“Why would you even try?” M’vai asked.
“If you’ve ever dealt with them, you know how fearful and dangerous they are. I thought they’d be of use against my enemies. As to how I did it, well…” She paused as if torn between bragging and revealing too much. Clearly the need to impress won out, for she continued, “They can’t stand to be surrounded by solid order. They can’t cross the larger borders because, while they’re attracted to life energy and magic, too much order is overwhelming; it’s too great a hindrance to them. Once I understood that, the matter seemed obvious. I lured them close and then completely encased them within an orderly prison.”
That didn’t seem at all obvious to Rylin.
“If they’re repelled by order how will they react if you set them loose against the Goddess?” Thelar asked. “Isn’t she nothing but order?”
“She’s also nothing but magic,” Cerai said. “The most powerful of all magic sources. And the chaos spirits love magic. I think they’ll head straight for her. I can guess what will happen when they reach her; it should be most diverting.”
“But you can’t be sure,” Thelar said doubtfully.
“No. Don’t look so surprised. I didn’t capture the spirits to fight the original manifestation of order in the universe. I never expected to have to do that.”
“You talk about using order to trap the chaos energy,” Thelar said. “Can we use their chaotic energy to trap her order?”
Cerai nodded. “That’s essentially what I’m hoping will happen if we unleash the chaos spirits. Although chaos, by nature, can’t wall her in, not like order can wall in chaos. It’s too unstable to form a true barrier.”
“What if we drained away her energy?” Thelar suggested. “She’s an energy source, isn’t she? We could try pulling some of it away.”
Though he understood the fundamentals of the magical discussion, Rylin’s attention wandered again. He tried to ask himself what Varama would be doing, were she here. Probably she’d be ten steps ahead of them in this magical theory. He could never manage that, but he could anticipate what she would have suggested he do. “This technical talk is beyond me.” He put his hands to the table. “If you don’t mind, while the rest of you are working all of this out, I’d like to look at the keystone.”
Cerai’s slim brows arched. “That’s a waste of time. There’s nothing on it that can help.”
“Maybe there’s something you missed,” he said, working to sound less challenging.
“There isn’t.”
He continued with cool calm: “The queen was desperate for it. You left a battle for it, even though I know you’re no coward. There must be something important there, and I’d like to make sure you haven’t missed it.”
“There was no point in trying to defend Alantris when it was going to fall, or putting myself at risk when I’m the only one who can rebuild,” Cerai said. “And there’s no point in your looking at the keystone. Not now. It’s my rebuilding plan, that’s all.”
“I hear what you’re saying,” Rylin said. “But I owe a debt, and I mean to pay it. If Varama had lived, she would want to look at the keystone. And since she can’t…” He let the thought trail off rather than be overcome with emotion.
Thelar finished for him. “I know it was important to the queen, Alten Cerai. Maybe there’s additional information on it. Something Rylin might notice, with fresh eyes.”
Cerai’s lashes fluttered. “Very well. I suppose you’re not very useful here anyway, Rylin.” She waited, as if she expected him to protest. When he didn’t, she called for one of her servants to lead him to a private room where he could look at the stone. As if to indicate her utter lack of interest in his involvement in her more important efforts, she told him to take as much time as he wished.
Rylin thanked her, raised a hand in farewell to the others, and followed one of her guards from the chamber.
Shortly thereafter, he was seated at a table in a small room on the third floor. A single arched window looked down upon the empty courtyard. A round opalescent stone larger than his fist sat upon a blue pillow in a wooden box that the servant had brought. It certainly looked like the keystone he’d seen in Varama’s possession.
He eyed the orb before touching it. He remembered Varama saying it wasn’t a true hearthstone, but a repository for maps, and once again wished that she were here, with him. He knew all too well that he was no replacement for her even on his brightest day. He pushed back a wave of sorrow. Now wasn’t the time for feelings; it was time to emulate her methods. She’d had only a brief opportunity to study it. What secrets might it still hold, and how could he apply himself to discovering them?
He located the weak spot within the keystone’s sorcerous energy matrix and it opened to him. He didn’t find himself awash with energy, as he would have the moment he made contact with a hearthstone, but it did at least sustain rather than tire him.
The stone proved both like and unlike what he had pictured from Varama’s description. He looked upon images fashioned as though someone had gazed upon landforms from above and painted them with lifelike detail. He saw streams and mountains, plains and forests. What he did not observe were any settlements or roads, even in the places where he knew them to be. He was certain of the location of his birth town, along the shores of Lake Dahrial, in Erymyr, and he well knew the point below the mountains where Darassus lay. The settlements simply weren’t there.
He reminded himself that the images within the stone must be ancient, created before the realms had human buildings.
As he peered with great interest at the border of Erymyr, the image increased in size and detail, as though he were plunging out of the air and down toward the trees. Momentarily alarmed by the simulated fall, he pulled away, discovering that intense scrutiny increased the size of each image so that, on closer inspection, finer detail became apparent, even down to individual leaves. The foliage looked so astonishingly realistic he might as well have been holding it in his hand.
Fascinating though this exercise proved, he began to suspect Cerai was right, and that there was nothing immediately useful stored upon the stone.
He pulled back from small scale contemplation and sorted through the contents, discovering renditions of all the realms, as Varama had described. He paused while examining the map of the Lost Realm, central yet apart, where they’d faced the queen, then moved on to other images.
He’d thought at first he was looking at the dark and wintry Naor realms and kobalin shards, but most of the remaining images turned out to resemble half-finished sketches abandoned by their artists. They were alive with soaring mountains and deep ravines and other oddities. It struck him that the keystone contained blueprints, not just maps. Just as a builder of a temple or fortress would draw their plans before construction commenced, the Gods apparently had made record of their intentions, even experimenting with other ideas before choosing the ones they liked best.
As his examination continued, Rylin came upon more and more unfinished areas. He found a small realm all of water with tiny round islands; an immense, snow-capped mountain with sheer sides rising alone from a vast evergreen forest; a dark realm where glowing scarlet-leaved trees leaned down from serrated ridges; and other, stranger places. The most interesting of these incomplete ideas was a less-detailed map off to the side where each of the known realms was separated without the usual gaps of Shifting Lands and laid out upon an immense globe. Completely new landforms and large bodies of water were stitched between and beyond them.
Each of the sketches was unique and curious, but none seemed remotely useful in their current predicament.
When at last he ceased his study, he grew aware he’d left himself completely unprotected. Anyone might have crept up behind him while his attention was so diverted.
But the room sat empty. The outside light possessed an aged quality, as of the late afternoon. He had wasted hours, and was frustrated and angry: first, because Cerai was right that he’d found no
thing of use; and second, because he was certain Varama would have discovered something important; and third, that she was not here. They needed her mind, not his.
He left the keystone in its box and then found a servant to ask where the commander had gone.
He was led to another third-floor room, where he found M’vai sitting alone on a couch. The servant looked confused. “Where is the N’lahr commander?” he asked M’vai.
“Through the next door,” she answered. “Talking with your goddess and the Naor leader.”
The servant turned to Rylin. “He is talking with the goddess in her office.” He pointed toward the door at the room’s far end.
“I’ll wait here,” Rylin said. And then, when the fellow stared at him, gave him permission to leave.
“They’re so strange,” M’vai said softly after the man had departed.
“That they are,” Rylin replied.
He and M’vai were in a rectangular room divided in half by a grouping of chairs and couches. The side with the door to the office was, apart from being well-ordered, reminiscent of Varama’s laboratories. Glass jars and vials filled with numerous dried ingredients sat upon shelving units along one wall above a row of closed white cabinets. Two tables supported larger glass containers as well as scales and other measuring tools.
The couches and chairs dividing the room faced a desk and cushioned chair in front of yet another cabinet. The young exalt sat upon a couch against the wall, in line with another of the arched windows. She had taken off her khalat, laid it on the couch beside her, and rolled up the sleeves of her white blouse past her elbows, showing freckled arms.
“How are you holding up?” Rylin sat on the desk edge, facing her. She looked exhausted or sick.
“I’m working hard to not lose my mind. How are you?”
“Not much better. I’m sorry about your sister.”
“Yes.” Her voice sounded tired and small as she turned away. “I’m sorry about a lot of things.”
“What are they doing in there?”
“Anzat wanted to talk with Cerai, and the commander wanted to hear. And I’m keeping an eye on him, so here I am.”
“Why are you keeping an eye on him?” Rylin asked.
“Haven’t you looked at the commander lately? Through the inner world?”
“No.”
“The queen’s attack did something to him. His energy matrix is all overgrown.”
Rylin remembered how the commander’s hands had shaken several times during the early part of the meeting, and chastised himself for not paying more attention. “What’s it doing to him?”
“He’s starting to have trouble moving,” she said. M’vai didn’t ask if he’d noticed that, but it was apparent in her critical look.
He reminded himself that given her current circumstance, her mood wasn’t likely to be at its best. “I saw that,” he said. “There have been a lot of things to worry about.”
She sniffed and wiped at her eyes. “You’re right. I just can’t help wondering how things might have been different if I’d listened to Meria sooner. She knew there was something wrong with the way Commander Synahla and the queen were acting. I knew it, too.” Her eyes glistened, and Rylin hopped down from the desk to offer a cloth from his utility belt.
“Thank you.” M’vai blotted at her eyes as Rylin retreated to the desk. “I told Meria they were just under stress, and that she was being flighty again. She never wanted to stay the course. She’s the one who talked me into joining the exalt auxiliary, and then there she was wanting to leave it!” She let out a shuddering sigh and wiped her eyes again.
“How long ago was this?” Rylin asked.
“For the last few months.” M’vai’s voice dropped. “I used to admire Cerai, but I know what Meria would say now. The woman can’t be trusted.”
Rylin nodded in agreement.
“If anyone is going to see us through this, it’s the commander,” M’vai continued. “We have to make sure he recovers.”
“Can you do that?”
“I’m certainly going to try.” She looked as though she meant to say more, but the far door swung open and she turned to watch as N’lahr emerged, followed by Anzat, then Cerai.
“Well, well,” Cerai said to Rylin. “Did you find any surprises?”
“I wish I had.”
M’vai climbed to her feet and bent down to shoulder into her uniform coat.
“I told you so. I’m going to inspect Anzat’s troops, and then I’m going to start working with the mages. M’vai, why don’t you round all of them up. The healers, too. We’ll let Rylin shepherd Commander N’lahr for a while.”
M’vai looked doubtful, but Rylin gave her a comforting nod. “All right,” she said, though the look in her eyes was a plain, almost desperate message: keep N’lahr safe.
Anzat watched with frank appraisal as M’vai walked toward him, and then all three left.
“Cerai knows we’re going to talk, and doesn’t care,” Rylin said in disgust after the door had closed behind them.
“She knows we’ll talk, here or somewhere else,” N’lahr said. “Letting you know that is a power play. She’s grown in arrogance since last I knew her.”
“What did Anzat want?” Rylin asked.
“He was trying to get the lay of the land. And I’m afraid he has it.”
“Anzat’s going to back Cerai, isn’t he?”
“He’s clever, in his way. She does hold the high ground.”
“I thought he’d hate following a woman.”
“He said something to the effect of how he approved of following a woman who actually had power, and wasn’t pretending to be a man.”
Rylin winced. He was going to miss Vannek. “He just wants power himself.”
“Yes. And Cerai is curious to see the capability of his troops. Aside from sheer numbers, her own men may not be as effective as warriors.”
“What’s wrong with them, anyway?” Rylin asked.
“Kyrkenall says that they used to be kobalin and that Cerai ‘rewarded’ them with human bodies.”
The enormity of Cerai’s power alarmed him. “I suppose that explains some of it,” he said. “As for Anzat, he doesn’t have to lead the Naor. We could find someone else.”
“Even if we could remove him without making the rest of the Naor suspicious or resentful, whichever one of them commands is liable to follow the strongest leader.”
“And right now that looks like Cerai.”
“Right now that is Cerai.”
That N’lahr acknowledged the problem so bluntly troubled Rylin. “So what are we going to do? Have Elenai and Kyrkenall already left?”
“They have. But we won’t be idle. Did you learn anything useful?”
“From the keystone? No. Maybe Varama would have seen something, but…”
Of all the times to finally lose composure, it was then, as he was presenting information to the man he most admired. He turned away to gather his breath. “Pardon me.”
N’lahr said nothing, and Rylin felt rising shame until the commander stepped closer. His voice was low. “Don’t give up on Varama.”
The advice surprised him. “You think Cerai’s lying about her?”
“She might have sensed Varama’s ring go out because it absorbed another attack.”
“An attack from the Goddess would have killed her,” Rylin said.
“Almost certainly. If Varama stood still for it.”
Rylin started to object that she had been standing still, since she’d been holding the portal open. And yet, it was surely possible Cerai had misjudged information. The commander was trying to communicate something more than he was saying aloud.
N’lahr mouthed two words. “She lives.”
14
A Field of Stars
From the foot of the hill where he lay, Vannek watched the gigantic demon drift into the distance. Her ebon hair and flowing garment were so black they seemed to repel even the darkness, so that she was
visible for leagues as she retreated into the night. Vannek’s hate followed like a well-honed spearpoint, raised for casting.
But the demon being was long out of range, and a spear against her would have been useless. Hating her had no more effect than wishing.
Vannek smelled blood, and wondered whether it was his own. And then came clarity, and the awareness that while some of the blood might have been his, Muragan had worked a spell, for as he shifted to look at the bloodmage he found him sweating. The source of the stench grew readily apparent: under the bright full moon and the shining stars he perceived a pair of the vaunted Altenerai horses lying dead in a steaming pool of blood only a sword’s length away.
Vannek reached up to probe a sore spot on the back of his head.
“The wind threw you into the hill pretty hard,” Muragan said wearily. Vannek guessed that he’d been winded by magic work. “Your leg got the worst of it. How does your head feel?”
“I’ll live.” According to legend, blood mages had first discovered their calling upon the battlefield, and ever since, their greatest practitioners were employed, like lowly but necessary nurses, to heal the most important of the wounded warriors. Muragan had once knit a gaping spear wound in Mazakan’s side, and the old monarch had kept him near, like a lucky charm, ever after.
As Vannek gathered his wits, he recalled that his right calf had been alive with agony when the Goddess’ storm had slammed him here. Unconsciousness had descended mercifully. He flexed his knee, then his ankle. It felt bruised, but neither sprained nor broken.
He took stock of his immediate surroundings. He saw only a scattering of motionless bodies in the moonlight. A large, roughly oblong block of crystal that encased the land treader sat near the smashed wreckage of the huge wooden scaffolding. A long straight pathway began nearby and stretched off into the darkness. That was new.
“Where is everyone?” Vannek realized his throat was dry even as Muragan handed him a wineskin. He took it without comment as he sat up.
“A storm came in,” Muragan said. “When it was gone, most of the survivors were gone with it. Through a portal.”
When the Goddess Wakes Page 17
