He staggered back, tumbling through dark grayness …
… and found himself in the clamshell seat of a needleboat, concentrating on the mental images fed directly to him.
Screen one displayed Wing three—Ambergy—shields amber and collapsing, with a UFA needleboat angling in on him. Screen two showed a UFA corvette sliding past the wreckage of another Anglorian needleboat, heading toward the mirror tower that anchored sector four’s defenses. There was no other Anglorian defender between the mirror tower and the corvette.
Wing two, Wing three, shields failing this time …
Kiedral winced, but kicked up the thrusters to full, knowing he didn’t have the reserves to intercept the corvette and return to the Kirkendal. All he could do was target the corvette and close to where he hoped that his remaining torp would be adequate.
Sweat dripped off his brow, and his back was clammy despite the chill in the clamshell, as the overstrained thrusters vibrated the entire needle.
Wing two … The transmission cut off as the other needleboat vanished from the screens.
Kiedral continued to focus on the UFA corvette, watching as it shifted power from shields to drives. In turn, he dropped his own shields and fed the power to the rapidly overheating thrusters.
Just before the corvette neared an approach position for its own attack, Kiedral launched his remaining torp, hoping it would suffice.
It did, and mass became a cloud of energy … just as Kiedral’s own thrusters died.
Abruptly, Ambergy appeared before him, his face anoxia blue, his lips barely moving. “You left me, Kiedral. You left me to suffocate in the cold. You got a commendation. I died.”
Kiedral knew Ambergy would never have said those words. Yet they still stung. What was I supposed to do? Abandon pursuit and let the UFA corvette destroy the mirror tower that held the system defenses? Save his friend and doom hundreds in the tower and open the system to an invasion?
The scene blinked. That was the only way Kiedral could have described it, but before the damned forest could dredge up another painful memory, he threw an image at the grayness—one of massive animals, the lizards, the giant bears, the serpents, all fighting, all gorging on each other, year after year, violence and death leading to nothing but more violence and death.
He could sense something like surprise … and he followed it up with another image, that of a gigantic forest fire sweeping down from the mountains, incinerating everything in its path, animals fleeing, killing others in a headlong pursuit to escape, leaving the forest behind to burn away into gray ashes …
The grayness vanished, and as Kiedral again stood watching the trees behind the empty space he and the laser cutter had created, an image appeared before him, that of a calm pool of deep green-blue water.
Now what? Kiedral waited, ignoring the gashes on his arms, and the blood oozing from his scalp.
The image remained.
Finally, he tried to express the feeling of a question.
The quiet pool vanished, and a second image filled his mind. He stood facing another enormous green lizard. Behind the lizard were crumpled brilliant white plastfoam domes, the kind they had set up all around main base, one after another crushed and crumpled. Beyond the domes, the half-built white stone walls had been flattened.
Kiedral could sense the white fury of the stun lizard, but in turn, he projected back the fury of an Anglorian battle fleet, its lasers and disruptors turning the very ground into ash, kays and endless kays of ash.
A third vision appeared. This time, white stone houses and other buildings radiated from the stone piers rising from the waters of a blue-green harbor, and those buildings followed exactly the plans that Kiedral had laboriously created. Except … the streets were vacant, and grass grew between the paving stones, and the green shutters flanking open windows sagged, and the glass was absent from many of the windows and cracked and crazed in others.
Kiedral walked up and down the streets, but all were vacant. He saw not a soul anywhere.
Abruptly, the scene shifted, and he beheld blackened and smoking trees, and the carcasses of dead lizards, black cats, armored tortoises, and more creatures than he had yet beheld at the edge of the forest.
Is this what you wish…? They are one and the same. The words were not spoken as such, but that was the impression created by the juxtaposition of the two scenes.
Kiedral saw no one, but the question remained.
He finally spoke, although he did not know to whom he addressed his words. “I wish prosperity for all, for both.”
The scene of forest desolation vanished, replaced by a searing and brilliant reddish whiteness. From somewhere, he knew not where, he grasped for a darkness to balance that brilliant reddish whiteness …
So be it.… Again … there were no actual words, but a feeling, followed by another image, so clear that Kiedral seemed to be there, standing beside a white stone wall a good five yards in height, if not more. A road ran beside the wall, and on one side were houses and domes. On the other side was the towering forest looming above the stone wall.
From there, the vision shifted to another image, where Kiedral stood in a high-ceilinged chamber.
A man, not young, but not so old as Kiedral, who wore a strange green uniform, one different, yet similar to one of Kiedral’s own dress uniforms, walked deliberately down the center of a great hall toward a throne of green stone and silver set upon a low dais. Behind him followed a red-haired woman, also in green, carrying an infant. Her bearing was as regal as his, and each step they took was measured. As the man neared the empty throne, he inclined his head.
Kiedral could see clearly both the man and the woman, and yet there was not only a linkage between the two of them, but between him and the red-haired woman. He could not explain it, only sense it. And there was another linkage …
The vision, if that is what it was, vanished, and Kiedral once more stood at the edge of the forest.
“Ser?”
He glanced around, his eyes lighting on Ryaelth. She turned toward him, as if seeing him truly for the first time.
His eyes met hers.
“The giant lizards … the serpent … the forest. You did that, didn’t you?”
“We all did that,” he said quietly, without bothering to explain what he meant by “we.”
“And the images?”
“What images?” asked Thaeron.
“Call them afterimages of the lasers,” said Kiedral, waiting for the squad leader to turn to attend to the fallen Jaslak before he smiled at Ryaelth.
She smiled back, if briefly. Her eyes widened as she belatedly took in the gashes and the blood.
“Collateral damage,” he explained, his voice dry.
VI
As the groundscout turned to leave the great forest behind, the vice marshal’s eyes lingered on the tall dark-leafed trees for a long moment before he looked at the road, a road that would be paved with greenish-white stone before long.
The spirit of the forest and he had fought to a draw. An agreement. For now.
But he would be back, and the second time, he would supervise the boundaries of that agreement, for their draw—of sorts—necessitated that, with the forest and its spirit confined within limits. But only confined, if within large boundaries … and not forever.
That, too, he knew.
He could only hope that those who follow would understand. He knew Ryaelth did.
* * *
The Emperor turns from the balcony and walks back toward his private chambers, where he will rest, for a time, perhaps many times, before the long rest that he dreads … and welcomes. Another set of lines echoes through his thoughts.
Do I regret the stars that cast me here?
No more than knowing life is fragile, dear,
and fleeting, or that my words die unread,
for words cannot contain what souls have said.
This story comes from the other end of Candar, in the early history of Lyd
iar, and I wrote it because a reader asked a question.
MADNESS?
We all know about the Pantarans. By the time she’s five, every little girl knows enough to blame the unfortunate, but unobserved, accidents on them, even the ones caused by older brothers that no one ever questions, despite the fact that no one even knows if the Pantarans existed, save for the rare coin that may occasionally appear from somewhere that bears no known language and is ascribed to them. Likewise, in days to come, days so far from us that none will be able to sort fact from fable from fancy, some may recall the day when my brother became mad. Truly mad, they will say. Was he?
* * *
I was sulking in the reading room that had been Mother’s because my brother had chased me out of Father’s library. The sulk wasn’t because he’d chased me out, but because he wouldn’t tell me why. Heldry was ten years older than I was, and he usually was kind about explaining why I had to do something. That was because he could show his superiority. But he’d refused to say, and that was wrong. After all, I was his only sister, and I wasn’t a small child. I was twelve and almost as tall as any of the women who flocked around both Father and Heldry.
Father had even said that in another year or so, I could sit at the formal table as his lady. No one had since Mother died. That was another reason I was mad and sulking when Heldry refused to say why I had to leave the library. I was the only woman in the family, and he was dismissing me. The worst thing was that I couldn’t even try to hide, because Heldry would have known where I was, at least … if he bothered to think about it.
Still … after half a glass passed, I slipped out of the reading room and tiptoed oh-so-slowly into Father’s sitting room and then down the hidden stairs—the tiny circular ones—to the small robing room that adjoined the audience hall where Father was hearing petitions. The audience chamber was the largest room in the palace, and the closest to the harbor, positioned so that both the land breezes and the sea breezes off the waters of the Great North Bay swept through it. Grandsire had built it that way, or so he had said, because he wanted to be comfortable when he was handling the uncomfortable tasks of listening to petitions, dispensing justice, and arguing with his treasurer and head tariff collector. Like the rest of the palace, it had white marble walls and columns and floors. That kept it cool in the summer, but, in winter, even when the great doors were shut tight, it often felt colder in there than it did outside.
From there, I took the service hall to the rear door of the library. That was where Father went to read when he wasn’t in the study where he met people. I opened the door ever so quietly, except it wasn’t that silent. But it didn’t matter because I heard voices. Heldry was talking to someone. He was talking to a girl—a woman! I had to know who it was, and if he was talking to someone he wouldn’t be trying to find me. They were in the alcove behind Father’s desk, sitting in the window seat that overlooked the walled garden. I tiptoed closer, keeping close to the bookshelves on the east wall. I had to stop just before I got to Father’s desk.
I couldn’t see her without them seeing me, and they were talking in such low voices I could barely make out what they were saying.
“They say it’s awful.” Her voice was low, with that throaty sound that men love. I’d heard Father say that to one of the lords who tried to flatter him at the balls, the balls Father said I was too young to attend, but he didn’t know I’d been to many of them by watching from the hidden galleries. “Some of them come up in the ore baskets and their hands are blue for almost a glass. Then they send them down again. Most of them are brands … just because they can’t get other work…”
“If they can’t get other work…”
“It’s not right, Heldry. Some have already died, Vyanna told me.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“I am right. You know I am. Hard work is one thing. Brands need to learn that, but learning shouldn’t kill them.”
“You’d think the factors would care.… It does cost when you break in a new worker.”
“Not that much when you’re paying the brands half what they pay a real miner. Less than that, sometimes.” There was a long pause. “Promise me that you’ll look into it.”
“Since you’ve asked…”
I could hear some movement, but no more words.
“Heldry…”
There was a sigh even I could hear. “I’ll talk to my father about it.”
“Try to persuade him to summon the factors to an audience. They won’t dare lie to him.”
“They might.”
“You listen to them. You can tell if they’re lying. Please.”
Heldry sighed again. “I can’t let him or them know I can tell for certain. You know that.”
“I have to go. I shouldn’t be here at all.”
“I’m glad you are.”
“I can tell that.” The woman laughed softly.
A moment later I heard her boots on the stone tile floor, along with Heldry’s heavier steps. That puzzled me. Most women didn’t wear boots. All I could do was flatten myself against the bookcase and hope they didn’t look my way.
As she and Heldry walked away from me toward the main door of the library, I could see that she wore green trousers and a green tunic. That explained the boots, because the color meant she was a healer. I didn’t move because they might have heard me. She had flame-red hair, though, and it was cut too short.
Heldry stayed just inside the door as she stepped out. He didn’t want her to be seen with him. After several moments, he turned and saw me. Before I could have fled, he was in front of me looking down. He wasn’t pleased. “Shaeldra … what were you doing here?”
“Listening. Who were you talking to?” I wasn’t about to admit how much I’d heard.
“Someone.”
“Who is she?”
“She’s a healer,” Heldry said in that way that told me she was more than that, not that I didn’t already know it.
“Is she pretty?”
“Shaeldra…”
“Is she?”
“That wasn’t why she was here. Her … the woman who’s teaching her to be a better healer … she was sent to Hrisbarg, to try to heal one of the master miners.”
“Is that what Father was mumbling about in the hall last night?”
“In a way,” he admitted.
“Again?” I couldn’t help but ask because every summer since we’d been old enough to understand, or so it seemed, there was trouble with the miners, if not those in Hrisbarg, then those in Kleth or the tin miners to the northwest near Lavah.
“They’re claiming that the shafts have gotten too deep for good ventilation, but the metal factors are insisting that’s not so and threatening to turn them out of their homes.”
“How can they do that?”
“The factors built the houses for the miners. They own them.”
“Then why is Father involved?”
“Because he’s the Duke of Lydiar, and he owns all the rights to the metals. He leases … rents—”
“I know what leaseholds are,” I snapped. I hated it when Heldry got that superior tone in his voice.
“He leases the rights to the factors, and they pay him part of what they make from mining and smelting the iron.”
“Can’t Father have his mages do anything?” I smiled winningly at my big brother. “Can’t you? You’re a mage, too, aren’t you?”
“They’re iron mines, Shaeldra. Iron. You know … the metal that binds chaos?”
“Even when it’s just ore?” I was pleased with that. I’d just learned about how metals had to be smelted or melted out of ore and how all that was left was slag.
“The ore there is so rich it takes little furnace work to turn it into workable metal. That means it can bind chaos to a great degree … and any chaos mage who tried to use chaos to widen the vent tunnels might turn himself into ash. Besides, I only have a little talent.”
I didn’t know about mages turning into
ash, and maddening as Heldry could be, I certainly didn’t want him to turn himself into ash for a bunch of miners and factors. “You didn’t tell me if she’s pretty,” I reminded him.
“Shaeldra…”
“She is, isn’t she?”
“I suppose so.”
“What’s her name?”
Heldry didn’t answer.
“If you don’t tell me, I’ll start asking people in the palace. I might even have to ask Father.”
He glared at me. Finally, he said, “Klyanna. Don’t you dare tell anyone else.”
“I won’t. What are you going to do about the miners in Hrisbarg?”
“Talk to Father. What else?”
“What will you tell him?”
“What he needs to know.”
“Heldry!”
“That’s enough, Shaeldra.”
“I want to know what happens. I should know.”
Heldry started to frown. Then he laughed. “Actually, you should. If I can persuade Father to summon the factors, you can watch from one of the hidden galleries.”
Heldry did persuade Father to summon the factors. I didn’t know how, and he wouldn’t tell me, but he did keep his promise. Three days later, the two of us stood side by side in the listening gallery above and to the side of the audience platform where Father sat in the gilded chair. Five men in rich clothing faced him, and all of them had sweaty faces. It wasn’t that hot because it was still spring. They all had thick beards, too. I never liked beards. They’re scratchy even when women tell men they’re soft, but I know why they have to do that.
Father looked at them silently for a time before he spoke. “I have received reports that you are using unsafe practices in mining the deeper shafts of the iron mines in Hrisbarg.”
The two men on the ends looked down. The one in the middle looked squarely at Father. His look said that he knew more about mining than the Duke of Lydiar did. “Your Mightiness, we have taken as much care as possible in mining the deeper shafts, but with the costs of mining and the share that we must pay you, we must do all we can to use the deeper levels. That is where the best ore lies.”
Father cleared his throat. “Yet I’ve heard that one master miner is so crippled that he can no longer work, and that you are using brands. Several of them have died.”
Recluce Tales Page 4
