“I wanted to be in at the beginning, sir. This project is so important I assumed you would want me present from day one, sir.”
Tristan ground his teeth together. He really despised the man. “It’s not customary to report until the sails are complete.”
“Ah, yes, but this is far from a customary assignment, sir.”
“You’re right, Alden,” Rhoads said, standing and slapping the Warrior on the back hard enough to knock him off balance for a second. “I think having a Warrior at your back is not a bad idea this time, Master Tristan.”
“Perhaps,” Tristan agreed, trying to decide whether he liked the idea of Alden lurking around while he was Weaving.
“Thank you, sirs!” Alden grinned slyly at Tristan.
Rhoads moved between them. “I mean watching his back, Alden. No matter what else is going on in the Guild, we are all Guild. You understand me? We watch out for our own. You have had to have heard the rumors. If anything happens on your watch I will personally take you to Darius to have you explain why these sails are not completed by the Master Weaver.”
Alden took a half-step back as if he had been punched, his face flushing. “No, sir! I mean yes, sir! I mean…” He cleared his throat, his shoulders slumping for a moment. “Yes, Guild Master, the Guild comes first always.”
“Remember that,” Rhoads snapped. “Master Tristan, excuse me, I have a meeting with the Worlds Council and Navy.”
“Good luck, sir,” Alden said.
“You’ll need it,” Tristan added under his breath.
The massive building that housed the Weaving area was at the far side of the compound from the port. The Guild had discovered that any energy affected the way the willowisps bound themselves together, and the energy output of shuttles seemed to affect them more than anything. The fact that they survived at all at normal Earth gravity was a part of the spell the dragons had given them. For particles that existed in interstellar space, Earth-norm was a crushing weight.
Tristan walked through the front of the building towards his office there. It was quiet, the pristine walls glistened softly in the gentle lighting. It seemed a whole world away from the rest of Earth. He laughed, in a way it was, it was different from any place else, anywhere. It was the only Weaving area in the galaxy. Early on, they had discovered that the balance of Weaver to willowisps seemed only to function on Earth—even if the Weaver had been raised entirely off world—which was generally the norm. Most humans had fled their decimated planet and lived on the hundreds of stations that dotted the solar system and reached attentively beyond.
There was a large medical area at the front of the building, specially shielded from magic and other energies. Weavers were vulnerable after creating a set of sails—usually they just needed a day or two of isolation, but the larger the sails, the more immense the risk. There was already a med team on the alert and a shielded room in the most protected area ready for Tristan. He had no illusions about it, this Weaving was serious—if it didn’t kill him, he would be lucky.
“Sir!” Alden’s voice brought his attention to the doors of his office.
“You are here bright and early, Alden,” Tristan said.
“I am excited to see the beginning of the sails for my ship,” Alden said slyly.
Tristan fixed the man with a cold look and opened the door to his office, well aware that the Warrior had broken protocol and just followed him in. The subtle reminder that Alden would be flying the ship was a calculated insult. Many of the Warrior wing of the Guild felt that they should outrank the other members of the Guild. The Weavers’ Guild and the dragons did not agree, believing that the creators of the sails should be in charge. It had been decided when the Guild was first formed that the Guild Master would be a human with no ability with magic at all. Brian Rhoads, the Guild Master, knew the basics behind all the spells, understood the magic at the most basic levels, was a brilliant particle physicist but—as he was fond of saying—“couldn’t bend a spoon without a set of pliers if I tried”—and so was completely removed from all the emotional aspects of the magic.
Making a point of ignoring the man in his office, Tristan sat down at his desk and opened his computer, taking his time before looking up at Alden, who was still standing at Parade Rest in front of his desk. “You seem overly anxious about these sails.”
“Winged Victory is the most important ship to ever sail, of course I am concerned! I am the one representing the Guild.”
“Representing them with sails I have created and attuned for you,” Tristan chided, none-too-gently.
“Of course, sir!”
Tristan kept himself from sighing or rolling his eyes. He was used to Alden, however: they were almost the same age and had started in the Guild together. Alden had wanted to be a Sail Weaver—everyone who entered the Guild did—but lacked the skill. He was fortunate enough to have the ability to be “tuned” to the sails. It was hard to explain to others, but the sails, once created, would only react to the Weaver who created them and someone that their creator had essentially introduced to them. The Warrior was trained to use the Elemental Interface to interact with the sails. It was a delicate process and took a great deal of skill. Tristan often wondered why some of the Warriors felt inferior. What they did was highly skilled and very important. The Guild was symbiotic, and all parts had to function for it to work effectively.
“Um. Sir?” Alden asked, his voice less sure.
“Yes?” Tristan looked up.
“I’ve heard a rumor.”
“What?” Tristan waved him to sit in the chair in front of the desk. “What kind of rumor?”
Alden sat, glanced at the door to make sure it was closed and looked back at Tristan. “I was invited to the Naval Mess the other night. There was a dinner and ball in honor of the First Rim War.”
“Yes?” Tristan nodded.
“One of the officers I know—I hate the man, he’s a flogging captain—but I served with him once when I was young, anyway, I heard him talking.” Alden leaned a little closer. “There is something going on with Winged Victory.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m pretty sure I wasn’t supposed to hear the conversation. They had all kinds of… entertainment to distract me, but I heard them talking about the sails and testing them.”
“What?”
“It was strange, the way they were talking about it, like they weren’t sure the sails would fly. I know that there is always a worry that the sails won’t bond with a ship, but no set of sails you have ever created has failed to bond. I assumed that’s why they wanted you to do it. There was something in the way they were talking that made the alarms ring, you know?”
“We’ve heard rumors too, Alden,” Tristan said, realizing that he hadn’t been paying attention. “I am not sure what it means, but I know the dragons have asked for me personally to do these sails.”
“So that rumor is true!” Alden said, his eyes getting wide. “I’d heard that, but it is unprecedented.”
“I know, and it makes me nervous.”
“And I understand there was an attempt on your life, the Guild Master briefed me about that. While you were out gathering the Elements.”
“I am not sure what it was, I know someone risked following me into the Wilderness Area that is part of the Sanctuary.”
“You can’t take that as anything less than a threat,” Alden said, all business. “If they are willing to risk that, then they were there to stop you. Getting caught there is death without trial, so whatever they wished to accomplish had to be worth that risk.”
Tristan opened his mouth, then stopped. He hadn’t thought about it that way, but it was true. “You’re right,” he agreed reluctantly.
“It’s a good thing I am here, if they will risk that, who knows what else they will risk. We have our differences, sir, you know it, I know it, but I know my duty as well.”
Tristan regarded him steadily. Alden was telling the truth and no matter how egotist
ical he was, he was loyal first and foremost to the Guild. The watch bell chimed the beginning of the forenoon watch. The Weavers’ Guild had reinstated the Navel practice of watches governed by bells and the entire Guild and Navy was set to “Guild Mean Time” so that no matter where they were, they would be on the same time as the rest of the Guild. The Navy didn’t like it, but the Guild called the shots. When Tristan had first joined the Guild, learning the series of watches broken up into “Bells” was one of his first memories of his days at the Guild Compound.
“Thank you.” Tristan stared at his computer for a moment, wondering if he was ready. “Let’s do this.”
The Elemental Interface was already waiting for him on its pedestal under the huge dome of the Weaving room. The willowisps sparkled in the perpetual dusk-dark of the room, drifting through the dome like tiny golden stars. Tristan paused long enough for his eyes to adjust before walking into the center of the room where a Circle was carved into the floor. Created from a combination of ancient human and dragon symbols, it glowed faintly with its own power. As he stepped in, Tristan felt the gentle push of resistance that was part of the Circle’s security. Only Weavers could enter: the spell that had created the Circle made sure of that. He could see Alden standing just outside the Circle, and the medical team waiting by the door with a stretcher and a variety of life-saving devices. He hoped they wouldn’t be needed.
Tristan looked up, letting his mind clear and the Latin of the spell start to work its way through his mind. The spell the dragons had given them wasn’t originally in Latin, but even before the dragons’ appearance, the Magic Confederation had used Latin for their spells, believing that using a thoroughly dead language reduced the risk of the inexperienced attempting to work spells. Once the Guild was formed, they made it illegal for non-Guild members to even learn the basics of Latin with the exception of those few who were destined to become Guild Masters, and high ranking members of the Dragon Corps. Though the space stations stretching across the galaxy were designated by Latin numbers, the population at large had long forgotten that those names were indeed Latin.
Once he felt ready, he began to speak, the Circle glowing brightly as the words fell from him, filling the air. The willowisps began to move, he could feel them tugging and pulling in the air as he began to bring them together. One hand reached unconsciously towards the Elemental Interface and the Weaving truly began. The willowisps were dancing, shimmering in and out, up and down as the massive sails began to take shape. Tristan stared up at them, mesmerized, the tiny lights of the individual willowisps becoming larger and larger until the giant sails billowed over his head., hanging from the special hardware they used in the Weaving dome to protect the sails from harm during their creation. He built each mast’s sails carefully, starting with the mainsail of the mainmast and finishing with the top gallants. He lost track of time, of everything, as he focused on the sails. He was only vaguely aware when, sometime later, he was gently guided onto the stretcher. He caught a last view of the golden sails as he was wheeled out, fluttering in the soft breezes in the chamber.
He sighed, it was finished and they were perfect. He could rest.
V
The soft strains of music surrounded Tristan as he slowly became aware again. He opened his eyes and gazed up at the ceiling of the room he was in, the star-covered tiles marking it as one of the Weaving medical bays. He could hear the sounds of the machines that were monitoring him as well, but they were muted so that they were only the gentlest backdrop to the music. His preferences were clear: the Ancient Music of Eighteenth Century on the old calendar. As he cast through his mind, he realized he had no sense of time—how long he’d been there or how long it had been since he’d created the massive sails. Smiling, he remembered the sparkling sails fluttering over his head as they rolled him to the medical facility.
He wished he could just lie there a little longer enjoying the quiet, but the job of attuning Alden to the sails had to begin as soon as possible. With a sigh, he punched the call button, an instant later one of the staff appeared at the door.
“Master Tristan!” he said, smiling.
“Doctor Soronson? Why are you here?” Tristan asked. Ron Soronson was Head of Medical for the Guild.
“It was a close call,” the doctor said frankly. “We were sure we were going to lose you.”
“What?” Tristan punched the button that lifted the head of the bed. “No.”
“Yes. We’ve had Darius in here twice.” Soronson pulled a pad out of his pocket and began poking at it. “Do you know what it does to my staff to have Darius in here? Half of them refused to come to work for fear you would die on their watch, and Darius was very clear in the fact that if you died he would be very displeased.”
“Sorry. How long has it been?”
“Five days.”
“Five?!?” Tristan exclaimed. No wonder Darius had been worried. Fenfyr must be frantic. “What do you mean, five?”
“As I said, we were sure we were going to lose you. Medical science can only do so much when you drain your body like that, you know, sir.” The doctor made a tsking noise. “I am shocked they allowed it in the first place.” He brushed a gray hair back from his face and met Tristan’s eyes. “We had to place you in a coma.”
Tristan relaxed and let the man mumble as he checked the monitors and made notes on his pad. Five days was unprecedented, and he knew he was lucky to be alive. The fact that he had no memory of anything since that last glimpse of the sails was proof enough. They must have induced a coma to block him from any stray energies that were in the air, but to force a coma was extreme. After several more hmphs and tsks, the doctor smiled at Tristan and left the room.
As soon as he was gone, Tristan reached for the communicator on the wall and called the dragon compound. Most humans found it difficult to understand that the dragons used electronic communications, believing they would prefer to use magical methods. Tristan laughed, dragons were nothing if not practical, and the electronic system was practical and not taxing.
“Guild Dragons,” Ceriwyn, the operator answered, she was human but had lived at the dragon compound for her entire life.
“Ceriwyn, it’s Tristan Weaver, can you connect me with…”
“Of course!” she practically shouted before he could finish.
A moment later Fenfyr’s voice rumbled over the line. “Tris?”
“Fine thing, I wake up and I’m all alone,” he said in a teasing voice.
“I was there!” Fenfyr boomed. “They wouldn’t let me stay! I tried everything, even hiding in the corner! They said the staff couldn’t function with me there, but your room is big enough! I finally had Darius come.”
“I know, Fen, I was teasing,” Tristan said.
“I know,” the dragon replied, and Tristan could picture him, his fore feathers drooping in relief. “I didn’t know what to do when they said they were going to put you into a coma. What if…”
“No need to worry about that, there wasn’t a what if, so all is well,” he said lightly, then realized the dragon had paused. He could hear the soft intake of Fenfyr’s breath. “Okay, so things aren’t good. What, Fenfyr?”
“We will speak with you when you are well enough to come back to the compound.”
“We?” Tristan asked, sitting up.
“The Guild Master, Darius and myself. There was an incident.”
“What happened?”
“No, rest, my friend, an hour or two or a day will not make a difference. We have much to discuss. Wait until medical clears you and we will see you at your office.”
“Fen?”
“Things are worse than we ever dreamed, I think,” the dragon said softly. “But that you are alive is all that matters to me right now.”
“I’m okay.”
“You just better be, or I will be down to eat everyone there. I am bored with protein soup.”
Tristan laughed, a little louder than usual, more to reassure Fenfyr than anything. “S
ee you soon.”
“Yes,” the dragon replied and broke the connection.
Six hours later, Tristan walked down the corridor to his office in the main compound. His assistant, Scott, stood at attention as he approached, a broad smile on his face, and with a “welcome back, sir!” handed Tristan a cup of the hot spiced tea he preferred in the afternoon. Mornings were for coffee, afternoons for spiced tea. Little eccentricities were not only tolerated but encouraged, and spiced tea seemed innocent enough. Some of the other masters took it too far in Tristan’s opinion, although he never brought it up unless it became disruptive.
He set the tea down, and before he could step around the desk the alarms announcing the arrival of the dragons began to blare. “Let him in,” Tristan said into the intercom before Scott could buzz him, and an instant later Brian Rhoads strode into the room.
“Tristan! By the First Spell!” The man quickly crossed the room and crushed Tristan in a tight hug, pounding him soundly on the back before letting him go. “I thought we’d lost you.”
“So everyone says.”
“Because it is true, Tristan Weaver,” Darius said as he came through the door. Just behind him was Fenfyr, his feathers fluffed out in agitation. He waited until Darius stepped aside, then walked to Tristan, tapping him with his head tufts and wrapping one enormous claw around him. Tristan leaned into the embrace.
“I have to admit I’m a little surprised to see you all,” he said mildly. Fenfyr growled, the tone low enough that it wasn’t a sound, only a rumble against Tristan’s back.
“There was an incident,” Darius said.
“Yes, Fenfyr mentioned it, but didn’t say what it was. And where is Alden, shouldn’t he be here?” Tristan stopped as he looked at their faces. “Ah, so the incident is Alden?”
“I’m afraid so,” Brian said with none of his usual volume.
“What?” Tristan asked.
“His shuttlecar exploded,” Darius said.
The Sail Weaver Page 4
