by Jack Massa
“This war faction that the drell described,” Eben said. “They tried to take the Cloak once. We haven’t spotted any naval vessels since Fleevanport, but once we near the coast of Larthang, what then? Will Amlina wield the Cloak against their ships again? If not, how will she keep them from taking it? But if she does, it’s hard to imagine we’ll be received as friends when we do reach Larthang.”
“All true,” Kizier allowed. “But there are other powers in Larthang.”
“You mean the witches at the House of the Deepmind,” Eben said. “They who sent the drell.”
“They, yes. And still others, I am sure. It’s many years since I studied in Larthang, and no doubt the political situation has evolved. But I can tell you this for certain: by tradition there are three powers in the Golden Land, known as the Three Pillars of the Throne. The Witches, who practice the arts of the Deepmind; Warriors, who practice the arts of war; and Magistrates, who administer the laws and maintain the civil government. Within these three orders, or estates, there are always factions and sub-factions, and constantly shifting alliances. Above all sits the hereditary ruler, the Tuan. In name, the Tuan is supreme, but in practice he or she must balance the contending forces of the three estates.”
“Are the witches always women?” Eben asked. “We know that elsewhere in the Three Nations, mages and sorcerers might be men as well. Is this not true in Larthang?”
“No and yes.” Kizier seemed to relish conveying the complexity of these matters. “The House of the Deepmind, known as Ting Ta Roo, is the supreme magical power and home to the Five Revered Arts. It trains only women and only they may properly be called ‘Witches of Larthang.’ But there are other, lesser traditions of deepshaping and deepseeing that teach both males and females. These schools train prognosticators, alchemists, and conjurers, as well as scholars and sages who may include mysticism as part of their studies. Any of these practitioners might be called mages, but never Witches of Larthang.”
“Sounds very complicated,” Lonn grumbled. “So, assuming we manage to land, Amlina will need to seek out her fellow witches, since she plans to surrender the Cloak to the House of the Deepmind.”
“Yes, but perhaps not just any witches,” Kizier said. “Some witches are allied to the so-called Iron Bloc. This we have seen already. No doubt there are other factions in the three estates who would love to possess the Cloak and the power it brings. Amlina has chosen to surrender the Cloak to the Archimage in Minhang—but how we will get there is an open question. Indeed, what will happen when we land in Randoon? That I cannot even guess.”
The harbor of Randoon shimmered like a liquid opal. Centuries ago in Minhang, the legendary Archimage Eglemarde had cast her First Great Ensorcellment, engendering the witchlight that streamed down the river and out to all the seas of Glimnodd. Here, along the coast of Larthang, the magic light was strongest, a clear blue-green color. Amlina had forgotten how beautiful it looked.
Wearing the Cloak of the Two Winds, she rested one hand on the carved bone prow as the boat sailed a reach into the harbor. In the distance, the city stretched above the bright water, a sprawling mosaic of white, silver and scarlet—hazy now, but growing sharper as the distance dwindled.
The distance between Amlina and her homeland.
Three days out, they had spotted the first navy ships. Patrolling the coast, the warships had not changed course to pursue the dojuk. This morning, beyond the headland that formed one arm of the harbor, a flotilla of three galleons had raised sail. But again they kept their distance, as if escorting the dojuk into port.
“This is eerie,” Glyssa said, standing beside the witch. “It reminds me of our approach into Tallyba—when the queen allowed her forces to lure us in so she could trap us.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” Amlina answered. “Let us hope our welcome today is not so hostile.”
Truly, she did not know what to expect. The authorities in Randoon would certainly know she was coming. Given what had happened in Fleevanport, and the actions of the naval vessels that shadowed them off the coast, there could be little doubt. More than one coterie of witches and mages would be tracing the emanations of the Cloak. Its approach to Randoon would be no secret.
“Sure, we will hope for a friendly welcome,” Karrol said at Glyssa’s shoulder. “But we will keep our weapons handy too.”
Amlina smiled at that—the combativeness and irrepressible courage of the Iruks. But her amusement was tempered by the knowledge of how useless all their courage and weapons would be against even a single company of Larthangan troops.
Passing galleons and coasters lying anchored in the shallows, the dojuk tacked in toward shore. Red sandstone walls reared above long stretches of piers and quays, with vessels of many types riding at the moorings. Tall gates stood at intervals along the walls, carved tigers and phoenixes decorating the arches.
Amlina went to join Lonn at the helm. She directed him toward a gate near the center of the city. The docks before it were clear of boats, and a large crowd was gathering. People congregated dressed in plain garb or bright-colored robes, some holding staffs or waving banners. Ranks of soldiers in helmets and bronze armor carried spears and rectangular shields.
“I believe they are gathered to welcome us,” the witch said.
“Or else arrest us,” Kizier answered nervously.
Amlina quoted a deepshaper’s adage. “We will go forth expecting the best.”
Lonn steered the boat toward the quay and shouted the order to take down the sail. As the dojuk drifted the last few yards, brass trumpets blew a flourish and the crowd erupted in cheers. The Iruks cast bow and stern lines to men on the quay, who quickly secured them to bollards. Since the outriggers on the Iruk boat prevented a snug mooring, a gangplank was hastily fetched and placed atop the rail to allow the party to disembark. The Iruks, with swords at their belts and spears in hand, all glanced at Amlina—leaving it to her to lead them ashore.
As the witch climbed onto the gangplank, the crowd cheered again and another flourish sounded. A stout man in gold-embroidered robes and a square silk hat was assisted from a carriage. He stepped before the crowd and raised his arms for quiet. Beside him, a servant produced a rolled parchment, which the stout man read from in a booming voice.
“Amlina, Lady of Larthang. In the name of the August Tuan, I, Count Sinn Oran-T’say, Prefect of Randoon, greet you and welcome you to the Golden Land.”
Nervously, Amlina scanned the cheering throng, which now numbered in the hundreds—dignitaries and officials with their entourages, merchants and dock workers, squadrons of soldiers. She had hoped for a favorable welcome, but never expected this. She swallowed and struggled to make her voice clear and loud.
“My lord Prefect, I am honored by your welcome, and most grateful. My companions and I have been many days at sea, and we would welcome a chance to rest, before continuing our journey to Minhang.”
The Prefect nodded, smiling behind his thin, long-hanging mustache. “Of course. If you will do me the honor, my humble palace is at the disposal of you and your esteemed party.”
He bowed slightly, and gestured toward his carriage.
Amlina spoke over her shoulder, explaining the invitation in the Tathian tongue. Lonn and Eben expressed concerns about leaving the dojuk unattended. Amlina relayed this question to the Prefect, who immediately ordered a squadron of his troops to stand guard by the boat.
Satisfied, the Iruks finished securing the lines and rigging, and packed the gear they would take ashore. Amlina and Kizier proceeded to the quay and held polite conversation with the Prefect and his secretaries. By the time the dojuk had been secured, a second carriage had arrived. Like the first, it was drawn not by the six-legged aklors the Iruks were familiar with from other lands, but by tali—huge cat-like creatures with striped fur and long twitching tails. Frowning suspiciously at the talicats, the klarnmates declared they actually preferred to walk, having spent s
o many days at sea. Amlina and Kizier accepted Count Oran-Tsay’s offer to ride in his carriage.
Flanked by troops, accompanied by the beat of cymbals and drums, the strange parade set off. With the Iruks marching directly behind the Prefect’s carriage, they passed through the phoenix gates and into the city. Crowds of citizens lined the route, waving, cheering, and staring with curiosity at the fierce barbarians from the far South Pole.
The Prefect’s palace was a fortified compound of courtyards and pagodas located at the center of the city. Arriving there, Amlina and her crew were conducted to a feast hall, a pavilion with wall panels painted with scenes of seacoasts and ships. In the garden outside, birds chirped in flowering mulberry trees. Servants at the entrance offered to relieve the travelers of their luggage. But Amlina shook her head, and the Iruks held on to their bundles and weapons. The witch declined to remove the Cloak of the Two Winds.
This choice was not lost on Count Oran-T’say. But he refrained from any comment until the travelers were relaxing on cushions and had been served silver goblets of chilled berry wine. The gentle plucking of a lute mingled in the air with the bird song from the garden.
Setting down his cup, the Prefect cleared his throat. “We are most honored to host you in our humble home, Amlina—the famous witch who defeated the heinous Archimage of the East and has brought one of the great magical treasure home to Larthang.”
“I am humbled by your generous reception, my lord.” Amlina had let the chilled wine touch her lips, but deliberately not swallowed. Unsure of the Prefect’s intentions, she remained on her guard.
“And if I may ask,” her host continued, “now that you have delivered the Cloak, what are your plans? I believe you mentioned travelling on to Minhang. I am sure the reception you receive there would far exceed what Randoon has been able to offer. Of course, you are welcome to linger here and rest for as long as you wish. If you choose to travel to the Celestial Capital, I will of course place a riverboat at your disposal.”
Amlina set down her goblet. She had carefully parsed the Prefect’s words. “My lord is most affable and generous. And the use of a boat to go upriver may suit me very well. But if I might make one small correction: I have not as yet delivered the Cloak. That duty will not be discharged until I place it in the hands of the Archimage at the House of the Deepmind.”
The lute’s descending notes seemed timed to punctuate her statement. The Count lifted his chin slightly. “It was not lost upon me that you have chosen to wear the magical garment, even here in the hall of refreshment. But might I suggest that your wisest and most proper course would be to place the Cloak into my keeping—as I am the representative of the Tuan in this instance.”
Across the table, Eben shifted, staring at the Prefect. Amlina surmised the Iruk understood the conversation well enough. Sensing his tension, the other Iruks set down their cups and sat up straight.
Amlina smiled as she replied. “I do appreciate this most generous offer, your eminence. But delivering the Cloak in person to the Archimage is a duty laid upon me by the Deepmind. As a Witch of Larthang, I can view no other course as rightful for me.”
The Prefect’s lips twitched minutely. “Even though I speak with the mandate of the Tuan?”
“Even so,” Amlina said. “In matters of high magic, the Archimage, not the Tuan is supreme.”
Count Oran-T’say measured her with a glance. Presently, his facial muscles relaxed into a smile. He settled down, reclining on an elbow. “No doubt, we will speak of the matter again. For now, let us not spoil the mood of celebration. I have given orders that apartments be prepared, that you and your company may rest here at least for the night. And of course, you will join my household at a banquet this evening.”
Amlina nodded, and again pretended to sip from her goblet. The lute music resumed with a lighter melody. At the couches along the table, the Iruks once again relaxed.
But Amlina’s mind was in ferment. The Iruks still had their weapons, and she still wore the Cloak. But using force to resist the Prefect’s authority would make them outlaws throughout Larthang. And there was also the matter of arranging for the Onyx Gates to be opened and a boat to take them up river.
Amlina was wondering how she could extricate herself from this impasse when a gong sounded at the entrance to the pavilion. All heads turned in that direction. A steward bowed to the company and called out:
“It is my honor to announce Melevarry Lo-Song, Mage of Randoon.”
Everyone rose from their couches and bowed. Melevarry strode toward the open space before the Prefect’s table. She was a tall, strongly-built woman of late middle-age, dressed in witch’s robes of yellow and gray brocade. Her face was long, with pointy nose and chin and sharp, narrow eyes. Her glance lingered briefly on Amlina and her company, then turned to the Prefect.
“Your eminence.” Her head dipped in a slight nod.
“My lady.” The Prefect’s expression made it clear he had not expected the Mage’s appearance—and was not pleased by it.
“Lord Prefect, I thank you for taking the trouble to welcome Amlina and her entourage to our city. Rest assured that I am now at leisure to take them into my charge and offer them the hospitality of my house.”
The Prefect’s lips thinned. He seemed to be weighing his options.
Amlina was also measuring hers. While she did not know Melevarry, the Mage’s office made her subordinate to the House of the Deepmind. She was therefore more likely than the Prefect to honor Amlina’s desire to deliver the Cloak in person to the Archimage.
Suddenly she stood. “My Lady Mage is most generous, and I will be honored to accept your kind offer.” She bowed first to Melevarry, then to Oran-T’say. “Lord Prefect, I thank you again for your generous welcome. We shall take our leave of you.”
Seeing no option but to acquiesce, the Prefect bowed courteously, first to Amlina, then to the Mage. “You are most welcome, esteemed Amlina. And to you, Honored Mage, my humble office is always here to assist you.”
Amlina backed from the table and signaled her party to follow. “Come, my friends,” she told them in Low-Tathian. “Tonight we shall enjoy the hospitality of this esteemed lady, the Mage of Randoon.”
They followed the Mage out of the feast hall. Melevarry had entered without attendants, and she walked beside Amlina in silence, hands folded in her sleeves. Passing through the gardens and halls of the Prefect’s palace, they arrived at length outside the main gate. There, at the edge of the grand ceremonial square, a single vehicle waited, a chariot of twisted wicker drawn by two tali. A half-dozen warriors guarded the chariot, dressed in scaled blue-green armor with short, peculiar capes. These Amlina recognized as members of the alatee, the so-called Warriors of the Chrysalis, who served as guards at the House of the Deepmind and the homes of some high witches.
“I entered without my guard,” Melevarry explained, “so as not to alarm the poor Prefect. Amlina, if you would do me the honor of riding with me? My mansion is not far. I hope you do not mind if your servants follow on foot?”
“They are not servants, but my friends,” Amlina replied. “So long as we drive slowly, I am sure they will not mind walking.”
She conveyed the arrangement to the Iruks and Kizier, then stepped up onto the chariot next to the Mage. Melevarry picked up the reins and spoke a few words in an archaic dialect. The tali, who appeared to be sleeping, lifted themselves to their feet, arched their backs, then padded off slowly across the plaza.
The Mage surveyed Amlina with a sidewise glance. Amlina gripped the chariot rail and gazed straight ahead, setting her face in an impassive mask.
But after a few moments, it was Amlina who broke the silence.
“I find myself perplexed, my lady, as to why you did not appear at the dock, or at least send representatives. If the Prefect of Randoon was aware of my arrival, was not the Mage also?”
A hint of a smile appeared on the older woman’s face. “Oh, I was aware. I simp
ly considered it better to let the Prefect make his welcome first, then arrive in person and take you off his hands. A theatrical ploy perhaps, but effective in reminding everyone of the proper order of things.”
“By which you mean who has rightful authority to receive the Cloak of the Two Winds.”
“Precisely.”
“And who, in your view, has that authority?”
The Mage’s smile broadened. “Not the Prefect, nor the magistrates, and certainly not the military. No, the proper answer should be obvious to you: only the House of the Deepmind and the Archimage, whom I serve.”
Amlina’s grip on the rail relaxed. “I am relieved to hear you say that.”
Eleven
Marching behind the chariot with his mates, Eben stared in all directions at the strange and wonderful city. The streets were paved with pink brick, the buildings a mixture of gray and white, with gilded portals and upturned, red tile roofs. The air was soft and balmy, scented with the fragrance of flowering trees and shrubs that grew along the curbs or behind the walls of courtyards.
People of all descriptions—merchants, officials, soldiers, servants—hurried along on the thoroughfare. Those who spotted the Mage in her chariot paused and bowed their heads respectfully—before frowning in confusion at the Iruks in their deerskin garb and sword-belts.
“Can someone tell me what’s going on?” Karrol demanded after they had walked a short distance. “First we’re met at the docks by a cheering mob, then we’re marched to the house of the fat official dressed in silks, then just as we’re getting a chance to rest, this witch in the gray robes shows up, and now we’re marching again.”
“I think there was a dispute as to which arm of the government gets to claim us,” Eben said, “by which I mean, claim the Cloak.”
“You are correct.” Kizier panted, struggling with the weight of his luggage. “The Prefect wanted to confiscate the Cloak. He claimed the authority of the Tuan, but as to whom he might ultimately deliver it, that was uncertain. The Mage, the witch we follow now, claims the authority of the House of the Deepmind. That she intervened is actually a hopeful sign.”
