“Creators?” Mikayla asked. “You mean you weren’t simply born like this?”
“Have you ever seen a creature born without its normal coloring?”
“I’ve read about it,” Mikayla said. “It happens naturally sometimes in both animals and people. It’s called albino.”
“Well, in my case, it was not natural,” Red-Eye snapped. “They made me this way, and they tried to control me, to make me do their bidding, to spy for them, to fetch and carry things at night—that’s why I look like this; they wanted a lammergeier that could function at night.”
“Who are ‘they’?” Mikayla asked, fascinated. Changing a living creature out of its natural form before it was even born was a level of magic she had not previously encountered.
“The Priests of the Time of Darkness,” Red-Eye replied. “They live on one of the other mountain peaks.”
“Which one? And where are we now? I got rather lost when I ran off, after it got dark.”
The bird had been holding its head cocked to one side, listening carefully to her speech. “You’re from Ruwenda, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Mikayla replied. “How can you tell?”
“By the way you speak,” it replied. “I found you on the peak you call Mount Brom, and we are now on the one you call Mount Rotolo. As for where the Priests of the Time of Darkness live, if you are fortunate, you will never find out.” His tone was grim enough to keep Mikayla from voicing her suspicion that they lived on Mount Gidris—after all, it was the only one of the three main peaks the bird hadn’t named. Something about Mount Gidris had frightened Enya, too.
Mikayla dragged herself reluctantly out of the pool. By now the water temperature felt comfortable, but the skin on her hands was shriveling up in a definite sign that she’d been in the water too long.
“There’s a pile of furs back there,” Red-Eye said, flicking a wing tip toward the light down the tunnel. “Hang up your clothes to dry, then curl up in the furs and get some sleep. I’m going out to hunt. I’ll be back around dawn, but please remember that I sleep during the daytime. Tomorrow night we’ll discuss what’s to be done with you.”
Mikayla had no fault to find with that plan; she was as tired as she had ever been in her life. “Thank you,” she said, “and good hunting.”
Life with Red-Eye quickly settled into a comfortable pattern. Mikayla sensed that the bird was lonely, and it seemed glad to have her company. For the first few days she was content to rest in the cave and to eat whatever it caught on its hunting trips, though she suspected that it was flying great distances to bring back such delicacies as togar, a bird that she knew perfectly well lived in the swamps. Various types of vart seemed to be a staple of its diet, and the small rodents were perfectly acceptable food to Mikayla, who had never been a fussy eater.
Red-Eye, after declaring that her clothes were hopeless as protection from the cold, taught her how to control her body temperature by magic. It knew quite a bit of magic that Mikayla hadn’t encountered before. She wondered where it had learned, but she remembered the bitterness with which it had spoken of its creators and refrained from asking.
Once she had learned to control her body temperature, Red-Eye started taking her out at night with it. She learned how to sense the way the wind curled through the mountains and wrapped itself around the peaks and to tell how thick a cloud layer was from either the top or the bottom without having to fly through it. Her night vision, which had always been good for a human, improved still further. Of course, she thought, the fact that I don’t see daylight these days probably helps. Like Red-Eye, she had become nocturnal; now she slept all day.
One evening she was wakened by the jingling of the sphere against her chest. She sat up yawning, and pulled it out to dangle in front of her face. She could see Fiolon quite clearly in it; the sphere seemed to glow with its own light, but she knew that it was only the lamps in the room with Fiolon that provided the illumination. “What’s the matter, Fio?” she asked sleepily.
“What’s the matter?” Fiolon repeated in irritation. “You storm out of the Tower at twilight and don’t return, leaving Guardswoman Nella and two search parties of Vispi to spend a week looking for your body, you don’t even contact me, and when I bespeak you, you yawn and ask what’s wrong!”
“Sorry, Fio,” Mikayla apologized sleepily. “I’m just waking up. And I forgot that you couldn’t just ask the mirror to find me anymore.”
“Oh, Uzun tried that first,” Fiolon snapped.
“He did?” Mikayla asked. “How? Did Haramis relent about his new body?”
“No, Haramis is still about the same.”
“She’s not worried about me, then?” Mikayla grinned. “I didn’t think she would be.”
Fiolon sighed. “Let’s not discuss Haramis, all right?”
“By all means,” Mikayla agreed. “I’m sorry if Uzun is worried; I never meant to worry him—I just couldn’t stand it there! Is he all right? He was damaged by being dragged about, just the way you said he would be.”
“I can understand your desire to leave,” Fiolon said. “But he was dreadfully worried about you; he was afraid you were dead. As for his condition, the damage is pretty much stabilized. And I’m sending a harp builder back with Guardswoman Nella to see how much can be fixed.”
“Nella’s with you?” Mikayla asked. “Where are you?”
“I’m in Let.”
“Let?” Mikayla was surprised. “The last thing I knew, you were going to Mutavari.”
“I did,” Fiolon replied. “And when my uncle the King found out that I could deal with the Wyvilo, he sent me to Let to trade with them. The lumber I’m getting is helping his shipbuilding no end, so he’s thrilled with me. He’s talking about giving me a dukedom.”
“Sounds a lot better than being locked in a Tower in the middle of nowhere,” Mikayla commented.
“Parts of the job are rather tricky,” Fiolon pointed out. “I couldn’t do it properly without the land sense. Trees have to be cut very selectively; you can’t just chop down everything in one area, or you’ll get erosion, which damages both the land and the water. I’m rather enjoying it, actually,” he admitted. “I’m admitting to some magical ability, but not telling anyone how much I really have. I don’t want to announce that I’m an Archimage and be regarded with superstitious awe. The senses and skills I have are to be used for the good of the land and its folk, but apparently I don’t have to cut myself off from all human contact to use them.”
Then why does Haramis do it—and expect me to follow her example? Mikayla wondered. If being the Archimage just means having land sense and using it for the good of the land and its folk, that’s not so bad.…
“Anyway”—Fiolon was still speaking—“Uzun swore Nella to secrecy and told her how to use the mirror. She asked it to locate you, but all it showed was blackness—which, incidentally, is all I’m seeing in this sphere. I can hear you just fine, but I can’t see you.”
“It’s dark in here, Fiolon,” Mikayla said calmly. “You couldn’t see me if you were sitting right here.”
“That might have been the problem, then,” Fiolon said absentmindedly, “because when he told her to have it locate me, it worked just fine. So he sent her to find me, to ask me to find you.”
“Poor Uzun.” Mikayla sighed. “If he had his new body, he could probably scry for himself, and he could certainly use the mirror.”
“Would his new body be able to stand the cold down there?” Fiolon asked. “A Nyssomu can’t.”
“We stored his body down there, Fio, remember?” Mikayla reminded him. “And I specified tolerance for extreme cold when I told them what I needed for the body.”
“I didn’t know that,” Fiolon said thoughtfully. “I thought we could store it down there only because of the way it was packed.”
“No.” Mikayla shook her head. “It should be fine down there even unpacked. In the meantime I hope your harp builder is good at repairs—you haven’t seen
the damage, have you?”
“Nella gave me a good description.”
“Did she tell you that the finish is crazed over most of the wood and the frame has cracks in three places?”
“She said two places, and she said the finish looked funny.”
“Well, I suppose that’s a reasonable description, especially from a guard. To her, ‘crazed’ probably means someone not right in the head, not small cracks all over wood finish. Anyway, please give her my apologies, and my thanks for her efforts on my behalf—or Uzun’s behalf.”
“You still haven’t said where you are, Mika.”
“In a cave, someplace on Mount Rotolo.”
“That doesn’t narrow it down much,” Fiolon protested.
“Just tell Uzun that I’m safe and well,” Mikayla said. “Believe me, Fiolon, Haramis doesn’t really want me there. The woman hates me; I swear it. She didn’t like me much to begin with, and now she’s old and sick and unable to use her magic, and I’m young and healthy and able to use it—although she keeps forgetting that. She doesn’t even remember that I can bespeak the lammergeiers. Her idea of ‘training’ me is to make me sit by her bed and listen to stories as if I were a small child.”
“That doesn’t sound all that bad,” Fiolon said. “Useless, perhaps, but not intolerable.”
“She tells the same stories every single day, Fio. Day after day after day after day after—”
“I’ll grant intolerable.”
“I knew you’d understand.” Mikayla sighed. “I was turning into a monster there; I just had to get away. It wasn’t just her I hated; I hated myself as well. Now I’m someplace where I don’t hate myself, and I’m going to stay here for a while—maybe even until I have to go back to the Temple.”
“The Temple?”
“You remember the Temple, Fio. I have to stay a virgin, and I have to go there every spring for the next seven years. That was the price for Uzun’s body.”
“But Uzun doesn’t have his body,” Fiolon protested.
“That’s not their fault,” Mikayla pointed out. “They kept their word, and I shall keep mine. What Haramis does,” she added bitterly, “is quite beyond our control.”
“True,” Fiolon agreed. “I’ll send Nella and the harp builder back by lammergeier tomorrow, with a message to Uzun that you are well. What he tells Haramis is his decision.”
“Thank you, Fio. Give Uzun my love, and tell him I’m sorry that my behavior gave him cause for worry.”
“I shall. Take care of yourself, Mika, and bespeak me from time to time.”
“I will. Don’t worry about me.”
Fiolon muttered something she didn’t quite catch as the sphere went dark.
“What was that?” Red-Eye’s thoughts whispered in her head.
“My cousin,” Mikayla explained. “He was worried about me. He’s right, I should have contacted him.”
“You communicate with that little ball?” The bird cocked its head to one side, looking at the sphere Mikayla still held in front of her.
“Yes,” Mikayla replied, tucking it back into her tunic. “We found them—he has one just like it—in some ruins on the Golobar River a few years ago. I suspect that we could bespeak each other without them, but they’re a convenient focus.”
“He can bespeak the lammergeiers?” Red-Eye asked. “I did hear him say that, didn’t I? How does he do that?”
Mikayla shrugged. “He just does. It’s not all that hard; I can hear you, and I’ll bet most of the Vispi can, too, if you call to them. In his case, I think the fact that he’s Archimage of Var probably has something to do with it.”
“So Var has an Archimage,” Red-Eye said. “That’s interesting. It’s too bad that Labornok doesn’t.”
“Doesn’t it?” Mikayla asked. “I thought the Archimage of Ruwenda was also Archimage of Labornok. After all, the two Kingdoms have been joined since she became Archimage.”
The bird’s eyes narrowed in what passed for a frown and it lowered its head until its eyes were level with hers. Mikayla had been around it long enough to realize that this was a sign of avian displeasure.
“The Archimage has never paid any heed to her responsibility for Labornok,” it said, “and lately she has been ignoring Ruwenda as well. This is bad, for both lands and for their folk.”
“She’s been ill,” Mikayla said. “It’s not completely her fault—Ruwenda, that is. As for Labornok, she’s probably never forgiven them for killing her parents.”
“The welfare of the land is more important than the personal feelings of the Archimage,” Red-Eye said sternly.
Mikayla decided this was not a good time to tell him she was supposed to be the next Archimage. Besides, she thought, Haramis may be wrong about me. If I didn’t get the land sense when she lost it, perhaps someone else has it. The land may have chosen a new Archimage already.
21
Time with Red-Eye slipped past in a calm even series of nights, punctuated by occasional talks with Fiolon. Shortly after midwinter, when there was too much rain for the logging to continue, Fiolon went back to the King’s court at Mutavari. Mikayla even stayed awake long enough one morning to see something of the city through Fiolon’s eyes as he walked through it, showing it to her.
One evening in the spring she awoke before Red-Eye, who had flown farther than usual the night before. The nights were getting shorter now, and there was still some daylight outside of the cave, but when Mikayla pulled out her sphere and idly began to scry Mutavari, she saw that it was already dark there. Of course, she thought, it’s farther east than here; it gets dark sooner there.
She focused on the palace, preparing to bespeak Fiolon. He was in his room, so she looked to be sure he was alone. Since she was scrying with her sphere, instead of using it to link directly with him, she could see him and his surroundings. He wasn’t alone. There was a woman in his bed, a young woman only a few years older than Mikayla, and much prettier. She had a figure, which Mikayla didn’t yet, and long dark hair and sapphire-blue eyes. Mikayla hated her on sight. The fact that her dress was carelessly tossed on the clothing chest at the foot of the bed did not make Mikayla feel any better about the situation.
Very cautiously, Mikayla linked with Fiolon, so softly that he was not at first aware of her. Of course, most of his attention was on the woman in his bed. But apparently he had just walked in and found her there; he was still fully dressed, and Mikayla sensed that he was almost as surprised as she was. “What are you doing here?” he was asking the woman.
“I came to congratulate you, my Lord Duke,” the woman replied in seductive tones.
“You could have done that perfectly well in the Great Hall when the King made the announcement,” Fiolon pointed out, striving for calm. Mikayla could feel his emotions, but she wasn’t accustomed to these: a mixture of nervousness and excitement. Fiolon had always been the calm one.
“In the Great Hall?” The woman, whoever she was, laughed. “Your elevation in rank should be celebrated, and we certainly couldn’t celebrate it properly there.” She flowed out of bed and across the room—like a swamp worm, Mikayla thought viciously—twined her arms about Fiolon’s neck, and kissed him full on the lips. Mikayla felt a jolt run through her and realized that her link to Fiolon was leaving her wide-open to everything he felt. And he was feeling very strange. It didn’t feel at all the way Mikayla had felt when Timon had tried to kiss her; this felt sort of warm, and dizzying, like some sort of magic, as energy flowed between their bodies. It reminded Mikayla of the way the chant had taken hold of her, that first day at the Temple of Meret. Fiolon’s thoughts were shutting down, just the way hers had; his shields were completely down, and the woman was pulling energy from him like a Skritek drowning its prey.
“Fiolon!” Mikayla bespoke him urgently. “Wake up! Fight it!”
“Mika?” Fiolon lifted his head and looked around the room in a dazed fashion.
“Think, Fiolon! What are you doing?”
“M
ika?” the woman said inquiringly, wriggling against Fiolon and trying to pull him closer to her—which Mikayla would have sworn was physically impossible. Fiolon felt fever hot through their link, and Mikayla felt very strange herself. When Fiolon pushed the woman forcibly away from him, a part of Mikayla ached along with him.
“My betrothed,” Fiolon snapped, grabbing a cloak from a peg near the door. “I’m leaving, and I suggest you dress and do likewise. If I find you in here again, you will regret it.” His tone was grim enough to make the woman look frightened.
“I didn’t realize you were betrothed,” she said nervously. “Why do you never speak of her?”
“Doubtless because idle gossip has never been one of my preferred pastimes,” Fiolon said crushingly, turning on his heel and stalking from the room.
He went outside and made his way to a deserted stretch of beach. The fishermen whose boats were dragged up on the sand had doubtless all gone home for supper, Mikayla thought.
Fiolon pulled out his sphere. His face looked drawn and troubled. “Mika?” he asked. “Are you all right?”
“I think so,” Mikayla replied shakily. “What was that? Who was she?”
“Nobody important,” Fiolon replied. “Just one of the court ladies with even less sense than morals.”
“It felt as though she was trying to use magic on you,” Mikayla said uneasily.
Fiolon shook his head. “No. That wasn’t magic. Just sex. For most of the women at court, it’s their only asset.”
“Is that why you said we were betrothed? So that she’d leave you alone?”
Fiolon sighed. “It might help—she’ll gossip about it, of course; they all do. Not that my being betrothed would stop some of them. There are several of them that my being married wouldn’t stop.”
“But what if they find out we’re not really betrothed?”
“I’ll talk to the King and make sure he doesn’t deny it,” Fiolon said. “There isn’t enough travel between here and the Citadel for anyone to ask your parents about it, and they don’t know what you’re doing these days anyway.”
Lady of the Trillium Page 21
