivan knowing the Sennon language so perhaps they should all speak that, but Reivan barely heard because Nekaun had finally met her gaze. He smiled, making her heart skip, then looked away and gestured to the table.

  “Please sit down,” he said. “We shall talk in comfort.”

  Imenja and Auraya moved to opposite sides of the table, while Nekaun took his customary place at the head. Reivan found herself sitting opposite Turaan. The man gave her a brief haughty look before turning his attention back to the others.

  “It is an interesting idea, this position of Companion,” Auraya said. “I had an adviser, but he was not required to become a priest.”

  “Why was that?” Imenja asked.

  “An adviser need only be smart, educated and well-connected. A priest or priestess must be Gifted. If we restricted our advisers to priests and priestesses, we’d bar potentially valuable people from our service.”

  “That is true,” Imenja agreed. “Which is why we no longer require all our Servants to have Skills.”

  Please don’t tell her I’ve got no magical ability, Reivan thought at Imenja. That’s something I’d rather a former White didn’t know.

  “Most of our Servants are Skilled,” Nekaun added. “The few that aren’t have exceptional abilities that more than make up for their lack of magical talent.”

  “Do you have a group similar to the Thinkers?” Imenja asked.

  Auraya shook her head. “There are wealthy, educated men and women who explore academic pursuits for the sake of entertainment, self-improvement or trade, but they have not united as a collective that I know of. What have your Thinkers discovered or developed recently?”

  Nekaun began to describe several constructions the Thinkers had designed. Servants brought the first dish and conversation shifted to other subjects, slowed by the constant need for translation. Turaan drank a lot of water, but his voice grew hoarse as the evening lengthened. Reivan barely needed to speak at all. Instead she concentrated on absorbing and considering everything about Auraya.

  After the last dish was eaten and the plates taken away, Imenja leaned forward.

  “So what are your impressions of the Sanctuary and Glymma so far?”

  Auraya smiled. “The Sanctuary is as beautiful as a palace. Glymma has obviously been planned and laid out with forethought and common sense. I’m particularly impressed by your aqueducts and uncluttered streets.”

  “And its inhabitants?”

  “No better or worse than those in the cities of the north.”

  Imenja smiled. “No worse?”

  “No.”

  “I would have thought we had one point in our favor.”

  “What is that?”

  “We do not mistreat or despise Dreamweavers or those who follow dead gods.”

  Auraya nodded. “That is true. But my people do not invade other lands. I think that is a point in our favor that far outweighs yours.” She paused to hold Imenja’s gaze, then shrugged and looked at Nekaun. “And attitudes toward Dreamweavers are changing for the better, with the encouragement of the White.”

  Imenja’s eyebrows rose. “Encouragement? Didn’t they recently drive Mirar out of Northern Ithania?”

  Auraya’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “That wasn’t their intention,” she said, a touch of irony in her tone.

  “No? So he’s welcome to return any time he wishes?”

  “I doubt it. The Circle may be willing to encourage acceptance of Dreamweavers, but they haven’t changed their minds about Mirar.”

  “Why do they regard him so unfavorably?” Nekaun asked.

  Auraya’s mouth tightened as she paused to consider her answer. “Their conflict began centuries ago, and I cannot tell you exactly why.”

  “There must be more to it than Dreamweavers not worshipping gods,” Imenja said.

  Auraya nodded. “I believe he foolishly set himself against them. I don’t think he’ll make the same mistake twice.”

  Or would he? Reivan wondered. The Voices need to know if Mirar is dangerous. If he is so dangerous that the Circlian gods tried to kill him, is he dangerous to us? He survived being attacked by the most powerful White, so he must be magically strong…and Genza is bringing him here!

  Auraya’s gaze snapped to Reivan, then away again.

  “Would you like to know where he is?” Nekaun asked.

  “I have no interest in Mirar,” Auraya said. “If he’s in Southern Ithania, you’re welcome to him.”

  “Am I?” Nekaun chuckled. “How generous of you.” He leaned back and swept his gaze over them all. “It is late. Tomorrow I have more of the city to show Auraya, and then we have dinner with Third Voice Vervel. I will escort Auraya to her rooms.”

  Reivan barely heard him. She was sure something strange had just happened, but she wasn’t sure what, and now Nekaun seemed almost eager to leave. As the others rose and pushed back their chairs Reivan followed suit. They spoke polite farewells then parted, Nekaun, Auraya and Turaan leaving by the door they had arrived through.

  As Imenja started back down the hall, Reivan replayed the conversation about Mirar through her mind. She gave me such a look, but I’d said nothing. Surely that means…

  “She probably read your mind,” Imenja said. “I think we finally caught her out. However, we don’t want her knowing that we have. Once she does we lose a small advantage.”

  “So I won’t be meeting her again?”

  “Not until we reveal our knowledge of her ability.” Imenja smiled apologetically. They moved out of the hall and into the corridor. “What did you make of her?”

  Reivan considered. “I can’t say the chances of her allying with us are high.”

  “Not even if Nekaun offered to hand over or kill Mirar?”

  “No,” Reivan said slowly. “If she is loyal to her gods, she will not turn from them no matter what Nekaun offers.”

  “That depends
on what will please her gods more. Would they sacrifice her in exchange for Mirar’s death? She is no longer a White, so maybe her loss isn’t important to them.”

  “She is a powerful sorceress. They would not want to lose her—at least not to us.”

  Imenja nodded. “I agree. But we can’t dismiss the possibility that she will pretend to join us in order to secure Mirar’s death.”

  “That would be a dangerous game to play. Would she risk discovery and death for the sake of killing Mirar?”

  “It depends on how much her gods want Mirar dead.”

  “And whether Nekaun does,” Reivan added. “Mirar is a powerful, immortal sorcerer. If he allies with us it won’t matter whether Auraya joins us or stays a Circlian ally.”

  “That would be a much better arrangement for all, I think,” Imenja agreed. “Genza likes him, and thinks we will, too.”

  “There is one significant problem, however.”

  “Oh?”

  “Dreamweavers do not kill. He would not be much use as an ally to counter Auraya.”

  “Ah. That is true.”

  “Having them both on our side would be even better.” Reivan chuckled. “Though that would be problematic, if they were at each other’s throats all the time.”

  Imenja laughed darkly. “Yes, though it could be entertaining.”

  Lifting the flap of the platten cover, Danjin saw the gates of an impressive structure ahead. The fortress of the Correl clan enveloped the crest of a hill with almost sinuous grace. All that could be seen of it were high walls, but those walls rose from the earth like natural outcrops of sheer rock. They looked as if they had been there for millennia and, despite or perhaps because of the subtle signs of repairs here and there, as if they would be forever.

  Inside lived the small, reclusive Correl clan. Yem had told them the family’s decline was due mostly to few male heirs being produced. The current leader was an old man whose only son had been killed in a training accident. He had nominated a child of one of his granddaughters to succeed him.

  But there were nephews and cousins enough to provide a small force of warriors.