Then they were down. The soldiers had drawn back to give them room. Ceirfei stepped down onto the roof of the tower and turned, drawing Araenè up beside him.
“Why, they’re boys!” exclaimed one of the men. “At least …” He gave Araenè a close look, seeing through her boys’ clothing to the truth as no Islander ever had. “One boy and a girl?” He started to smile; the others likewise.
“You will respect my companion,” Prince Ceirfei said in a cool, impersonal rebuke, and the smiles disappeared instantly. The prince glanced around at the soldiers thoughtfully, and the one who had opened his mouth to say something visibly changed his mind. To the man who’d started to climb up the stairs, Ceirfei added with a slight, gracious nod, “There was no need for us to put you to the trouble. But you owe Lady Araenè your thanks; she might have fallen.”
Araenè tried not to blink at her sudden elevation.
The soldier did blink. Then he turned to Araenè and said, sincerely, “I do thank you, Lady! I did not look forward to that climb! Forgive us if we offended you.”
Araenè didn’t have any idea what she ought to say. She returned the nod, trying to match Ceirfei’s cool manner.
“Well,” said another man, evidently the senior, “but is there anyone else up there?”
“I give you my personal word,” the prince answered, “that there is not.”
“Your personal word, is it?” said the man. Not exactly skeptically. He studied Ceirfei. “Kajurai, are you?”
“Recently, yes,” Ceirfei said, and paused for effect. He really did that well, Araenè thought: not a man on the tower was looking anywhere but at him; if she’d pulled a door into place right behind them all, they would never have noticed. It was reassuring just to think she could.
“I am Ceirfei Feneirè. My mother is Calaspara Naterensei. Terinai Naterensei is my uncle. I wish to speak to whatever officer commands here, if you please. I am confident,” the prince added softly as the soldiers all stared at him, “that he will wish to speak to me.”
It was really remarkable, Araenè thought, how respectful the soldiers were after that. They had been respectful before. But it was different after Ceirfei told them who he was. Ceirfei said, “Your commander is in the king’s apartment?” and effortlessly took the lead, encountering not the slightest protest from the soldiers. He could not have looked less like a prisoner. Araenè stayed close by his side and hoped she looked half as confident.
They seemed to go a long way. At last a man—an officer, Araenè guessed—came out of a room and frowned at them, and they halted. The soldiers escorting them murmured to the officer, whose eyes widened. He looked closely at Ceirfei. “A kajurai?”
“That also,” Ceirfei acknowledged.
“I see. And this … young woman?”
“Lady Araenè Naseida will accompany me,” Ceirfei said, in a tone that implied there was nothing extraordinary about this.
Araenè tried to look confident and important and noble, the way Ceirfei did just by nature. She felt horribly uncomfortable, in boys’ dress but with everyone addressing her as a girl. A lady. Maybe the soldiers would think she’d dressed as a boy because of the war. That would even make sense.
“Of course,” the officer said now, making no protest at all. “The general will want to see you, Lord Prince. If I may ask you to wait here for only a moment?” He went back into the room. It was indeed merely a moment before he came back out and held the door for Ceirfei.
Ceirfei graciously inclined his head and offered his hand to Araenè. She was shy of taking it here, in front of everyone, but she stepped up beside him. They went through the door.
The rooms were large, open, and richly appointed and looked out over the city from three huge windows. A large table took up most of the space to one side; a map was unrolled across its surface, held in place by pewter mugs and sheathed daggers. The rest of the room was occupied by a dozen men, all but one of them armed. The man who drew the eye was the one who was not armed: a heavyset man with broad shoulders, a homely, rugged face, and a grim expression. He stood behind an empty chair, his hands resting on its back.
Ceirfei stopped before this man. For a moment they regarded each other in silence. Though Ceirfei looked, in one sense, very young and slight measured against the powerful Tolounnese commander, in another sense he did not look slight at all.
The Tolounnese commander said, “Prince Ceirfei Feneirè. I am Parron enna Rouharr, commander of all Tolounnese forces remaining on Milendri.”
Ceirfei inclined his head courteously. “General Rouharr. I am familiar with your reputation. I am pleased to find you well. I will ask you whether you have recent word of my uncle. Or of my cousins—Prince Imrei? Prince Safei?”
General Rouharr said steadily, “I have no recent word of either the king of the Floating Islands or of Prince Imrei. Your other cousin … I regret to inform you that I believe your cousin Prince Safei may have been wounded in the … conflict. I had just been discussing with my men my, ah. My strong desire to speak to your uncle. However, I did not know where to send a man of mine to find him, nor has he sent me a representative.”
“I see.” Ceirfei stood in silence for a moment. Then he observed, “General Rouharr, I believe you find yourself in an unusual situation.”
There was a little stir around the room. The general held up a hand, and it stilled. He was smiling, but grimly. “Prince Ceirfei, I concede that the situation in which I find myself is indeed unusual. Seldom do the short-term and long-term prospects of a … conflict … seem more disparate.”
“Just so.” Ceirfei studied the Tolounnese general for a moment longer. Then he said formally, “General Rouharr, I am prepared to offer terms for your surrender.”
For a long moment, no one moved or spoke. Then the general replied, “Prince Ceirfei, I am prepared to hear your terms.”
“No!” one of the other men cried. He was a younger man than the general, taller—very distinguished in manner, but clearly furious. “Parron, do you not see what has walked into our hands and offered himself as a hostage to our need? Only send any man anywhere in the city with this news, and we may guarantee terms from Terinai Naterensei! Far better terms than surrender! We need not hold out longer than—”
Araenè found herself in a towering rage against this man. Against all the Tolounnese, who came here for no reason and smashed up Milendri and invaded Canpra, and killed people, and then said things about taking hostages. She shut her eyes and thought hard about doors: ebony doors with carved dragons, the sort of friendly, cooperative door that might open to … open to … She opened her eyes, reached out with both hands. The room seemed filled with the overwhelming fragrance of nutmeg and cardamom. The urgent green taste of cilantro filled her mouth and tingled across her palms.
She did something.
Before her, the dark bulk of the Akhan Bhotounn loomed suddenly in the room. It was open to a wide and spinning sky—spinning because the “friendly door” was neither level nor set solidly in place: it stood high up on one corner and swung ponderously but smoothly through a wide arc. It did not seem to swing quickly, but no one had time to move. It engulfed the young man who had threatened to take Ceirfei hostage. He fell into the empty wind with a sharp cry. The ebony door slammed shut behind him and twirled smoothly into the air: gone.
There was a stunned pause while everyone except Ceirfei stared at Araenè. She flushed, crossed her arms over her chest, and glowered back at them all.
Ceirfei looked thoughtfully at General Rouharr and lifted one eyebrow. “Well,” he said, breaking the silence, “I thought I knew your reputation. Perhaps I was mistaken, if you would take hostage a royal emissary of the Islands after he put himself freely into your hands.”
The general dropped his eyes. “Prince Ceirfei …” His voice trailed off, and he lifted his gaze once more to meet Ceirfei’s cool stare. “Prince Ceirfei, as you did not, prior to your arrival, find it convenient to arrange the safe conduct customary for
an emissary, permit me to offer it to you now. Also, of course, to your companion, the lady mage Araenè Naseida.”
Ceirfei inclined his head graciously. “One would expect no less of Tolounnese honor.” He did not glance at the spot where the other man had stood. No one looked that way.
“So,” said General Rouharr. He hesitated fractionally, then said, “As I believe I was saying, I am willing to hear your terms, Prince Ceirfei.”
Ceirfei said, “I cannot speak directly for my uncle. However, if you put yourself and your men into my hands, I swear he will respect my claim.”
This time, no one argued that they should instead take the prince hostage.
The general said to Ceirfei, “Let us be uncomplicated. I will surrender myself and all my men to your authority. The lives of all my men will be spared, and they will be treated honorably, as befits honorable men defeated through no fault of their own. They will be returned to Tolounn for a reasonable ransom as soon as the exchange can be arranged.” He stopped. Waited.
Ceirfei nodded. “Acceptable, in principle. Who defines ‘honorable treatment’? Who defines ‘reasonable ransom’?”
“You, as the victor, define both terms. I will trust you, under the circumstances, to define them with fitting generosity. I will ask you to agree plainly that I may so trust, Prince Ceirfei.”
Ceirfei nodded again. “You may: I assure you. I notice that you do not include yourself in these terms, General Rouharr. Is this the Tolounnese custom?”
“It is the custom,” agreed the general. “The victor is assumed to have earned a free hand regarding the disposition of the commander of the defeated force.” He waited again, his gaze steady on Ceirfei’s face.
The Tolounnese, Araenè realized, really did think of war almost as a kind of game. Prince Ceirfei had been right: they hedged it about with all kinds of rules of proper conduct. The Tolounnese general was arranging the surrender of his men as he might have tipped over a piece on a game board to concede a match. She wondered if it had occurred to him that the Floating Islands were not at all thinking of the Tolounnese invasion as any kind of game. But then she realized what he must mean by “the disposition of the commander of the defeated force,” and understood that, indeed, the Tolounnese commander could not consider that a game.
But Ceirfei said, gracefully matching his response to Tolounnese expectations, “That is not the Island custom; however, as I have a free hand … I guarantee you honorable treatment and release without ransom, General Rouharr, in return for your surrender. I believe that is your due,” he added, with a sudden edge to his voice, “for declining to destroy half the male population of Canpra on the way to your eventual defeat.”
A murmur went around the room. The general answered graciously, “We are grateful the wisdom of the Islands permits us to avoid both the useless slaughter and the inevitable defeat. We are glad, Prince Ceirfei, to trust the honor of the Floating Islands in your voice and hands.”
Ceirfei inclined his head, mollified.
General Rouharr cleared his throat and held out his hand. Somebody drew a sword and put it into his hand, and he stepped forward—Araenè tensed, she couldn’t help it, but Ceirfei did not seem concerned, and he was right, because the general only dropped to one knee and laid the sword at Ceirfei’s feet.
“Prince Ceirfei,” he said formally. “Into your hands I give myself and all my men. Will you accept my surrender?”
“I do accept it,” said Ceirfei, remembering to add, “on my own behalf and in the name of Terinai Naterensei, king of the Floating Islands. I will ask you … draw your men in close, General Rouharr; keep them in order. You need not yet disarm them, but I will expect you to decline any engagement offered before news of your surrender is widely known. Indeed, I will expect you to decline emphatically.”
“I understand, Prince Ceirfei. All that you require will be done.” The general paused, then added quietly, “If you will permit me to speak plainly. You need not try to anticipate all eventualities: you may trust me to hold close the spirit of this surrender.”
Ceirfei looked down at the older man for a moment. He said, “I do trust you,” and offered the general a hand to help him back to his feet.
Then he quirked a brow at Araenè. “A door,” he suggested. “And we shall see if we can find my uncle and catch this line from the other end as well.”
And proper fools they would both look, Araenè thought, if she couldn’t get an acceptable door to appear. But Ceirfei trusted that she could.
So she did.
15
Trei tried not to be too happy about Master Anerii’s presence. He knew it was wrong to be so glad another kajurai was trapped here. He knew very well, once the first optimistic blaze of hope had died away, that the greatest likelihood was that nothing would change. Commanders were, after all, sometimes fools. The long sweep of Tolounnese history made that plain. Usually soldiers just endured those commanders. More than a hundred years, after all, had passed since the most recent great mutiny. The provincar of Teraica might be a fool, but so much more so than anyone else in the past age?
No, Trei concluded: he had been too enthusiastic by a wide margin. He wondered if he should say so. But then he decided the novice-master knew it very well. Of course he did. If there was any man in the world less likely than Novice-master Anerii to be swept away on the wild winds of blind optimism, surely there were not two.
But he was very glad, over the next days, to have the distraction of lessons. Master Anerii was right: Trei had never been good at wind magic. Now he learned how to coax the winds around even when there was hardly any moving air at all. It wasn’t easy. To his surprise, the novice-master was a patient teacher. He demanded Trei’s full attention when he was teaching, but as long as he got that, he didn’t seem to have a temper, not even when Trei was particularly stupid about learning something.
“And we’ll go on with Island history and kajurai law,” Master Anerii added, with what seemed to Trei unnecessary enthusiasm. “Nor is there anything to stop you from learning proper navigation, now that we’ve time to really develop the math. Pity we can’t see the stars better, but we shall contrive. Genrai said he thought you barely made it to the first waystation. I’m sure you now really believe that every kajurai truly needs to be able to measure angles by eye and calculate accurately in his head.”
“Yes, sir,” Trei said earnestly. He preferred mathematics to law anyway, and besides, it was true. Though he did fervently hope they wouldn’t have that much time.
“And you can teach me more about Tolounn’s recent history,” Master Anerii added. “I suddenly find it a compelling area of study.”
Trei only prayed he’d been right, in the conclusions he’d already drawn from Tolounn’s history. He looked involuntarily up at the sky, blocked from them by forty feet and the heavy iron grate. He could tell that it was late morning: he had learned to judge the quality of the light and the truncated angle of the sun. He had entirely lost track of the day; Master Anerii said he’d been brought down here on Moon’s Day, but how many days had it been since? Ten days? Twelve? More than that? The sameness of the days made it hard to remember.
More surely than the proper name of the day, Trei knew that this was not the day on which food and water would be lowered to the prisoners. That happened only every other day, almost always in the evening. They should be grateful anybody remembered the prisoners at all, the novice-master had pointed out, what with conditions in the city surely remaining chaotic. Trei knew this was true. He didn’t like to think about the earth breaking open underneath Teraica, about the chasms of fire that had battled the sea to reshape the line of the harbor.
That was another reason to be glad of Master Anerii’s company. He made sure Trei was too tired at night to dream—or if he dreamed, the master woke him out of his nightmares in such a matter-of-fact manner that Trei could hardly be embarrassed.
“Trei,” the master said patiently.
Trei realized t
hat this wasn’t the first time he’d said his name. He said, embarrassed, “Sir?”
Master Anerii sighed. “If you—” he began.
The light dimmed, not as clouds or haze or even smoke would have dimmed it, but in the abrupt way that meant someone had bent over the grate. The master fell silent. Both he and Trei stared upward.
The grate clanged as it was hauled away, and the ladder came down.
Without a word, Master Anerii offered Trei his cupped hands for a step. Trei looked once around the familiar shaft of the oubliette and once, searchingly, into the master’s face. He wanted to ask, Do you think—? He did not ask. He let the master boost him upward, put his foot on the first rung of the ladder, and climbed up toward the light.
The fierce heat of the world above met him with shocking force; he had forgotten the overpowering southern sun. For those first moments, while a strong hand closed around his and drew him up into the light, Trei found himself stunned and blind. But no one demanded anything of him while he pressed his hands over his tearing eyes and tried, blinking, to see.
“Easy, boy. You don’t want to stumble back over the edge!” said a gruff, half-familiar voice, and the hand guided him firmly aside.
Trei cautiously lowered his hands and found himself looking into the face of the same soldier who had carried him away from the engines, right at the beginning. The decouan. Who now looked both grim and pleased, and patted Trei on the shoulder with friendly concern. “You all right, boy? Just stand steady for a moment and get used to the light.”
“Thank you,” Trei said, and looked around anxiously: surely they were bringing up the novice-master, too? Yes: there were half a dozen soldiers by the oubliette’s opening, and one was offering his own hand to Master Anerii. The master, too, was blinking and holding an arm up to block the light. But the soldier steadied him.
The Floating Islands Page 29
