The Summon Stone

by Ian Irvine

  Karan tried to speak but the cord was too tight; she could only make choking sounds. His mind raced. There was no point arguing or laying out the litany of Maigraith’s crimes against Karan, and Julken’s against Sulien. Maigraith held an unshakeable belief in the rightness of her own actions.

  “Loosen the cord,” he said quietly.

  Thandiwe pulled it tighter. Would she really kill Karan, who had done nothing to harm her, to take revenge on Llian? How could he save her? Ah!

  “You’re a chronicler, not a killer,” said Llian, using all the power of his teller’s voice to enthral and convince.

  Thandiwe did not move. Neither did Maigraith. What had happened to her? She looked like a flesh-coloured skeleton animated by an all-consuming rage, and there had to be more to it than hrux. Something had utterly transformed her in the five weeks she had spent at Carcharon, and surely it had to be the summon stone.

  “If you take revenge this way,” he said to Thandiwe, though he was also speaking to Maigraith, “it will undermine everything you do from this moment forward.”

  Thandiwe loosed the cord fractionally. Karan sucked at the air.

  “Even if you get your Great Tale,” he added, raising his teller’s voice to a higher plane, “and gain the highest honour, even if the world acclaims you as the greatest teller of all, it will avail you nothing because in your heart you’ll know you didn’t earn it.”

  “I’ve earned it,” she grated. “No one has ever worked harder.”

  “You used to have a beautiful teller’s voice, the best natural one I’ve ever heard, but listen to it now. It started to fade the moment the drumming took you over.”

  “The drumming has nothing to do with it.” There was a tremor in Thandiwe’s voice now.

  “Are you saying that all the bribes you paid, the lies you told, the betrayals you did, starting with denying me my career, were the real you?”

  “I deserve a Great Tale and I’m going to have one.”

  Karan was staring at him, trying to work out what he was up to. Llian wished he knew. He was making it up as he went along, though he did not see how it could work.

  “Thandiwe,” he said softly, “tellers aren’t like normal people. You don’t get a Great Tale simply by writing well; you also have to tell it aloud to the assembled masters. Every tale is also a performance, and a Great Tale has to be a towering performance, but you must believe, in your heart, that before everything else you are that great teller. If you don’t believe it, your teller’s voice will show it. It can’t be faked.”

  “I am a great teller,” cried Thandiwe, “and I will have my Great Tale!” But her voice cracked.

  “I hope you get it,” said Llian. “I really do. But if you steal the tale or kill for it, in your own mind that’s what your real identity will be when you tell your tale to the masters: not a teller, but a thief or a murderer. You can’t be both. In reaching for the prize, you will have put it forever beyond your reach.”

  Thandiwe stared at him, then at the top of Karan’s head, then at Maigraith. A shudder racked her.

  “I’ve done plenty of bad things but I’m not a killer!” she cried. “I’m not!”

  The cord fell from her fingers. Karan fell forwards, gasping.

  “But I’m having Rulke’s tale,” Thandiwe added.

  “Even if it means we lose the coming war?” said Llian.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Rulke spent his entire life trying to protect his people from the Merdrun. His papers must contain a way to beat them.”

  “Rulke failed and his people are extinct. And I don’t believe the Merdrun even exist.”

  “The magiz is pulling your strings too,” Karan croaked.

  “After they take Santhenar,” said Llian, “there won’t be a place for tellers or anything else we care about.”

  It shook her. Llian could see the self-doubt in her eyes, the fear. But she wanted a Great Tale too desperately.

  “I’ll take the risk.” She turned to Maigraith. “I’ve done all you asked.”

  “You betrayed them just as you said you would,” said Maigraith, her voice dripping contempt. “Take your prize and go with all speed, and never return to Alcifer.”

  “The ones in the small pile are written in the common speech,” said Llian.

  “You’ve read them already?” said Thandiwe.

  “Yes,” Llian lied, for the glimmering of a desperate plan was forming. Could he pull it off? It would take a miracle of telling. “All the others are in the secret Charon syllabary. You’ll need Rulke’s key to read them.”

  “Lucky I have it then.”

  “Teller or thief?” he said pointedly.

  Thandiwe rocked back on her heels, then packed all of Rulke’s scrolls, codexes and other papers into the titane chest and heaved it onto a three-wheeled trolley. She wheeled it out the door, then ran.

  One wheel had a slight squeak. It marked her racing progress down the hall, then she was gone.

  As was any hope of stopping the Merdrun.

  84

  WHERE DID HE HIDE HIM?

  After walking back and forth for several minutes, eyeing Llian malevolently, Maigraith stopped and supported herself with both hands on the end of the table. She was shaking. “Give me my ring.”

  He removed it from his little finger. It had been a tight fit but his hands were so sweaty it came off easily.

  She wiped it on her blouse, slid it on her ring finger and studied it for a long time, as if she could not believe she had it back. Then her face hardened.

  “So,” she said to Karan. “Llian or Sulien? Who’s it to be?”

  Karan was still on her knees with her hands bound, and her throat was badly bruised. Llian looked into her green eyes, saw she had no answer and knew what he had to do. And what it would cost him.

  “Julken is a monster,” said Llian.

  “He’s gone to Garching Nod, the best mancery school in Meldorin,” said Maigraith. “The masters will correct his little… infelicities.”

  “Sulien will never be bonded to him. I’d sooner die.”

  “Then you will,” Maigraith said flatly.

  “But before I do,” he said, improvising desperately, “you must know the complete story of Rulke – the untold story.”

  “What untold story?” she said suspiciously.

  “About his identical twin brother, Kalke, who never left the void.”

  Maigraith’s face normally showed little emotion, but at his words her eyes widened, and he saw a desperate hope there. Then a longing so profound that, even in this situation, it moved him.

  Before meeting Rulke, Maigraith had lived a desperately unhappy life, dominated and emotionally crushed by her ruthless liege, Faelamor. Meeting Rulke had transformed Maigraith; she had found the one person who could complete her. But, within months, he was dead, because Llian had pushed Tensor to breaking point.

  The dying Rulke had not blamed Llian, but Maigraith did, and as she increasingly rejected the old human and Faellem aspects of her ancestry, her Charon heritage became ever more important, an obsession. Nothing could feed that obsession like Rulke’s identical twin – a physically indistinguishable copy of the man she would love until the instant her life’s spark was extinguished.

  Llian could read her now. Logic told her that Rulke did not have a twin, yet her heart ached for it to be true.

  “Why haven’t I heard this before?” said Maigraith, her Charon eyes narrowing.

  “I only just read it,” said Llian. “In the small pile of papers I could read. It was a dangerous secret – dangerous for Kalke, I mean.”

  “Which of the papers?”

  “Fourth from the top.”

  Maigraith staggered to the opening of the vault, went out and closed it. Without her ring, Llian could not open it again.

  “She’s gone after Thandiwe,” said Karan.

  She was studying his face, trying to read what he was up to. He gave an almost impercep
tible shake of the head and untied her hands. The cord had cut into her wrists and her fingers were purple. The ropes fell away; she worked her fingers to get the blood flowing.

  Thandiwe had run, and she had a lead of ten minutes. Was it enough? If she had delayed, or Maigraith caught her and read the documents, it was all over and she would kill him out of hand.

  “What are we going to do?” said Karan.

  “I don’t know.” He dared not say a word, dared not even hint at his plan by expression or gesture. Maigraith was a formidable mancer and might be able to spy on them in ways he could not imagine.

  They sat at the table, their shoulders touching. Karan took hold of his arm with both hands. Llian stared at the faint marks in the dust, all that was left of the papers he had spent the last decade coveting.

  “Can Thandiwe make a Great Tale of them?” he said, only because he had to say something and he could not bear to talk about Sulien.

  “How good is she?” said Karan.

  He considered the question dispassionately. “She was the best student I knew, better than most of the masters.”

  Karan laid her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes, and he could feel her trembling and sense her dread. He imagined Maigraith staggering after Thandiwe, catching her and reading the papers on the top of the pile.

  Half an hour passed. More. Maigraith must have caught Thandiwe. Llian’s guts were twisted and Karan looked as though she were about to collapse.

  The door opened silently. Maigraith stood there, gasping. Had she caught Thandiwe or not? Llian kept his face impassive; he dared show no emotion except fear for his own life.

  “Why was it dangerous for Kalke?” said Maigraith. “Why didn’t he leave the void?” Her voice was flat now; Llian could not tell if she believed a word.

  “He wasn’t strong enough,” said Llian. “He still hadn’t recovered.”

  “From what?”

  “Thousands of years ago, when Kalke and Rulke were bold young men not yet of age, they set out to prove themselves by making a reckless raid on a Merdrun stronghold. They planned to tweak the nose of the Merdrun leader, Mergriz the Forty-fourth, by stealing the symbol of his authority, the red cube cut from the keystone of the Crimson Gate. They failed of course, and Kalke was captured and tortured in fiendish ways that only the Merdrun would use on another human. He should have died…”

  Llian left it unsaid, hoping that her yearning to know more would make the story real to her.

  “Should have died?” said Maigraith.

  “I only found the papers this morning. I didn’t have time to read the full tale of how Rulke rescued Kalke; I just skimmed it. But what a tale!” he cried. “The rescue was quite impossible, yet Rulke succeeded magnificently. It was the boldest exploit in all the Histories, a story to shade even his tale of the taking of Aachan, How the Hundred Conquered a World.” Llian had heard Rulke tell that tale and it had been a barbaric masterpiece.

  Maigraith’s eyes were shining now, her whole face alight. “In all the Three Worlds there has never been a man the equal of my Rulke.”

  “He brought Kalke home again but his brother was broken in body and mind. Rulke blamed himself, for he had been the leader on that reckless raid, and Kalke the follower. Rulke spent years trying to heal his twin, at the same time as he was growing into leadership and fighting off the Merdrun. They had the whiff of blood in their nostrils by then and were doing their best to wipe the last of the Charon out. But Rulke hadn’t managed to heal Kalke when everything changed…”

  Llian was thinking back to Rulke’s tale and how the Charon had come to escape the void.

  “Yes, yes?” cried Maigraith.

  “Xesper the Aachim,” said Llian.

  “What about him?”

  “He was a dangerously inquisitive man, and he made a seeing device to look out into the void…”

  “But?”

  “It left a track that identified Aachan, and the desperate Charon, now on the brink of extinction, saw the only chance they would ever get. They followed the track back, found Aachan and took it.”

  “Though not Kalke?” said Maigraith.

  “He wasn’t strong enough for that desperate journey; Rulke feared that the trip would kill him. And if by some chance he did manage to survive it, how could they protect him when they were just a handful trying to take a world? They had no choice but to leave him behind.”

  “To die?” cried Maigraith.

  “Rulke loved his brother, and he also owed him. Rulke saw only one hope – to suspend Kalke’s life and hide him in a place where he would be safe and no one would think to look for him. And he also hoped, no, believed…”

  “What, what?”

  “That enough time in the suspended state would heal the wounds of body and mind, and restore Kalke to the man of promise he had been before that foolish raid.”

  “Why would Rulke believe that?”

  “The Charon had used life suspension before, on cases that were not amenable to any other form of healing.” Llian knew this to be true.

  “Where did Rulke hide Kalke?”

  “In the frozen core of an asteroid orbiting an insignificant yellow sun.”

  “But Rulke never went back for him,” guessed Maigraith. “Why not?”

  “The Charon had taken Aachan, but it did them little good because most of them were infertile there. Their numbers were slowly dwindling, they were afraid of attracting the Merdrun’s attention, and they lacked the strength for such a perilous journey across the void. That’s why Rulke commissioned the Golden Flute from Shuthdar in the first place – to open a gate directly from Aachan to Kalke’s asteroid and bring him safely home. But Shuthdar stole the flute and—”

  “That was thousands of years ago,” said Maigraith. “Could Kalke still be alive?”

  “Rulke believed so.” Llian did not plan to say any more. Let Maigraith drag it out of him – it would heighten her identification with the tale.

  “The void is limitless,” said Maigraith. “How can an insignificant yellow sun be found in a myriad of suns? And how can one asteroid be picked out among millions?”

  Llian closed his eyes, as he often did when recalling obscure facts to mind, then opened them and met Maigraith’s eyes. He was a teller and he told it to her as truth.

  “The galaxy was called Ivellix, the sun was Casulind in the Trabucelus Arm, and it had but three planets, plus an asteroid belt between the first planet and the second. The asteroid, which was three miles by five, was red and covered in sulphur snow. That’s all I read.”

  “You have a remarkably clear memory, considering you read the paper so fleetingly.”

  “Perfect recall is the first thing a chronicler learns.”

  Maigraith orbited the table three times. “I’m not sure I believe you.”

  Llian did not speak.

  “And yet,” she added, her eyes shining, “it has the ring of truth. It could be true. And since I swore to Rulke, he would want me to do my duty by his brother.”

  “The void is a dangerous place.”

  “I’ve been there, remember? And Rulke gifted me powers no one else on Santhenar has ever held.”

  If she could have used those powers for the benefit of Santhenar they might have had a chance, but neither Llian nor Karan had ever had any influence on Maigraith. There was no hope of gaining her aid now.

  She made another orbit, then stopped in front of Karan. “Your man has earned you and Sulien a reprieve. Use it well, for if he has deceived me you will pay a hundredfold.” She left without looking back.

  Llian listened to her footsteps until they could no longer be heard. Karan was rubbing her bruised throat. He took her hand and, without saying a word, led her out of the chamber and back to the pool.

  “Take your clothes off,” said Llian.

  She looked at him quizzically, gave an enigmatic smile and said, “All right.”

  He checked her garments one by one, making sure that Maigraith had not l
eft any tiny spy device on them, then looked her over, back and front, and felt through her red hair.

  “You’re taking an awfully long time to do a simple job,” said Karan.

  It was his turn to smile. “Now me.”

  She checked him just as thoroughly. “Nothing.”

  “How long have we got?” he said.

  “Maigraith will have to make arrangements for Julken’s care before she goes to the void, and it’ll be a long search. She might not be back for months, even years. Should I get dressed now?”

  “The pavilion has a nice soft floor.”

  She grinned. “I don’t see how you can top your performance in Rulke’s vault… but all right.”

  Afterwards, when they were lying lazily together, Karan said, “Was there a word of truth in that story about Kalke?”

  “Only the bits I cribbed from Rulke’s tale, How the Hundred Conquered a World.”

  “You tailored it perfectly to her yearnings.”

  He did not reply.

  She looked down at his untidy yet endearing face. “What is it?”

  “I’ve just broken the most important teller’s law of all, and perverted my art. I’ve created an untrue tale.”

  “It might be true.”

  “Any story might be true, but that one isn’t. If it ever gets out, posterity will only know me as Llian the Liar.”

  “Would you do it again? To save me and Sulien?”

  “Of course. And pay the price. I’m sure there’s going to be one.”

  “How can there be? No one knows save you and me.”

  “Maigraith will when she returns.”

  “The void is a deadly place. Let’s pray she never comes back.”

  85

  WE’VE GOT TO ACT FAST

  “All Rulke’s papers are gone,” said Llian, “so there’s no point staying here.”

  “And the summon stone is five hundred miles north,” said Karan. “We can’t get back to it before the invasion. What do you want to do?”

  “Go after Sulien.” Karan had told him about her trip to Cinnabar, the magiz’s attack on Sulien and how she had saved Karan’s life.

  Tears formed in her eyes. “The magiz will attack again. Sulien is in danger right now and we’ll never find her in time.” She looked around her, everywhere but at Llian, and her jaw tightened. “I’ve got to act now. Today!”