Emperor Mage

by Tamora Pierce

  The horse gathered itself and leaped, clearing the lock, to land on the seawall on the far side with a ringing crash. Horse and rider galloped down the wall, striking sparks from the granite boulders. Just before they reached the lighthouse, the glowing figures leaped off onto the ocean’s surface, and raced across it, dodging the naval vessels and heading north. Daine watched in silence as the glow that surrounded them faded, and was gone.

  “What did he say?” Varice asked Kaddar, voice hushed. “It was Old Thak, wasn’t it? The first language of the empire?”

  “He said ‘Woe.’” The prince’s voice was quiet and even. “And ‘Woe.’ Then he said, ‘Woe to the empire—we are forsaken. The gods are angry!’”

  In her dream, she glided down a green river in a flat-bottomed barge, a silly, overdecorated affair painted yellow and white. A dainty yellow awning kept off the sun overhead. A rat offered her a white straw tray filled with a choice of small tarts. Two more rats slowly waved huge fans made of black feathers. Looking around, the girl saw vultures perched on the forward rail.

  “Don’t worry, child. I may not even need you.” The Graveyard Hag reclined in the straw-and-white striped cushions next to Daine, choosing tidbits from the tray held for her by yet another rat. These appeared to be made of worms, beetles, fungi, and moss.

  Daine shuddered. The food being offered to her seemed normal enough, but she decided not to take a chance. “No, thank you,” she told the rat serving her. “I’m not at all hungry.” He waddled away, awkward on his hind legs.

  “It’s quite possible Ozorne will heed the three warnings.” The Hag chewed noisily, her mouth open. “Still, here you are, the perfect vessel, should I need one. I wanted to give you the power, just in case. Give you a little time to practice, to get used to it.”

  “Won’t someone else do? I’m supposed to behave myself here. And don’t you already know if he’ll listen to your warnings? You’re a god, after all.”

  The Hag crackled, spraying food on the cushions. “You are a funny thing! No, a vessel for a god’s power can’t be just anyone.”

  “Is it because my da really is a god, like the Banjiku said?”

  “No, or we’d have even fewer vessels than we do now. Most mortal women die giving birth to a god’s child, for your information. No, for a vessel we need a mortal with imagination, a strong will, and determination. And anger—plenty of it.”

  “I’m not angry.”

  “Nonsense, dear. Think of your mother’s death. Think of how you were treated in that awful village you came from.”

  Daine looked down at her hand. The goddess’s words had awakened memories of those times, as fresh as when she’d lived through them. For a moment she actually knelt beside Ma’s body, feeling how cold she was. Memory flickered: she was shivering, naked, running, the village hunters close behind, calling her name.

  As if she’d spoken, the Hag said, “Well, there you are.” Briskly she wiped her fingers on the cushions. “And no, I can’t tell if he’ll attend to the warnings or not. We can see ahead a bit, but not far, and not when the events concerned will create so much change. Ozorne’s choice will determine the path that history takes thereafter, which means it’s like trying to see through mud. You mortals have to make your own choices. We poor gods only get to come in and straighten up after you choose.”

  Daine raised skeptical brows. The goddess’s self-pity was laid on a bit too thick. “I’d no idea what a struggle it is for you.”

  “Oh, you don’t appreciate me. Just because you’re a good vessel doesn’t mean I’ll stand for your sauce! Back to bed with you!” The Hag flapped a hand.

  Daine sat bolt upright in bed. She was in her room in the imperial palace. Kitten and Zek were grumbling at her. “Just a dream,” she whispered, and sank back onto her pillows.

  Entering the common room for breakfast, she saw only Alanna. “I got rid of the servants,” the Lioness said tiredly as she put food on a plate. “I hope you don’t mind. I can’t deal with slaves, not today.”

  “Where’s Numair?” Daine asked, sitting down. “And Master Harailt?”

  “In their rooms, reading.” Alanna handed the plate to Daine. “The Carthakis have allowed us to see the spells that open gates into the Divine Realms, but we aren’t allowed to copy them, and we can’t take them with us. Harailt and Numair are memorizing as much of them as they can.”

  Daine buttered a roll. “Where’s the rest? Duke Gareth, and his son, and Lord Martin?”

  “Talks won’t start today until noon,” explained the Champion with a yawn. “If they have any sense, they’ll sleep in. Same with the clerks.”

  “You’re not sleeping in,” Daine pointed out.

  “More ‘rest’ like I got last night and you’ll find me atop some tower, baying at the moon.”

  “Bad dreams?”

  Alanna flicked her fingers at the room’s corners. Purple fire raced to encircle them, shutting out eavesdroppers. “Bad thinking,” the Lioness said grimly, peeling an orange with callused fingers. “Bad sights.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Prince Kaddar is right. Carthak’s northern fleet is small—about thirty vessels. They don’t have many troop ships or war barges—they aren’t necessary. This shore of the Inland Sea is all theirs: none of the lands on our side have a navy worth sweating over. They have the war barges and transports for men and horse on the western coast, against Scanran raids, or trouble with the Copper Isles, or to keep their southern holdings in line. They need those ships there, unless—”

  “Unless he’s got something for all of them to do,” Daine said. “But—he’s going to sign a treaty with us! Nobody brings in the navy during peace talks, do they?”

  “If we were actually having peace talks, no; but we bogged down yesterday.”

  She remembered the Tusaine ambassador’s remarks. “Fishing rights?”

  “That, and something else. We were told Ozorne wants Kaddar to marry Kalasin in the spring and bring her here to live. No marriage agreement means no treaty, in spite of the fact that he never mentioned a wedding when he and the king arranged these talks.”

  Daine’s jaw dropped. “But she’s only ten. Queen Thayet won’t hear of a marriage being set up till she’s thirteen or fourteen!”

  “I think the emperor knows that, Daine.” The woman looked tired, and older than she had when they landed. “Look. Perhaps I’m being an alarmist, but—he showed us that fleet for a reason, and he’s pressing this marriage for a reason. Be extra careful, understand? Watch your step. We may have to leave in a hurry. Our permits to be here are good only so long as he says they are.”

  She explained everything to Zek and Kitten as she fed them and got ready to go. On their way to meet Kaddar in the guest courtyard, she peered into Numair’s room, hoping for a word with him. Although the door was open, black fire sparkled in the entrance. She could just see him through it, stretched out on the bed with a book in front of his nose. Zek touched the fire and squeaked, yanking his paw back.

  Did that hurt? Daine asked.

  No. It was only strange. I don’t think he wants to talk to anyone, though.

  No, probably not, she agreed.

  They walked on, emerging into the morning sun in a yard where the guests who rode came and went. Awaiting them was Kaddar, holding the reins of a pair of horses.

  They raced to the ferry landing, then crossed the broad river to Carthak City. Zek burrowed into Daine’s shirt once they boarded the ferry so that he wouldn’t have to look at the river that had nearly killed him. Kitten, sitting up in Daine’s saddlebag, observed with interest every sight that met her eyes.

  At the top of the far bank the capital stretched before them, avenues beckoning. To their left stood a walled enclosure: the famed imperial university. Humans, afoot or mounted, passed through the gates in a stream.

  Once inside, they followed a paved avenue lined by handsome buildings set on groomed lawns. Around her Daine saw every human color i
n the world, from the blue-black of southern tribespeople to the pale skins of the far north. Most wore overrobes of the same loose cut as those worn by the mages, in a variety of colors. White robes, explained Kaddar, plain or with colored trim, meant a novice in any program of study. Wide bands of color at cuffs and hem meant the wearer was a journeyman in his course of study. Solid-colored robes indicated mastery; trim on a solid-colored robe meant advanced mastery. Daine simply enjoyed the human scenery as they rode down the avenue.

  “That’s it,” Kaddar said, pointing to the large five-tiered building that straddled the avenue. Tall, graceful columns painted a deep blue were arranged across the front of the ground floor, their bases and capitals gilded and bright in the sun. “Lindhall’s study and workrooms are there.”

  Hostlers took Kaddar’s mare, Westwind, and Daine’s gelding. Something about them was strange, Daine realized, and about the gardeners who trimmed the grass and bushes along the avenue. Stretching her legs, she puzzled out what it was: all of them had hair. “Kaddar, aren’t there any slaves here?”

  “None inside the university complex. The academics won’t allow it. Too many northerners teach here, and they aren’t comfortable with slaves.”

  “I can’t imagine why,” Daine muttered.

  “What is that supposed to mean? Are you uncomfortable with slavery?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s the first time you’ve mentioned it.”

  The girl shrugged. “Ma always taught me that when you’re visiting someone else’s house, you shouldn’t be carping about the way they clean. Besides, we’re supposed to be on our best behavior here. The peace between us is more important—that’s what Duke Gareth said.” Thinking of those warships the night before, Daine shivered. To a girl whose family had been murdered by raiders, those ships were a bloody promise. She would do anything to prevent its unfolding.

  Kaddar picked up Kitten and led the way to doors behind the blue pillars. “And what do you think of slavery? Don’t worry—I won’t repeat it.” To Kitten he said, “And no one’s listening, right?” The dragon nodded vigorously.

  “It makes me think of cages,” replied Daine. “And cages make me feel like I can’t breathe.”

  Me, too, said Zek, peering up at her. They put us in a cage. Then they took my family away.

  “I know,” she whispered, stroking his fur. “He reminded me that he was a captive,” she explained to the prince.

  He looked at them. “I thought it must be wonderful, to be linked to animals the way you are, but it isn’t always, is it? I have a bad enough time just knowing human sadness, let alone the sorrows of every other living creature.” He shifted Kitten’s weight to his hip, so that he could carry her one-armed. “You aren’t anything like what I expected.”

  He led her into a huge, high-ceilinged room where plants grew and fountains played. Daine stopped, awed by the great mosaics that lined the walls. Kaddar followed her, still carrying the dragon, as she went to inspect each one. Mosaics were a Carthaki specialty, but these were splendid even by their standards. Each panel, ten feet by ten feet, depicted a craft or branch of learning. One showed Carthak’s famous dyes: a woman dipped cloth into a vat to turn it a rainbow of colors. One panel was dedicated to mages: a red-robed man was halfway transformed from human to horse, a yellow-robed woman had plants growing from outstretched palms, and behind them a black-robed figure, back to the viewer, opened a fiery portal in a nighttime sky. Other panels were dedicated to astronomy and engineering, as well as to glassmaking, weaving, and metalworking. The picture Daine liked the least was of a soldier in the scarlet tunic and gold armor of the Red Legion, standing with one foot on the back of a fallen black man who reached vainly for a spear. To his left, a brown woman in green brocade lifted her hands, pleading; to his right, a pale woman in the tall headdress and tiered gown of Ekallatum pushed forward two naked children, a boy and a girl, in chains.

  “Our glorious heritage.” Kaddar’s voice was very soft; his lips barely moved. “The splendid empire. We loot our conquests until they can no longer feed themselves. Then we take the money from what food and goods they buy to pay for wars to acquire more conquests.”

  She stared up at him, astonished.

  He noticed, and smiled crookedly. “It’s true. What’s the matter?”

  “You’re not exactly what I expected, either,” she said frankly.

  “And what did you expect?”

  She brushed Zek’s mane with her fingers as she considered her reply. “Someone who enjoyed being imperial more. What did you expect of me?”

  He grinned and tweaked her nose. “Someone who ate with her fingers.”

  “There you are!” Lindhall approached, hands out in welcome, open robe flapping behind him. “I am late—forgive me. I just found a reference to ichneumenons, and I was trying to locate its source. Come! I think perhaps the Analects of Utuhegal the Blasphemer, or perhaps it was Thorald Moonaxe . . .”

  Kaddar rolled his eyes at Daine as they followed their host down a long corridor.

  “I do not eat with my fingers,” she whispered, trying not to smile.

  “The improvement in the emperor’s birds is astonishing,” Lindhall told Daine over one shoulder. “It’s impossible to tell if they were ever ill. He is very pleased with your work. Don’t be surprised if he invites you to remain, and even offers you a bribe to do so.”

  “There’s nothing he has that I want,” Daine said. “I was just glad to help the birds.”

  “Which is as it should be,” the mage said with approval. “Is she heavy?” he asked, looking at the prince and Kitten. “Could I hold her?”

  “Kit?” Daine asked, and the dragon nodded. Kaddar gave her to Lindhall, who looked startled. “She hasn’t the weight I would expect of a creature of her mass.”

  “Dragons are hollow-boned, like birds,” the girl explained. “Numair found a scroll that told all about dragons from when they lived in the mortal realms.”

  “The Draconian Codex,” Lindhall and Kaddar said together, and smiled at each other.

  Making several turns down long corridors, they finally reached their destination, a door with a brass nameplate bearing the words: Master Lindhall Reed—Plants, Animal Behavior and Habits.

  “Let me in, dolt,” Lindhall said, and the door opened.

  “That’s how he talks to the key spell,” explained Kaddar.

  “I almost feel as if there is a sprite at work, not a spell.” Lindhall placed Kitten on the floor and dumped his robe next to her. “A small, not very clever, spiteful one.” The robe glided through the air to drape itself over a hook on the wall. That spell Daine had seen before, in Numair’s tower.

  “What about your assistant?” she inquired, greeting a very large turtle who seemed to have full run of the room. He was pleasant enough to Daine, but tried his best to take a bite of Kitten, who screeched at him. Zek, mistrustful of anything that tried to bite, climbed to the top of Daine’s head and clung there.

  “Out on fieldwork for the day.” Lindhall glared at the still-open door. “Close up,” he said crossly. “I don’t want any visitors until further notice.” Meekly the door obeyed. To the turtle he added, “And that will be enough out of you, Master Sunstone.” Picking up the great reptile, who was pursuing Kitten’s tail, he carried him across the room to a door beside a cluttered desk. He opened it and put the big reptile inside. Daine, watching, noticed something in there that looked uncomfortably like a human form on a bier, covered with a dark cloth.

  Lindhall shut the door before she could get a better look. “What do you think?” he asked, waving a hand to include their surroundings.

  Daine put the odd shape out of her mind and looked around. Along the walls were small kingdoms in huge glass tanks. Some were landscapes with plants, streams, and enough room for small animals to live comfortably. One tank was set up like a pond, with underwater greenery and rocks to feed and shelter the fish and frogs who lived there.

  “I inheri
ted the pond from my master. The rest I made, with help. That is the advantage of a university: someone is always there to help create things, just to see if it can be done. Mages helped glassmakers with the tanks, or we never could have made them so large and so clear. I try to keep the environments as much like the animals’ true homes as possible.” Lindhall watched as she examined a tank that housed a trio of large green lizards, whose comblike crests ran the length of their spines. “They are iguanas, from the Copper Isles. Are they happy? Do they need anything? I think I would know if they were pining, but I can’t ask them, and I don’t wish to be cruel.”

  Daine held up a hand, laughing. “Master Lindhall, if you’ll wait a moment, I’ll ask!” Well, sun-brothers? she inquired silently. Are you happy in there?

  They rushed to the glass. Lindhall reached in and lifted them out, to Zek’s dismay.

  “They like you,” Daine said, listening to the iguanas. “Their only complaint is that it gets close in the tank, but since you let them out all the time, they don’t really mind. No, the turtle isn’t here right now,” she told the lizards, who had asked. As Kitten and the iguanas sniffed each other, Daine walked around, talking to the inhabitants of the other tanks. They had only good to say of Lindhall. Most didn’t even know they were confined.

  Kitten’s voice called her away from these small kingdoms. The dragon stood before an empty corner expressing indignation as only she could, with a series of bone-piercing whistles. Before Daine could warn whoever was using the invisibility spell, the air shimmered, and Numair appeared.

  SEVEN

  WAKING DREAMS

  “You had to inform everyone,” the mage scolded the dragon, scowling. Kitten nibbled on his breeches. He sighed and scratched the top of her head.