Fire of the Soul

by Speer, Flora

  “You’ve been to Chandelar before?” Anders asked, looking impressed. “And came away safely?”

  “Obviously, since I’m still alive,” Durand replied with dry humor. “On that visit I came by land, sneaking across the mountains by night and back to Kantia again in the same way a month later.”

  “Gathering information for King Henryk?” Anders gazed at Durand as if he were a hero out of an ancient legend. “For years you were a spy in the Dominion and lived; then you gathered information in Tannaris and survived.”

  “I am indestructible,” Durand said with a laugh. “We ought to sight the city before much longer. Do you suppose Captain Pyrsig will allow the ladies to leave their cabin?”

  “Not until we dock,” said the captain, having overheard them. “Just to be safe, ye understand.”

  “Just so he’ll be safe from Lady Elgida’s wrath,” Anders muttered.

  “Why don’t you go below and tell my grandmother what’s happening?” Garit suggested. “Tell her she won’t be confined for much longer.”

  “It’s Mairne he wants to see,” Durand noted as Anders rushed to the hatchway and the ladder.

  Garit wasn’t really listening. The landscape claimed all of his attention. As far as he could tell the volcanoes were confined to the curving arm of land that enclosed the bay on the north. Inland the terrain was no more hospitable. Jagged mountains rose in stark tiers, their peaks obscured by swirling clouds. Here and there high ice fields glittered in the rays of the sun that was rising to a new day without ever having dipped below the edge of the world.

  Between two of the mountains a torrent of water rushed across a flat area and into the bay in a gush of broken ice, foam, and debris that unsettled the water for some distance.

  “The River Tannis,” Durand said. “As you can see, this is not a gentle or a welcoming land. But the Chandelari feel safe here. This is where they came to escape Matarami persecution more than a thousand years ago. They farm and fish, and during the winters they mine the jewels formed by the heat of the volcanoes and trade them to other countries for goods they can’t make here.

  “You’ll need to know that their leader, Toren, is a mere tribal chieftain,” Durand continued. “The true ruler of Chandelar is the Great Mage Ultan. Almost everyone here possesses some degree of Power and those with the strongest Power are carefully schooled in its use. The best teachers of magic in the known world are the Chandelari. Serlion came here when he was a boy. He trained at Tannaris for ten years before returning to Sapaudia to become our Lord Mage.”

  “Are the teachers here able to turn students away from corrupt use of the Power?” Garit asked. “I’m thinking of Walderon and the destruction he caused.”

  “I’ve never heard of any mage who studied in Tannaris, who later turned in the wrong direction,” Durand said. “Of course, it’s possible that I simply don’t know of anyone. I should think a person who leans toward corruption would avoid Chandelar. The teachers would soon uncover such an inclination and they surely know methods to turn wavering souls to the proper use of the Power, or else to divest them of all Power. If I were interested in corrupting my Power, I’d never come near this land,” Durand ended.

  “There’s the city.” He gestured. “You will notice it’s some distance from that violent river and it’s built on high ground because of the destructive waves caused by earthquakes.”

  Garit looked with interest at the houses of Tannaris, noting the sharply angled roofs, which would shed snow and ice, thus preventing a dangerous buildup of crushing weight. A wide road from the shore wound back and forth up the hillside. Large stone pots of pink and yellow flowers edged the road with bright color.

  “I thought we were too far north, but they have trees,” Garit said in surprise.

  “Mostly firs,” Durand said, “though in sheltered areas they grow apples and pears, along with other trees they can use for furniture and for firewood.”

  The Kantian Queen pulled alongside a dock made of stone so dark that Garit decided it must have been quarried from the sides of the volcanoes. By the time the sailors were making the ropes fast a delegation of Chandelari awaited them.

  Garit’s first impression of the armed men on the dock was of annoyance and an unwillingness to allow strangers to come ashore. Then Lady Elgida, Calia, and Mairne stepped on deck and the mood seemed to change.

  “Do they assume the presence of women means we aren’t a threat to them?” Garit spoke to Durand out of the corner of his mouth.

  “I think so,” Durand answered, adding with a chuckle, “but then, they haven’t met your grandmother.”

  Captain Pyrsig ordered the gangplank lifted into place.

  “Garit,” he said, “since ye’re a diplomat, I’ll send ye ashore as my emissary. Tell them why we are here and ask permission for us to stay for two or three days.”

  Garit did as he was bidden, and Durand went with him. No one on shore objected when he and Durand stepped off the gangplank. Garit couldn’t read the intentions of the men on the dock; all of their faces were closed to him. He knew the language of Chandelar was similar to the dialect spoken in northern Kantia, so he used that tongue to introduce himself and Durand. The Chandelari listened with no sign of emotion.

  “I am Lord Alwan,” the leader of the delegation announced when Garit was finished, “sent by Lord Toren to demand the nature of your business in Tannaris, where you have not been invited.”

  “We meant no offense by entering your bay,” Garit responded politely. “Putting in here seemed our best chance of escaping the Matarami pirates who have been pursuing us.”

  “Did they follow you here?” Alwan demanded while his companions murmured in obvious dismay at the possibility.

  “We believe they turned away when our captain sailed through an ice field and directly toward Cape Fiur,” Garit said. “Lord Alwan, we request permission to remain in Tannaris for a few days in hope that the pirates will give up their hunt before we head south to continue our journey.”

  “South?” Lord Alwan repeated. “Where are you going?”

  “To my childhood home of Kinath Castle,” Garit said. “And then on to Kerun City, where my grandmother plans to meet her young grandsons for the first time. As you can see, she’s elderly, and she hopes to visit the boys before she dies.” All of this speech was sincere and he did not think Alwan or anyone else in Tannaris could object to his stated goals. What he and Durand privately planned to accomplish in Kerun was no one’s affair but their own.

  “I do not intend to die in the near future,” Lady Elgida spoke up. With a firm step she advanced along the gangplank until she stood on the dock next to Garit. “I especially do not intend to be slaughtered by vile Matarami pirates. Nor do I want the Matarami to ravish and kill my companions.” Chin high, eyes flashing as if in outrage at the prospect, she gestured toward the two younger women who remained aboard The Kantian Queen, where only Captain Pyrsig’s outstretched arm blocked Calia from stepping onto the gangplank to join her mistress.

  “Our custom is always to offer refuge to those who flee the Matarami, for we ourselves once escaped persecution at their hands,” Alwan said. His bow to Lady Elgida was graceful and elegant. “We will be honored to welcome you to the palace. You may stay there as long as you wish. I will personally inform the Great Mage Ultan and Lord Toren of your presence.”

  Well before midday Garit’s party was ensconced in a handsome suite of rooms on the upper level of the palace. The central room of the suite, off which the other rooms opened, overlooked the mountains and a narrow strip of farmland that was sheltered between the stone heights and the palace walls.

  In late afternoon Calia stood with Durand in the central room, looking out at the cultivated land. Her practiced gaze recognized several kinds of grain in the fields, a large apple orchard, even a small vineyard.

  “Those farms are protected from the fierce sea winds,” Durand said when she remarked on crops she wouldn’t have expected to find grow
ing so far north. “The soil near volcanoes is always remarkably fertile. The growing season is short, but as you can see, the Chandelari make the most of an ample water supply and of the long days of midsummer.”

  “And also of the hot springs,” Calia added. “What luxury to discover all the hot water we wanted in the bathing rooms below the palace. No need to take turns in each other’s leftover bath water.”

  “Another benefit of the volcanoes,” Durand said with a smile. “We all look – and smell – much nicer than we did on the ship. These people are generous hosts. Even the horses have been unloaded from the ship and turned out to exercise in a nearby meadow. And Captain Pyrsig was invited to join us for the feast this evening, though he insisted upon staying aboard The Kantian Queen to see to some repairs.”

  At that moment Lord Alwan arrived to conduct the guests to the public rooms on the ground level. The reception room and the feasting hall were both open to a sheltered terrace on one long side, which allowed everyone to appreciate the palace garden and the view of the mountains.

  But first, they met Lord Toren. The nominal ruler of Chandelar was an elected tribal chieftain, short and muscular, with hair the color of ashes, and pale blue eyes. His narrow golden diadem sparkled with rubies and sapphires, as did a single heavy gold ring on his left hand.

  Toren was polite, but he did not speak much, despite Lady Elgida’s efforts at conversation. Calia soon decided that Toren was much like the warriors she had known in her youth at Catherstone, who were men of action and weapons, but not talkative courtiers, and most definitely not diplomats.

  That position was left to the Great Mage Ultan, who entered the reception room in a swirl of gold and silver robes that enhanced his tall, imposing form and his thick white hair. Ultan’s every movement radiated the Power that Calia had expected to find in the leader of the mages of the known world. Ultan’s staff, like the staffs of all mages everywhere, was made of plain burnished wood, but this staff was topped with the symbol of his status, a golden star set with rubies and sapphires. The rings on both his hands also shone with rubies and sapphires.

  Calia looked closely, surprised to see no emeralds on Ultan’s person, or on Toren or his quiet, self-effacing wife. Everyone knew the tale of the Great Emerald that had been stolen from Chandelar long before the place became a real nation with a government and settled habitations, and most people were aware that Chandelar was the source of the world’s emeralds. Perhaps, Calia thought as they were led into the feasting hall, the rulers of Chandelar held some aversion to wearing jewels like the famous stolen one.

  The banqueting table was actually two tables that, if they had been placed together would have formed a hollow circle, with the guests sitting around the outside. But the ends of the tables were set slightly apart so the servants could get into the middle to present the various dishes, and so the entertainers could be seen and heard by all.

  The food was baked fish, stewed root vegetables, tarts made from dried fruits that had been soaked in a fiery liquor, and early, fresh berries that were served on silver trays as if they were precious jewels to be eaten plain, with the fingers. The entertainment consisted of a few songs and a wrestling match.

  The entire feast was completely outside anything in Calia’s previous experience. She, Mairne, and Anders were seated at what was apparently the lower table, with Garit, Lady Elgida, and Durand all flanking Lord Toren, his wife, and the Great Mage Ultan at the other half of the circle. Calia didn’t mind her placement a bit. She wouldn’t have to deal with Garit’s affection that she dared not return, or with Durand’s attempts to gain information from her. Instead, for once she could relax and enjoy her surroundings.

  The young men who sat on either side of her were full of questions about the world beyond Chandelar. The women were curious about styles in clothing or hairdressing and eager for any gossip about the king of Sapaudia and his beautiful queen. That subject, upon which Calia professed complete ignorance, led to questions about the Dominion and the military intentions of Domini Gundiac – and, inevitably, to questions about Gundiac’s health now that the Great Emerald had been stolen.

  “I didn’t know the Emerald was stolen, and I am surprised to learn the news has traveled so far so fast when we at Saumar hadn’t heard of the theft,” Calia said. “I have never been to the Sapaudian court, so I can be of no help to you on the subject of King Henryk and Queen Hannorah. What is it?” she asked, as the young man on her right looked hard at her.

  “Why do you hide the Power?” he asked. “It is your duty to develop it to the fullest extent possible.”

  “Where I spent my childhood,” she answered, choosing her words with care, “the Power was seen as a threat.”

  “A threat to whom?”

  The question came at her fast as the swiftest arrow shot by an expert bowman, and Calia discovered that she could not evade an answer. She did wonder if the innocent appearance of her dinner companion concealed a Power that he was employing on her. Still, she responded honestly.

  “My father and my brother both corrupted their Power,” she said. “Fortunately for me, they ignored me. I think that was because my nurse had taught me at a very young age how to conceal what small Power I possess, so I kept the truth hidden from the men I feared.”

  “Do you still fear them?” The young man’s gaze became even more inquisitive.

  “My father is dead and my brother is far away.” That was true, though her brother would not be far from her for much longer. “I also spent a few years at Talier Beguinage, where I learned the safest ways to conceal my Power and how to use it, though I never do.”

  “You could stay here, in Tannaris,” the young man said. “You could be trained as a mage. If you wish, I’ll speak to Ultan and recommend you to him.”

  “Thank you for the offer, but I cannot remain. My place is with Lady Elgida.”

  “Your duty is to develop your Power,” he insisted, though with a kindly smile that made her smile in return.

  “I cannot,” she repeated.

  He shook his head in regret and excused himself. Calia never learned his name, nor did she see him again, though she suspected him of reporting their conversation to the Great Mage Ultan, for the following morning she received a summons to meet with Ultan.

  “Whatever for?” Lady Elgida demanded.

  “I don’t know, my lady, but I can scarcely refuse him, can I?”

  “Ultan wants to speak with you alone?”

  “That’s what the messenger said. I must go at once; he’s waiting to escort me.”

  “How very odd.” Lady Elgida shook her head in vexation. “Well, Mairne, you will have to keep me company this morning. I have been invited to visit Lord Toren’s wife in her private chambers.”

  The messenger from Ultan, a boy about ten years old, who said his name was Finen, led Calia out of the palace by a side door and into a smaller building.

  “This is the Great Mage’s private reception room,” Finen said. “Please wait here.”

  Calia ventured a few steps into the room before she stopped short, staring in wonder.

  Dark, glossy stone walls curved upward to a rounded ceiling that was inlaid with silver stars, all arranged in their proper positions. Calia recognized the hunter with his bow, the queen upon her throne, the great snake who was so long that his body encircled the sky until he curved back upon himself and held his tail in his own mouth. There, in the midst of the figures, was the great tree of knowledge with all its starry ornaments.

  And there, advancing on her with stately tread across the shining black floor, was the Great Mage Ultan himself.

  “Welcome, Calia.”

  “My lord.” She sank into a deep curtsey, keeping her head bowed until his hand, aged yet strong, lifted her to a standing position. “Your messenger said you wish to speak with me.”

  “So I do. It’s why I brought your ship here to Tannaris.” Ultan smiled and Calia’s heart warmed toward him, even as she understood that h
e had worked his Power upon her and her friends. “I wish to make a request of you.”

  She knew then that he was going to issue an order in the same way that Lady Elgida made so-called requests that could not be ignored or refused.

  “I will be happy to help you in any way I can,” she responded, and meant each word. She had no sense of being coerced; she simply wanted to please Ultan. Nor did she doubt his essential goodness. Whatever he was using her for, it was not for an evil purpose.

  “I have been told that you will soon travel to Kerun City,” Ultan said.

  “It’s possible, if Lady Elgida’s grandsons are not in residence at Kinath,” Calia said.

  “You may know that my daughter is wed to King Dyfrig of Kantia.”

  “Queen Laisren, yes.”

  “I wish to send her a small gift, and to do so by the hand of another woman, rather than entrusting it to a man’s care,” Ultan said. “It’s a delicate thing, and men can be careless, even when their intentions are the best.”

  “I will be honored to deliver any gift that you wish to send,” Calia murmured.

  “Remain here.”

  Ultan went through an archway into another chamber. While she waited for him to return, Calia looked more closely at the decorations of the reception hall. Her sight had fully adjusted to the dimness, so she could now make out an etched design on one wall that clearly represented the six volcanoes that guarded the bay and the pale buildings of Tannaris. As she slowly turned, she noticed other designs that she did not recognize, though she guessed that all of the important cities of the known world were represented on the wall.

  The black and silver beauty of the room and the stillness of it seeped into her senses, into her innermost being, strengthening and comforting her in a way that she welcomed, though she did not understand it.

  “Here.” Ultan had returned and was offering her a small stone box and a square of folded parchment. “I have included a personal letter to Laisren, which you may place inside the box, if you will.”