The Shadow of the Sun (The Way of the Gods)

by Barbara Friend Ish

  He understood, of course; we were too enmeshed for him to do otherwise. He turned away; we sheathed our weapons and picked our ways out of the circle of dead men. Longing for things I would never have wrapped heavy chains around my heart.

  We made our goodbyes with Indech and rode south through the rubble-choked streets of Uriah, looking for a place in which we could camp securely for the night. Indech would be perfectly safe from Básghilae, of course: the danger followed us. In two days he would be home, beginning to pursue his dreams; we would be someplace in the wilds of Banbagor or Muir, trying to remain alive. But I knew better than to cast my mind too far forward in the midst of a siege: I turned my attention to the problem of shelter for the night.

  I had already decided that a place which must be warded would not do: that we would take watches tonight, and Amien must be allowed to rest. But I had not yet discussed it with him, and he still wasn’t looking at me. There were too many unsaid words between us for something so mundane to get through. I left him and Nuad at the front of the party as we rode out, and dropped back to the rear. To my surprise Letitia reined and fell in beside me.

  “Well,” she said without preamble. “What should I have learned?”

  That no matter why I engage in arcane awareness, I will find some way to bollocks things up, I wanted to say.

  “What did you observe?” I said instead.

  “That was a trap,” she said thoughtfully. “The Bard’s Wizard had set things up long before we arrived.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “He knew where we would land,” she continued.

  “That wasn’t hard to predict. The only sensible destination from Ilunmore is the Muir Pass.”

  Letitia nodded, digesting this.

  “But it was a very good trap,” I said. “Worse than that, actually. It was diabolical.”

  She cast me an inquiring glance.

  “He could easily predict where we’d land today,” I elaborated. “And where we’ll be going. Concealing the Básghilae so we would step away from the safe ground of the ship into a place in which they could overwhelm us was a good strategy, and though we’ve seen that before, we weren’t exactly on guard for it, were we?”

  She shook her head. “We should have been, though.”

  “How?” I said. “If we start suspecting that everything, everywhere, actually conceals Básghilae, we’re just going to start spooking ourselves. We’ll be doing his work for him. We need to be vigilant—which, if you’ll notice, your knights were. We need to be ever ready, all the way to—” Unexpectedly my throat tightened. “Aballo. But you don’t want to wear your knights out jumping at shadows. Nuad has them tuned to just the right level of awareness.”

  Letitia cast me a thoughtful look, then nodded.

  “What was difficult about this ambush—give points to our enemy on this one—”

  She turned a look of frank horror on me; I shrugged.

  “Letitia, respecting your enemy is the first principle of warfare. I don’t like his objective, and I find his methods horrifying, but beyond that I’ve got to respect his strategic ability. If I get emotional about it, I’m going to make mistakes born of emotion. Keeping emotion out of it can be hard on the battlefield, but there’s no excuse for failing to do it when we’re just talking about strategy.”

  Letitia gave me a long, troubled look. “I don’t know if I can be that cold,” she said finally.

  Her words landed like an unexpected blow. It took everything I had to avoid showing how they rocked me. Me, cold? My greatest fault lay in how very many things could make me feel, in how often I failed to control my responses. I glanced around, assessing possible campsites and reassuring myself that the Básghilae were not staging a second ambush in these streets, to give myself time to sound calm.

  “I’m not asking you to be cold,” I said finally. “Just to remember that your enemy is a real, intelligent man—very intelligent—and that everything he does makes sense. And if you can engage the discipline necessary to study what he does and how, you can learn things about him that you can use to develop your own strategy. I can tell you he’s doing that very thing with us.”

  She drew in a swift, dismayed breath.

  “This is what I’m talking about,” I elaborated. “Concealing the Básghilae under shapeshifting and illusions is a sensible, even predictable, tactic. What made his use of those techniques terrible, and excellent, is how well he tailored what he did to us.”

  Fear widened her eyes; I began to doubt the wisdom of speaking military truth with her. But I had given my word.

  “Our enemy chose to conceal his forces in a way that was guaranteed to draw us closer,” I said. “Any wizard—or scholar,” I amended quickly, sudden panic rising at how close I had come to revealing myself, “could be counted on to find an intact sun circle in the Danaan lands… as irresistible as a salt lick in winter. Of course we would draw close.”

  Letitia nodded.

  “What was diabolical about that trap was the circular arrangement, which was everything we thought we expected—and which very quickly had Amien and me pinned. He drew us all in, then separated the most experienced warriors from the rest of the party—and, what’s worse, we became bait he then used to try to draw your knights away from protecting you.”

  Now she was growing pale.

  “Nuad handled that beautifully,” I said quickly. And fortunately it was true. But any temptation I felt to discuss the truly horrific level of intelligence our enemy had about us died. And the subtexts I’d read in the attack were beyond discussing—with anyone.

  Because if the primary objective of that attack had been the expected one, our enemy now had a well-defined secondary objective: me. He had read me like a text in a library, and we still knew nothing about him. No one builds sun-circles of red-streak basalt; but I had found it irresistible. Any sane wizard would have taken one whiff of the energies in that space and backed away; instead I wanted more. If I had glimpsed him through the eyes of his Básghilae, today and during that engagement on the Arian shore, he’d been studying me for far longer; and he was undeceived by the lengths to which I went to conceal my Aballo past. I was the chink in Letitia’s armor.

  Protests flared inside me, as if there were someone present with whom I might argue. Letitia needed me: not only my blade but my expertise. They would never successfully order their battles without me.

  But I looked ahead, down the line of warriors, and I knew that wasn’t true: not anymore. Though unready to lead an army, Nuad had firm command of unit tactics now; and the Tanaan had become a unit. One in which, against all odds, women functioned as full members. Letitia’s coverage was sparse; she still needed reinforcements. But whether I constituted an asset or a liability to this party was an open question, because our enemy had learned my greatest weaknesses; and he understood what drove me well enough to use my failings to draw me in. Because there was something inside me that was essentially the same as something inside him.

  From now on, it must be counted on that he could trap me, and I would not even see where the blinds lay until I had stumbled into them. My only hope—Letitia’s only hope—was for me to avoid arcane awareness, to stay away from anything that sparked arcane desires. Those were the things he knew he could use against me. I couldn’t allow that to happen again.

  “So what’s the lesson?” Letitia asked.

  I reeled with the impossibility of discussing it. Then I remembered: she was talking about the simpler problem.

  “What do you think?” I said. For a while she was silent. The sounds of hooves on broken paving alternately echoed and muffled against buildings in various stages of collapse. Somewhere ahead in the line, another conversation too subdued for me to follow threaded between the hoof-falls. Ruddy sunlight cut nearly horizontal paths between the buildings, splitting the world into strips of brilliance and expanses of shadow.

  “Learn as much as you can about your enemy, so you can tailor your attacks?” Le
titia ventured finally.

  I met her eyes and nodded.

  Pride at having gotten it right sent a smile breaking across her lovely face; then, abruptly, the implications of the lesson crystallized visibly for her, and she stiffened.

  “He’s miles ahead of us,” she said softly.

  “Yes,” I said. “What’s worse, it really is true: there’s no question he can see us during attacks, through the ghouls. He’s learning more about us with every engagement.”

  “We need to learn more about him,” Letitia murmured.

  I nodded again. And then I realized the best way to do that was through arcane methods, and cold settled over me.

  Several minutes passed in silence broken only by the sounds of horses’ hooves and the wind moaning in shattered buildings. Then the road we traveled widened into a broad square. To one side, near a broad expanse of mixed rubble and eerily graceful architecture I suspected had been the Banbagor winter palace, stood a tower perhaps three or four stories in height. As a written language Danaan comes to me only with difficulty, but I astonished myself by instantly absorbing the sigils that marked the tower’s exterior. Half a second later I realized that was exactly what I saw: sigils, glyphs of arcane language and intent. I reined, astonished, just in time to see Amien, at the front of the line, finally do more than glance at the tower and rein as well. The rest of the party straggled to a stop.

  “Well, this looks likely,” Nuad said cheerfully.

  Ah, no. I knew what I saw: a sun-tower dedicated to gods that predate the Tanaan Transition, the original gods of Hy-Breasaíl. I wondered whether the Tanaan who lived here at the time of the Deluge had any recollection of the original dedication of this monument; and I itched to walk its every yard, to unravel the spells that had gone into its stunningly-crafted masonry. It was exactly the sort of thing I now knew I should avoid.

  “Fouzhir hell,” Amien said. He glanced at me and immediately away. I felt my face flush.

  “What?” Letitia said to me, as if I had seen a revelation of the goddess in some household object.

  “A sun-tower,” I breathed.

  “Yes?” she pursued.

  I shook my head. I couldn’t figure out where to start.

  At the other end of the line, Amien shook his head, too. “No. We can’t use this. No way will I be able to raise power here.”

  “My lord, there are plenty of us here for watches.”

  The words had come out of my mouth. I felt my lips and tongue move. But I had no recollection of deciding to speak. I should be arguing vigorously in favor of any other campsite, should spend the rest of the evening pretending I had never read those sigils.

  “Absolutely,” Nuad said brightly. Mixed dread and excitement leapt in me. “Lord Amien, you should rest tonight. We have no guarantee we’ll find places we can protect with arms alone for the rest of the journey.”

  Damned if he hadn’t absorbed every word I’d ever spoken in his presence. There was no arguing with his logic.

  “But I also need to work personal wards—” Amien began, guilty relief spreading across his equine visage.

  “Choose any other space,” Nuad said. Pleased, half-surprised confidence rang in his voice. “We will hold it while you work. And then you will have a night of rest.”

  The Bard’s Wizard wouldn’t attack again tonight: the fact was too obvious to even mention. Tonight he marshalled his forces; he never risked an engagement with even odds. Where his next force enhancement would come from I couldn’t guess; but I knew we would see no more of the Básghilae until those reinforcements arrived. Didn’t that mean I could afford to enjoy the wholly unanticipated miracle of an intact Hy-Breasaílian sun tower?

  “I will take the parapet,” I said. And while I kept half an eye on the horizon, I would see the stars as the ancient Danaan had. I was not altogether certain I would seek relief at the second watch. Neither was I certain I should be allowed to remain with the party. But I ached to walk into that tower the way a life-long drunk wants another drink.

  Amien looked at his horse’s ears, a guilty smile stealing across his lips. “So be it. Mora, I saw a little walled garden perhaps a block ago…” He cast her an inquiring look; she glanced at me and nodded.

  “Easca and Tru, with us,” Nuad said crisply. “Lord Iminor, will you ride with us or help the others secure the tower?”

  Iminor gave him a thoughtful look, then turned a speculative gaze on me. “I go with my lady,” he said to Nuad.

  The six of them turned their horses and rode back down the battered street. I dismounted, and the knights who had remained with me followed; we set about unburdening our horses and seeing to their care. As the sun sank towards the horizon, I walked the perimeter of the tower, telling myself it was my duty to ensure it was as safe as we all surmised. But the shadows of ancient spells in the spaces between the stones commandeered my attention, and the sigils of protection and dedication to gods Whose names I didn’t recognize but Whose faces flitted across my mind robbed me of any hope of focus.

  By the time I had completed the circuit around the tower, I had deduced the hours and heavenly objects the windows were intended to frame, but I had far too little sense of the lie of the spaces around the structure. I thought it stood sufficiently separate for the watches to spot any approach on foot, although I had the nagging sense that several of the windows would be vulnerable to bowshots from the ruined palace. But I couldn’t give the problem the attention it deserved. I sent Ogma, the best archer, to make the same circuit and deliver his own assessment; his eyes sparked as if he’d been singled out for some privilege, but I knew the truth: the party needed someone whose mind was focused to do what I had failed. Nevertheless my heart beat faster yet as I climbed the cracked stairs to the narrow door and stepped inside.

  Chill lay on the stones of the interior, but wondrous mosaics decorated the floor and adorned a ceiling that soared astonishingly high above. Tiny tiles of gleaming orichalus had once spanned the impossible height of the walls; even now enough of them remained for me to sense how the chamber must once have glowed. I stepped into the wide-open circle, feeling as if I floated between the images above and below rather than having any sense of connection with the earth. Something I couldn’t identify drew me to walk the stair that spiraled dizzily up the interior of the wall and through the ceiling to the second floor.

  The setting sun cast this space in a blaze of ruddy gold. Even after all this time, memories of centuries of arcane activity shimmered in the air. Something that was not a chill swept up my back; my throat tightened until I could scarcely breathe, and my feet carried me into the center of the space, the spot in which any wizard would perform the bulk of his work. The thrill of magics whose names I didn’t know crowded around. Bindings and curses, weather-workings and spells infinitely more subtle, the ecstatic presences of unknown gods: all these things wound around and through me, so potent that I remembered in all the sinews of my body what it was to draw power, so insistent that I found myself blasted wide. When I reached the center of the room, the rapture of a hundred thousand workings pounded through me, in waves and gusts and staccato bursts of insanity I couldn’t remember how to stop. I heard myself cry out; I shuddered with helpless delight, suspended beyond time and reason by the pleasure of the energies that had channeled through this space. Century after century of Danaan mages raced through my awareness, their curious minds and fearless hearts braving anything in the names of knowledge and power, their souls unfettered by rules and strictures and fear of condemnation, their actions guided by their affections and personal codes of honor. The pouring energies subsided into a tingle of rapture that fluttered over my skin; my chest ached with the loss of everything they had been and known and passed from mind to mind. I staggered and nearly fell; my eyes dazzled with the afterimages of a dozen setting suns. Manannan stood at the top of the staircase, staring at me.

  “Lord?” he said.

  I shook my head, tried to fill my lungs. Raptur
e played unabated over my skin.

  “Unbelievable,” I croaked. “Fouzhir unbelievable. How do you live with this loss?”

  Manannan gave me a puzzled frown. “It was… before my time, Lord. I don’t think I have any real idea how things were before.”

  I should be accustomed to this by now: the things that moved me most would forever play as madness to practically everyone I met. Such madness is a luxury even royalty can afford only in small portions.

  I nodded. “Neither do I. I’m going to secure the roof.”

  Up another flight of stairs and through a door that opened up like the hatch of a hold on a ship, I gained the parapet. The cone of the roof rose up beside me, blocking the eastern sky. For half a second I was disappointed by what seemed an unfortunate architectural decision; then I realized the shape of the roof, wrought in reactive schists like the rest of the building, was intended to function as a focus for long-distance workings. Immediately my mind multiplied the concept, and I saw the sun-towers the Breasaílians must have used stretching across all the lands the songs tell us they ruled: the almost effortless cohesion of their empire borne on aetheric currents among their myriad towers. What must it have been, to live in a time and place in which magic was as ready to hand as any mundane tool and as well understood? If only we had some idea of how to get back to such a paradise.

  I walked the circle of the parapet, the sunset-limned sky unrolling itself around the tower as I moved. Once I was certain all was quiet, I began the circuit again: slowly this time. The wreck of Uriah spread out to the east and west, but the tower actually stood at the southern edge of the city. Had we ridden another minute or two, we would have encountered the remains of the wall. Had this place been the palace, then? Or the College of Mages? The histories are notably quiet on where that center lay.