Alucius stood back, unsteadily. He was panting heavily. His undergarments were soaked, and sweat was pouring down his forehead. The numbness remained in his leg, hand, and shoulder.
That is enough for this day. The soarer turned, as if to depart.
Alucius could sense a weariness in the soarer, and he had to wonder if the exercise were a drain on her.
How long…
Until you can stop the arms before they near you. In facing the ifrits, if an arm even touches you, they will possess you—or kill you. Pain is the most I can do, but I use it because your body is still part animal, and you will not understand, deep within yourself, the dangers without pain. We wish it were otherwise.
Alucius couldn’t help but feel partly insulted. Yet he had the feeling she was right. He hadn’t really learned from his grandsire until he had been hurt. Before the soarer left, he asked the other question he had been pondering, especially after seeing the access shaft, “When this is all over…will I be able to soar…like you do?”
In some places, but those places are not where you might wish to be seen. Humor—impish humor—overlaid the words.
“Why?”
The soarer did not answer, but a sense of impatience issued forth.
Alucius considered. He still had too much of a tendency to blurt out questions with the soarer. He hadn’t done that in years. Why was he doing it with the soarer? Because she reminded him of his grandsire? And because he was again acting like a child?
“Is it because it would require using the energy of lifeforces, and because I’m larger and heavier than you are, and the only places where lifeforces are concentrated enough is in towns and cities?”
That is part of the difficulty. The impatience had vanished. The other part is that using Talent to soar takes your own lifeforce and energy if there are not enough other lifethreads near. Unless you are in a place such as here or unless you act like the dark ifrits.
Alucius frowned. “You soar here, and yet there is little—”
You could soar here as well. The hidden city was built to tap the lifeforce of the world itself. You already sensed that.
“I could?” He paused. “Wait a moment. You told me that—”
Worlds are also alive—if they have life within and upon them. It takes great strength to reach deeply enough into the heart of a world to tap those threads. We could not do that now. In the end, after the ifrits have feasted on all the life-forms, they will tap the world itself and use its strength to drive a conduit to other worlds. But they must have many ifrits in their own bodies upon the next world before they can do such.
“They would leave the entire world…dead?”
We have told you that. More than once.
“I’m sorry. It takes some getting used to.”
The soarer glided out of the room and toward the shaft.
Alucius limped after her.
You can practice soaring here…but do not try the shaft yet.
Alucius watched as she soared to the shaft and descended, a glimpse of golden green that vanished below.
He could soar? How?
She had said that it required linking to lifethreads, but there were none in the tower but his own. For a time, he studied the very tower itself, until he could make out the web of golden green threads that infused the walls and floors—indeed everything.
He glanced down. His boots were a good third of a yard off the tiles.
So surprised was he that he lost his linkage and dropped to the tiles. His boots hit with a heavy thud, and he staggered on his still-numb leg, trying to keep from tottering toward the darkness of the shaft. He straightened with relief.
He could see why she’d suggested not trying the access shaft. Still, he could practice that as well. Any new skill might help.
He slowly limped back to his room. Later, after the numbness and the tiredness passed, he would try again.
111
Tempre, Lanachrona
The Lord-Protector stood at the edge of the table desk in the small private study off the audience hall, looking at his brother. “I have seen more of you in the past month than in a year.”
“That is true,” admitted Waleryn. “Should not I care about my brother’s struggles and troubles?”
“That is kind of you,” replied the Lord-Protector, brushing back dark hair that was longer than usual. “It has been a difficult year, if successful in most aspects.”
“In most, that is true.” Waleryn nodded. “How fares Alerya?”
“She is better, but her recovery will take time.”
“Some have said that she can have no children now,” suggested the younger man.
The Lord-Protector half turned. “Often what is said has little truth, but reflects what others may wish. There is no reason she cannot bear a child, once she is strong again.”
“Brother…it is unlikely she will be that strong.” Waleryn looked hard at his older brother. “Do you not think you should consider…another consort?”
“Why?”
“The future of Lanachrona, perhaps?” Waleryn shrugged. “If you love her too much to put her aside, you might consider…other arrangements. There are many willing women—even from good families.”
“Waleryn…I cannot believe you are suggesting…”
“My dear Talryn…I am not suggesting anything. Not yet. I do think you should consider what alternatives are open to you.” Waleryn bowed. “I had merely stopped to see how you are faring, and it is clear that you are as always, doing well, and I will not trouble you further.”
“I thank you for your kindness,” replied the Lord-Protector, not leaving his table desk as his brother bowed again and departed.
The Lord-Protector waited until the study door closed, then checked the ancient time-glass set on the bookshelf. He nodded and opened the doorway to the circular stairs leading up to his private apartments. When he reached the door at the top, he took the brass key from his belt and unlocked the first door, then stepped out into the main foyer, past the guards, and into the private foyer.
Beyond, in the sitting room, Alerya was at her writing desk, if in her dressing gown.
“Dearest…I had not expected you until later.” She smiled warmly at her husband.
“I have a little time before my next appointment.” He paused. “Are you certain you should be up?”
“I write for a time, then I rest. I cannot get stronger by remaining always in bed.”
“You must not do too much,” he cautioned.
“I do not. I am most careful.” Her eyes took in his face. “You look troubled.”
“I am, dearest. Waleryn came to see me. He suggested…that I should either seek another consort—or as he put it, make other arrangements. I refused.”
“If I do not heal fully…you may have little choice.”
“We are both young,” the Lord-Protector replied. “Such talk is foolish now.”
“It is not foolish for others. That is not why you are upset.”
“No. I worry because Waleryn did not mean what he said. He did not try to persuade me, or handle the matter gently. He was far too direct—as if he wished me to reject his words.”
“Ah…he does not wish you to have an heir,” Alerya said.
“That is my thought. Someone else has put him up to this.”
“Enyll?”
“I would judge so.” The Lord-Protector frowned. “I do so wish that the overcaptain had been successful in dealing with him.”
“Enyll is not difficult with you.”
“No. He is more polite and solicitous than ever, and I trust him not at all. In fact, less than ever.”
“Do you think he killed the overcaptain somehow? Or Waleryn did?”
“Waleryn could not have done so. He had not returned from Vanyr. As for Enyll…” The Lord-Protector shrugged. “He certainly would not have hesitated to do so. Yet…I cannot say. My mind says that he did. My feelings say that he did not. I feel that he would be acting
…differently.”
“Trust the feelings.”
“In matters of state, that is sometimes hard.” The Lord-Protector slipped behind his consort, bending slightly and slipping his arms around her, kissing her cheek. “Where you are, that is far easier.”
He held her, silently, for a time, before straightening, and saying, “I fear I must return for my next audience. And you must rest.”
“After this letter.” She watched, smiling sadly, as he hurried to the foyer and out of the private apartments.
112
Another three days of parrying and countering ever-stronger Talent-force blows and eluding and disintegrating the crimson arms went by, each session clearly exhausting both Alucius and the soarer. In between sessions, Alucius tried to learn better how to soar, but he was so tired that his efforts were limited.
On the following day, he woke earlier than usual and washed up and dressed, fingering the short dark gray beard that he had grown over the time of his lessons and captivity. Did it take captivity and pain for him to learn something? That thought bothered him as he walked to the window and looked out at the city below, or what he could see of it, a city largely deserted and empty. That he could sense, now.
Beyond the amber stone of the tower and the buildings below, the morning sun cast long shadows out across the white sand. The shadows fell far short of the dark rock rampart that marked the edge of the valley in which the hidden city rested. The crystal oblongs arranged at the top of that rampart glinted green-tinted silver in the morning sunlight, although most of the sun’s rays were drawn into the crystals rather than reflected.
The sky was darker than it was in Tempre or Dekhron, not by much, but by a fraction of a shade of green.
When he sensed the soarer nearing, Alucius turned and waited.
The soarer appeared just inside the door, once more with his breakfast. You must eat.
Alucius took the tray and ale from her and settled himself on the bed.
It is time now. You must return and finish the battle.
“I don’t know exactly how to use my Talent against the ifrits.” That worried Alucius. Greatly. He could still recall the power of the two creatures.
You must do the same against them as you have against the arms. The method is the same against all life-forms.
“You think I have learned enough?”
The sense of a smile conveyed itself to Alucius. No one ever learns enough, for each learning opens one to further learning. Those who do not keep learning die, inside at first, then all over. You have much yet to learn, but you cannot learn more here.
“Right now, you mean?” Alucius finished the last bite of the egg toast and took a long swallow of the ale.
Ever. You have learned what we can teach. We must all hope it is enough.
“Thank you for your confidence,” Alucius said dryly.
You have the skills and knowledge to prevail. That does not mean you will.
Alucius scarcely needed that reminder. “What do I do?”
You will use the mirror in the adjoining chamber. Bring your sabre.
Alucius set aside the tray and stood, then walked to the wall, where he took down the sabre and clipped the scabbard to his belt. The soarer had already left the room, and Alucius followed her out and into the chamber with the mirror.
She stood beside the mirror.
Alucius glanced to her.
Stand on the mirror. Seek the depths. Repeat what you did to reach the hidden city. Think about the engineer, about Prosp, about anything that will draw you to that portal Table.
“Prosp—because that Table is the more dangerous?”
Both the Table there and the ifrit who has possessed the engineer are more dangerous than the Table in Tempre.
Alucius walked into the middle of the square mirror, sensing its golden green depths beneath him, and the ties to the earth—and beyond. Then he paused and looked at the soarer. “Thank you.” After a moment, he asked, “Will I ever see you, any of you, again?”
You are welcome. If you succeed…then the future will be what it will be, and that will thank us more than words.
The soarer’s words both reassured and troubled Alucius, but he could not say why.
You must go, before it is too late.
He nodded, squared his shoulders, and took a deep breath. Then he concentrated on the depths beneath, on the ties that led deep into the earth.
He felt himself falling…
The chill surrounded him, a deep coldness infusing the dark golden green, but a cold less edged and bitter than the chill of the purple-blackness of the ifrits’ conduit. He could sense the difference, because this time, he was within the golden green, and beyond, parallel to the golden green conduit, was the dark conduit.
Reluctantly, Alucius reached for the ugly purple-blackness, this time using a narrow Talent pulse of golden green, rather than the purple line he had used to reach the hidden city.
Abruptly, he was within the black conduit, where he cast forth his Talent-senses to search for the silver arrow that he recalled. He scarcely had to seek it, so bright did it appear, beckoning coldly to him.
After steeling himself for the possibility that the engineer might be waiting, he focused his concentration on the portal Table.
Silver light flared around him.
113
Alucius blinked. He was standing on the newer Table—in an unlit dimness. Was it evening in Prosp? Before, when he had traveled the ifrits’ conduit, the time of day had been the same as in the hidden city, or so he had thought. Then he smiled. How would he know the time of day? The chamber was underground.
Even as he slipped off the table, he could sense that the Table was more “alive.” He wondered exactly what the engineer who was an ifrit had done to create that effect—and what it meant. In the dimness, he quickly surveyed the chamber with eyes and Talent, but it was indeed empty. He walked quietly toward the door, where he stopped and listened, using his Talent as well to probe into adjoining larger chamber.
As before, there was a guard outside, but Alucius sensed no one else nearby. With the gentlest of touches, he extended a golden green probe, pressing the guard’s lifethread firmly, but gently. He could sense—and hear—the guard fall. Only then did he ease the door open.
The brightness of the light coming down the stairwell from above into the lower room confirmed to Alucius that it was morning—or day—in Prosp, and that, besides the unconscious guard in silver and black, the lower part of the building was empty.
Had the engineer gone elsewhere? To set up another Table somewhere? Or was it just earlier than the engineer arrived?
Alucius surveyed the outer chamber quickly. He could still hear the sounds of building, but they were muffled—outside, or on an upper level.
Then, he heard steps, hurried steps, and he slipped back into an alcove in the outer chamber a good ten yards from the door, which he had left ajar. As he stood there, he did his best to mask the brilliance of his lifethread, trying to let it show as the brown and black of an average workman.
That effort must have sufficed. The engineer halted at the fallen guard, but only momentarily, before entering the Table chamber, and he did not even look in Alucius’s direction.
Alucius followed, easing along the edge of the wall. Before he even reached the still-open door to the Table chamber, his first effort was to use his Talent to focus on the weapon held by the engineer, who stood inside the door, probing the Table with jabs of purpled Talent-force.
Alucius eased into the Table chamber behind the engineer, forcing himself to use his Talent-probe to go further and unravel the linkages inside the weapon.
Vestor turned and lifted the light-knife, pointing it at Alucius. Nothing happened. He set it on the writing desk with a smile. “So…you have learned some tricks.”
Alucius sent out a Talent-probe, the slimmest and strongest he could manage.
The engineer staggered, then jabbed back with his own burst of
intense purple Talent-force, a force that came as much from the Table as from Vestor himself.
Rather than trying to block the Talent-thrust, Alucius slipped it past him, as he might have handled a sabre slash, then thrust again.
While the engineer did not block the second thrust, and even halted momentarily, he stepped to the Table, the way the Recorder had, and pressed his hands against the mirror surface. Immediately, the ruby mists swirled upward, and a greater swelling of purpleness enfolded the engineer.
Alucius dropped a darkening mist over the Table, momentarily forcing the mists back. He was the one to ease to the door and slip the bolt in place. He hoped he was not being foolish, but he didn’t want to worry about being attacked from behind as he tried to fight the engineer. And he knew, instinctively, that, if he did not win, he would not be captured, not in any way he could accept, but that, one way or another, he would be dead.
“Rather confident for a poor Corean Talent-steer.” The engineer sneered, marshaling yet more of the ruby mists, which re-formed into the sinuous arms Alucius recalled all too well.
Alucius concentrated on seeking the nodes, before probing, and driving a golden green line of fire into the larger node of the leftmost arm, the one nearest to him, at the point closest to where it left the Table.
His hands still upon the surface of the Table, Vestor grunted, his pale forehead damp, and another layer of bright pinkish purple reinforced the ruby arms.
After Alucius slid his probe under the purple shield, he tried to twist and unravel the smaller threads within the node. As he did, he could feel heat rising all around him and sweat popping out of his forehead. He felt as though he were fumbling, and that time all around him had slowed to a creep as the tiny point of his Talent-probe knifed into the node of the ruby mist-arm, then twisted, and cut the links of the smaller threads.
Suddenly, the arm vanished in a spray of tiny purple threads that were sucked back into the Table itself.
“You are no Talent-steer,” said the engineer tightly. “You’re one of the dying ones. You cannot prevail. You cannot stop us. Not this time. Not a mere handful of ancient dodderers who will die within a handful of years.”
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