“The Syndic says that we are all children at heart,” said the translator.
Maja blinked inwardly. Did she know? Surely not. She rescued herself with one of her rehearsed remarks.
“Forgive me,” she said, gesturing with her spectacles. “I do not see very well close to.”
The Syndic waited for the translation, nodded, and stood calmly while Maja looked her over. The impression she gave of being something of a dough-faced nonentity turned out to be entirely superficial, worn almost like a mask. The pale gray-blue eyes were bright with intelligence. The jowled chin merely distracted from the firm set of the mouth. The skin was smooth and clear, its pallor natural to it. She could once have been a plumply pretty young woman, Maja decided. The Syndic studied Maja in return and nodded again.
“Shall we sit,” she said, drawing out the chair beside Maja’s, at the same time making a brief remark to the translator, who almost scurried to help Maja into her chair and then took up a post behind and between the two of them.
“I am sorry you are not well,” said the Syndic, as if deliberately giving Maja the cue for another rehearsed remark.
“Indeed I am not myself today,” she said. “I am not precisely ill, but it is many years since I needed to exert my powers to the extent that I did yesterday, and today I am paying the penalty. I shall be better as soon as I am free to return to my own place.”
“I’m hoping that one result of our work today is that one day I’ll get the chance to visit the Empire in a spirit of friendship.”
(Not one of Maja’s cues, but she mustn’t hesitate. What would Lady Kzuva have said?)
“It is not all wonders and marvels, you know.”
(That was a start, but…oh, of course! She readied the phrases while the Syndic was speaking and waited for the translation.)
“I’m glad to hear it,” said the Syndic. “Yesterday was enough to last me a lifetime. But even without that the Empire is so different from my own country. I would very much like to return in more peaceful times. I am sure our best hope for a lasting peace is to know each other better.”
“Indeed, yes. I live a long way north. But should your journeyings carry you that far, I should be glad to welcome you under my roof.”
A safe offer, surely. There was precious little chance of the Empire letting her in, even if she wanted to come. Anyway, she wouldn’t take it up, surely. She must be a busy woman. But no.
“I shall make a point of seeing that they do. Tell me, my lady, how much do you know of the politics of my country? Our translator, incidentally, is my cousin’s daughter-in-law and can be trusted.”
“I know a certain amount about your country,” Maja said, taking the chance to answer slowly, thoughtfully, as she tried to remember and repeat all the stuff that Striclan had told them.
“But the invasion has turned out much more difficult than your pro-war party expected,” she concluded, “and so opinion is swinging against them. We saw something of this aboard the All-Conqueror yesterday. I believe you yourself had a hand in suppressing an armed group of soldiers who wanted to reject our terms.”
The Syndic didn’t actually blink, but paused and stared at her before she answered.
“You are very well informed, my lady,” she said.
“This is the Empire, Syndic. It is very hard to keep a secret without some form of magical protection.”
“Of course,” said the Syndic. “Bluntly, I am asking for your help. General Pashgahr is a sensible man….”
Maja, tiring rapidly now, forced herself to listen as the Syndic explained how important it was to give General Pashgahr something worthwhile to take home, instead of an outright defeat of the invasion. Otherwise General Olbog, who still had plenty of allies there, would be able to present himself as the hero who had been betrayed by weak-kneed underlings. Maja decided what to say as she waited for her to finish.
“I don’t think we can alter the document at this stage, Syndic,” she said.
“No, of course not. I think the most I can ask for is this. At present the Empire’s borders are closed to all outsiders. If you were now to invite a delegation of politicians and businesspeople, completely unmilitary in nature, to visit the country and explore the possibilities for mutually beneficial trade, this would be attractive to the business community, and help to get them on our side. I would hope to be one of the delegates, and that we would then be able to renew our acquaintance.”
“For myself I should welcome that, but I shall need to talk to my colleagues.”
“Of course. And there is a similar matter I’d like you to put to them. The Ice-dragon, or dragons—I understand there are two.”
“I know little more than you do about them. You will have to talk—”
“To Mr. Ortahlson. Eventually. But this is urgent, and I have you alone, so I’m asking you to talk to him. This may surprise you, but I want you to persuade him not to insist too strongly on the physical reality of the creatures.”
Maja’s turn not to blink. She tried to gather her wits, but the Syndic raised a hand to stop her before she could speak.
“I know my countrymen. I know the military mind, as perhaps you do not. Confronted with an overwhelming physical threat such as a real Ice-dragon would present—a threat that is not confined, as your magical powers are, within the borders of the Empire, but is potentially global in its effect—they will be determined either to take possession of it and control it, or to destroy it. They would be able to carry many of my countrymen with them in this.”
“That…That would be very foolish. An absolute disaster.”
“Exactly. But the Ice-dragon is not needed to justify our withdrawal. The stranding of the whole fleet on an island of ice magically appearing in a warm sea is more than enough, and that was manifestly not a hallucination. Put simply, my argument against the war party will be that we cannot attack the Empire because of its magical defenses. Therefore we must make peace with it.
“I must repeat that the matter is urgent. Mr. Ortahlson may already be responding to questions about the Ice-dragon. I’m not asking him suddenly to deny the creature’s existence. Only to leave room for doubt.”
“Very well. Perhaps your translator will be kind enough to lend me an arm.”
She found Ribek, Saranja and Striclan at a table in the refreshment pavilion. The men rose smiling as she approached. Ribek offered her a chair and they all sat.
“We weren’t talking about anything serious,” he said. “Just chitchat. Staving off the inquisitors.”
He nodded toward a group of the Pirate delegates hovering nearby, translator at the ready, waiting to pounce. How much could they hear?
“This is serious,” Maja said clearly. “I have word from Talagh….”
She lowered her voice.
“I’ve been talking to Syndic Blrundahlrgh,” she said, and told them about it.
“Well, Striclan?” said Ribek, when she’d finished.
“They’re both very good points. In fact I’d been thinking about them myself.”
“We haven’t got the authority to commit the Empire to anything.”
“We’ll have to talk to Chanad,” said Saranja.
“At least I can go and start doing something about the Ice-dragon,” said Ribek. “Odd that that’s the only thing about yesterday’s performance that wasn’t hocus-pocus, and now you’re asking me to say that it was.”
He rose and moved away, as if just easing his limbs. The inquisitors pounced. Maja watched him as he answered their questions. His body language was easy, nonchalant, almost amused. He was actually enjoying himself, she realized. Saranja was right. Impossible man!
“You know,” said Saranja, “we’re going to have to visit Lady Kzuva on the way home, and tell her.”
“Oh, can we? Please!” said Maja.
That was the last vivid moment. Darkness swallowed her. The magical turmoil of becoming a mugal had already been almost too much for her, without the strain of trying to think
and act and speak like Lady Kzuva. Yesterday she’d been able to let Lady Kzuva do it herself, while Maja had watched what happened from inside her, almost like a bystander.
She drifted up into consciousness. Where…? What…? She seemed to be lying on something soft, like a pile of cushions. Mutters from around and above her, anxious, vaguely impatient. Her whole body was full of aches and pains, but why didn’t they really hurt any more?
“I think she’s coming round. Lady Kzuva…”
Striclan. Oh yes, of course. The mugal. The conference. The refreshment tent.
“I’m all right,” she whispered. “Help me up. I must set my seal…. Where’s my cane?”
“Easy, easy…” Striclan again. “Everything’s ready. There’s no hurry.”
They must have carried her into the conference tent. She could remember the sharp smell of the burning wax, watching the purple drops dribble onto the parchment, somebody holding her quivering hand steady and helping it press the seal ring firmly down into the glistening pool. Then darkness again.
She had woken in the evening—the next evening, Saranja told her later—in her own body, lying in a warm and comfortable bed. Her hand was clutching something under the pillow. She pulled it out, forced her eyes open and looked at it blearily. It was the brooch with the single tree.
PART FOUR
KZUVA
CHAPTER
26
Dreamily, lulled by the hiss of the passing air and the rhythmic boom of the tireless wings, Maja watched the landscape stream away beneath them as the horses bore them north. She thought they’d seen a lot of the Empire on their long, slow journey south, but realized now that it had been almost nothing beside the things she would never now see.
That craggy range of hills with a great gorge running through, for instance, every cliff festooned with battlements and walls protecting what should have been a series of mighty citadels, but in fact holding no more than a few stone cottages with steep red roofs, piled almost on top of each other where they clung to the rock above the foaming water.
Benayu, after a week’s rest at Larg, was stronger physically, but still seemed dazed and faraway, coming to terms with himself, perhaps, in the same way he had done on their first journey north from Larg. Maja, relishing her recovery of her extra sense, hadn’t asked him to renew her shielding. So now she could tell that the costly-seeming fortifications had been built centuries ago by magic. But why here, and to what end? And how did the people who dwelt there now earn their living in such a seemingly barren place?
A yellow plain, featureless apart from one large dark patch like cloud-shadow. But the sky was cloudless, and above the patch, and nowhere else, forty or fifty huge birds circled. As the horses drew nearer Maja saw that the patch was an enormous herd of animals, several thousand of them. Antelopes? Wild cattle? And the birds vultures, hovering for prey? None of these, for as Maja watched three of the creatures below detached themselves from the main body and she could see that they were also birds, each the size of a pony, but flightless, with puny little wings. A moment later one of those circling overhead plummeted down and drove the strays back to join the main mass; then the rest of the flying ones seemed to notice the intruders’ approach and flew shrieking toward them. Saranja, riding on that flank with Striclan pillion, shouted a warning and swung Rocky away. Benayu and Ribek followed. Sponge dropped back as rear-guard, snarling over his shoulder. The birds, soon outpaced, turned back to their guardianship.
Then for a while they followed a river winding through a forest, fold after fold of tree-covered hills as far as the eye could see. Stretches of glassy-still water alternated with foaming rapids. Close above one of these, two massive chains had been stretched from bank to bank to hold two lines of rafts steady against the current. There were people on the rafts, wearing the normal bright-colored dress of the Empire. Each of the women on the upstream line carried a large gourd, from which she was steadily sprinkling small handfuls of what looked like some kind of seed onto the water where it flowed between the rafts. The rafts immediately above the rapids were spaced further apart so that the men on them could thrash the surface into foam with implements like flails. The foam was brilliant orange, which persisted all the way down the rapids until it was lost in the stillness of the pool below.
In the middle of a clearing beside the pool a boy about six years old, naked apart from a small gold crown, was sitting on an ornate throne watching the tumbling water. Either side of him a dozen yellow-robed men—priests, perhaps—stood with their spread hands raised in front of them as if they were causing the color change. None of the laborers above the rapids had even glanced up as the winged horses passed above them, so intent were they on their task. For a moment it looked as if the priests would also ignore the intrusion into their ritual, but then one of them shouted and pointed and they broke rank and rushed into the trees, stumbling over their robes as they ran. The boy remained, staring steadfastly at the sunset-colored rapids.
“What on earth was happening there?” said Maja. “It wasn’t magic. At least I couldn’t feel any.”
“We’ll never know now,” said Ribek cheerfully.
“No, we’ll never know now. Never.”
“We could go back and ask, I suppose. Only I doubt they’d be friendly, judging by the way those fellows bolted into the trees.”
“We’d be doing it all the time. Going back and asking, I mean. There’s so much. It was better on the road. There was time.”
“You want to get down and walk? You aren’t in a hurry to get back to the Valley?”
“Not specially, not for me. I know you’ve got to, because the horsemen will be going back to their wives and families before the passes close, and then you can sing to the snows and stop them coming back next year.”
“Assuming it works again. Won’t know till I’ve tried.”
“You’ve seen the Ice-dragon. And Saranja’s got Zald. It’ll be all right. This time, anyway. And Benayu wants to get back to his sheep, and Saranja’s got to sort out about what happens to Woodbourne and see what everybody wants done about the forest…”
“And we won’t know that for several years. Valley’s never been quick to make up its mind…”
They had talked it over and over in the last few days since the Ropemaker’s unsettling last words about the new times coming. It was both hardest and easiest for Ribek. Hardest because he would have been perfectly happy to go back to the old times, with the Valley closed off completely, and easiest because he still knew what he wanted and what he had to do—to live as a miller at Northbeck and to keep the passes closed if he could.
Saranja and Maja were different. They’d both hated their life in the Valley. Why should they care what happened to it? Saranja had already tried to leave it once, and Maja might have done so too when she was older, supposing she’d had the nerve. But both of them, almost as soon as they were in the adventure, had assumed without thinking that the whole purpose of their lives, the one thing for which they’d been born, was to find the Ropemaker so that he could restore the Valley to what it had been for the past forty generations.
And now perhaps that wasn’t true any more. The Ropemaker had said those times were over, and they themselves must sow the seed of change. This was what they had tried to do when they met the Pirates on the hill above Larg, but it would take years—most of Maja’s lifetime, perhaps—before she got to see what kind of a tree had grown from their sowing.
And if these were new times, did it even matter from now on if there wasn’t anyone to sing to the unicorns, if no one ever again could hear what the cedars were sighing?
Anyway, how could the three of them decide something like that for themselves? The one thing that was clear to them was that somehow the whole Valley, everyone who lived there, had to choose. They had a few years more to make up their minds.
Benayu had been firm about that. There was one important thing he had to do when he got home, he said, as soon as he’d recovere
d from his efforts at Barda and Larg, and then he was going back to simple shepherding until he’d grown to manhood and come fully into his powers. At that point he would help Saranja seal the forest if that was what the Valley wanted—she couldn’t do it without him—and then make up his mind about his own future.
So, a few more years. Call it six. Six years for the Valley to make up its mind. And Ribek his.
They fell silent, thinking their own thoughts.
“I know what I want for myself, of course,” said Ribek after a while. “All the same, there’s a funny sense of letdown. I mean, we’ve done so much against all the odds, gone so far, fought brigands and demons, ridden flying horses, visited another universe, found the Ropemaker, destroyed the Watchers, saved Larg twice over. But…I don’t know…that last meeting…all right, we agreed a temporary truce—best we could hope for, best we could offer—but everything else is still up in the air. It was all too easy, though I suspect it might have been a great deal harder but for your friend with the unpronounceable name…”
“Blrundahlrgh,” said Maja. “Anyway, none of them could manage Kzuva.”
“Not the only thing you had in common. Sisters under the skin, if ever I saw a pair. Anyway I found the whole thing very strange and unsettling. Not how I’d want it to end, if it was an ending. I’m like you I suppose, except that it isn’t the magic I’ll miss. It’ll be not knowing anything that’s happening out here as a result of our efforts, not being part of it.”
“We haven’t quite finished,” said Maja. “We’ve still got to tell Lady Kzuva. I’m looking forward to seeing her house.”
They did that two mornings later, standing in the roadway, just as Tilja and her long-ago companions had done, and staring at the astonishing building. Maja had thought that she would know it already from that story, and yes, still the same river flowed calmly out of the wooded valley and under the massive bridges on which stood the same wonderful house, elegantly ornamented and pinnacled, more beautiful than any of the grand houses they had seen in all their journeyings. It was just what she’d expected, but yet she was not prepared for it. It was old, so full of its own placid magic, breathed into it through the accumulated centuries.
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