Then he was gone, leaving her to stumble to the single wooden chair and sink down, terror having scattered all her wits. Everything was gone except one inescapable fact: she had seen her uncle, Darian Irad, former king of Sarendan.
And he had seen her.
TEN
The first live creatures that Rel encountered were horses.
Trained horses, wandering about in a small herd. At first they were skittish, but they stayed close to him, and after a half day of steady walking, he was able to make friends with one. They had no saddles, and their hooves were new-shod. That was odd, but because there were no people around to ask, he mounted the one that nudged his shoulder expectantly. The rest of the herd followed.
Shifting from horse to horse, he rode down the great mage-made mountains, wondering what it had been like to live through such a spectacular cataclysm, and so into Sartor itself. Purple-gray haze obscured the horizons, masking the lowlands.
No one stopped him, neither friend nor enemy. Most noticeable was the silence. Not even the trill of birds broke the profound hush. To find Sartor silent, after reading of its endless music, was more sinister to Rel than anything he had seen so far.
Not that he saw anything threatening. It was as if the entire kingdom were empty. The haze was never quite like fog—he never passed through it. It seemed to recede into the middle distance, like a mirage on a sun-baked road, and the sky remained obscured beyond a thick layer of cloud.
Occasionally he passed villages and, as he proceeded southward, towns. On the borders of each he’d feel as if someone had stuffed his head with that haze. Once he tried forcing his way past. The animals became restive, and his own mind slipped into a strange sort of dream-state. He retained enough of a sense of alarm to turn away, without knowing that he was escaping the whirlpools and eddies of magic that still bound the inhabited areas.
He did not try any villages or towns again. Instead, he stayed on the south road until he reached the great city of Eidervaen. Ancient as it was, it was built on the ruins of an even more ancient city, legendary Ilderven, made before the terrible mage-war that had raised that ring of mountains to the north and far to the east, invisible now, but seen on a map like the rim of a bowl round the kingdom.
A bowl that had not been able to keep the enemy out.
Nothing prevented him from riding into the city. The streets were entirely empty. All Rel heard were the clopping steps of the horses.
The strange gray haze swirled around various buildings, muting them. Rel kept riding, veering not at all, as the street widened, becoming a great concourse lined with old silver-leafed argan trees.
The upper arches, spires and towers of a palace soared above the rooftops. Central to the palace gleamed the tower that was reputed to go all the way back in time when humans had first come to this world. That tower reminded him of another castle he knew of on the other side of the world, raised to a cloud city above a mountain. Until now he’d thought that white castle the only one of its kind.
He kept his gaze on that tower, and rode steadily.
When he neared the palace, again the horses began to get skittish. Rel dismounted and walked alone, for no one was in sight. He thought back and back, of old histories he’d read in the house of his foster-father, old ballads concerning older deeds. Voices seemed to whisper in a tricky wind; cold air that smelled of ice made him flex his hands and hunch inside his cloak.
He stayed on his path, unable to look away from that tower. He had no plan, nothing but unvoiced intent. His mind filled with images from dreams, his and those of the records he’d read, the voices mixing and whispering in liminal space.
He sat down at last on the steps of a terrace at the entrance to the great palace, wondering what it was he was supposed to do here.
He did not notice when the light faded. And then rose. And faded again, for he was now beyond hunger and thirst, and such things as the passing of days no longer carried meaning.
o0o
Norsundrians in the military and magical branches seldom bothered with children. No one wanted to be cumbered with the unending physical care of the very young, and the sort of people who chose Norsunder were seldom domestic in inclination or talent.
If you needed recruits, it was far simpler to pinch them at an age old enough so that daily care was not much more than that of a horse, but young enough so that you could exert your will to make them into what you wanted.
So the sight of a child (boy? girl? who cared!) up in Zydes’s lair, reported by some stable hands, caused some surprise. It was duly corroborated later when the quartermaster was told by Kessler to issue the smallest uniform they had ready. The only reaction was some laughter—finally Zydes found someone to impress—or some speculation on what plots he was concocting now.
Before Lilah saw Zydes next she got to walk through a cleaning frame, feeling a brief sense of relief as magic separated grime and dust and sweat from her skin and hair and teeth. But the air smelled so stale and flat and dusty, she didn’t enjoy it long.
Her gown, ruined by the journey, was exchanged for long black trousers, a heavy linen shirt, and a sturdy black winter tunic-jacket, for they didn’t have any of the gray ones small enough. The tunic had inner pockets, she discovered. She ignored those, and unpicked tiny places in the hem of sleeves and jacket to stash Atan’s ring and her thief tools, plus the Lure. That way, if Zydes changed his mind about the ring and wanted to search her pockets, he’d find them empty. When she walked out, she looked like the youngest of the night-riding scouts or messengers.
Kessler was waiting. He said, “Don’t try another bolt.”
“I won’t,” she squeaked, her throat tight with worry. Did the dead also read minds? “Are you a long-dead Landis?” she asked.
He laughed, and she flinched at the mockery. “No,” he said. “My ancestral line crossed yours centuries ago. Why?”
She almost said, Because your eyes look like Atan’s, but managed to remember her guise. A thrill of fear made her desperate. “I—I don’t know. Something Zydes said.”
He had clearly lost interest. “Come along. You’ll mess down this way.”
“With all those warriors I heard last night?” She was almost breathless with relief at the close call.
“No. This end is command and support staff. Zydes,” he added in his soft, expressionless voice, “is the current commander.”
“Oh.” She heard the faint emphasis on current. Her neck-hairs prickled again.
They walked to a plain room of stone and high windows that looked out at gray sky. Sounds of weapons and shouts came in, a rhythm that called up unexpected memories from early childhood, when she heard her uncle’s guard drilling at the royal palace. She felt the same dread, intensified by her wondering if her Uncle Dirty-Hands had told anyone his niece was here, and what would happen when he did.
Lilah tried not to worry as she was shown where to get her food. She plunked her plate down at a table where no one else sat. Kessler left her alone.
The food was plain: fresh-baked bread, cheese, limp greens obviously brought in from somewhere a long ways away, because there were certainly no gardens here, and broiled chicken. She was hungry, so she ate it all, and was pressing her thumb over the crumbs in order to munch those, too, when Kessler returned.
He jerked his thumb and out they went through another door.
“That way is the garrison,” he said. “The cavalry is housed over the stables. The foot in the far wing. Except for new recruits, which are the greatest number. New recruits from elsewhere in the world are transferred down here for training, and they are housed underground in our wing.”
“New recruits,” she repeated.
“Seldom volunteers,” Kessler replied with that sardonic edge to his flat voice. “Frequently what they must learn is not skills so much as obedience. This way for Zydes’s rooms.”
That meant the ‘new recruits’ were prisoners.
The effect of the word was like an i
nner blow, because she knew as soon as he spoke, she knew that Uncle Darian was a prisoner. How he’d loathed the thought of Norsunder in the old days! His entire life he’d been preparing to defend Sarendan against Norsunder. And whatever else you could say about him—nothing nice, of course—he had been no liar.
A prisoner. Why, that meant—
That meant—
She sighed, wrestling with duty and desire, until the Zydes’s voice interrupted her thoughts. He spoke over her head at Kessler. “I want a report from the scouts Dejain sidetracked.”
Kessler left without speaking.
Zydes frowned down at Lilah. “Where did you lose that magical ring?”
“In Shendoral, when that man grabbed me.”
Zydes turned his eyes upward in disgust. “A pity Kessler did not possess the wit to take it from you at the outset. Never mind. I can make better myself. So. You can either be enchanted so that your will is entirely subsumed under my whim, or else you will give me your pledge of obedience by choice. The latter I prefer, because I can then teach you magic, and you will, if you are quick and sensible, find yourself in a position of power in your kingdom. More than you would ever have had while you were under the thumb of some prating mage like Evend of Bereth Ferian or that old cripple, Tsauderei.”
Lilah chewed her lip. “You mean an oath of loyalty?”
Zydes laughed. It was a harsh sound that hurt her ears. “If you like, though your pledge is bound by a magical ward. Don’t waste my time gassing about light magic sentiment such as loyalty—there is no such thing. There is only obedience.” He smiled slightly. The lines in his face made it a smirk. “If you speak the pledge, rather than I, the power is the greater. But the reward is that you will have complete freedom within the boundaries I set, which will be the entire fortress. For the initial part of your learning will be as a messenger, an observer, and then as a... scout, shall we say.”
A spy, she thought, with sour dislike. Spying on his underlings, and everyone will hate me for it. Including him. Just like that disgusting Kalaeb during Uncle Dirty-Hands’ time.
He spoke a spell. She couldn’t hear the words—the sound of his voice blurred—but her teeth tingled, and her nails prickled as if she’d scratched them down granite. The air smelled metallic, as if lightning were about to strike.
Panic made her ears ring. How would she get out of it?
Zydes paused, and switched to Sartoran.
“Yustnesveas Landis. Give me your pledge to abide by my commands, within the set boundaries. You must be precise,” he added, waving his hand for her to speak.
Atan.
Lilah took in a shaky breath. “I swear that as long as I am Yustnesveas Landis that I will abide by your commands, within the set boundaries.”
She looked at him, trying to hide her anxiety. Was he fooled?
Yes, he was fooled. Her pledge was more wordy than he’d expected, but he attributed that to light magic pomposity. They set great store by their oaths and ceremonies and rituals. All nonsense, of course, and yet he was quite clever to bind the spell to her own words. Let that fool Dejain try to figure that out, and alter it!
Lilah heard more of those blurry words, then a snap. Her head felt brief pressure, which promptly eased.
Zydes sat down behind his desk to recover from the effort of that spell, and contemplated his new student. She certainly had given in quickly. Was it stupidity? Cowardice? He didn’t have enough respect to consider it for longer than a moment. She was young, and weak as all light magic people were. That was evidenced in how easily she’d been caught.
Still, intimidation was a cheap safeguard. “You are either unexpectedly practical, or else futilely devious.” His voice was slightly hoarse—as if he’d run up several flights of stairs. “It had better not be the latter.”
Lilah tried not to let her own voice quake. “Just for information, if I did try to run off, would some magic come out and strike me dead?”
“Oh no.” Zydes smirked. “That would not leave time for regret, would it?”
She heard the threat, but it was just another of so many. She thought instead about how making magic spells had had some sort of nasty effect on him, even though he was trying to hide it. Dark magic: greater power: harder to perform. Just like Atan said.
He got up, crossed the room, and pointed at a round mirror thing on a side table. Time to give her some incentive for obedience. “Now. Your first lesson. If you are diligent, I will teach you the command spell, and you can amuse yourself spying on your kingdom from here—except within the Loi boundaries, but there is nothing of interest for us there. I call this my scope...”
o0o
That same morning, many days’ travel to the northeast, Tsauderei sat in his little house high in the magic-protected Valley of Delfina, staring out the windows onto the drifting snow.
The Valley was beautiful during all seasons, the deep glacier-carved lake reflecting the silvery gray sky, against which snow etched itself as if by a master hand. But Tsauderei was in no mood for aesthetics.
His brooding thoughts were interrupted by the internal tingle of Warning magic: someone had crossed the border. With the ease of many years’ practice he performed an adjunct spell, and knew from the resultant echo of magic that the newcomers came by light magic transfer.
He sat back in his chair, and before long the flicker and wind of transfer magic deposited two figures on the upper level of his one-room cottage. The upper level functioned as a Destination.
He had time to survey his guests while they recovered from what had obviously been a very long transfer indeed. Evend, his old friend from their early days at Bereth Ferian’s Mage Guild, looked terrible. He’d always been dressy in their youth, his beard braided with ribbon, his robes edged with embroidery. Now his beard lay against his robes in disarray. His hair, white with gray streaks, was shorn close in back.
We were once young, handsome, and powerful, he thought as Evend’s deeply lined eyes slowly regained their focus. Now only the power remains, and we have learned how little of worth it is.
The second guest had recovered first, as the young will do. Resilient, their lives and hopes ahead, youth always recovered first—except from acts of injustice.
Tsauderei liked the look of this boy. A year or two younger than Atan, perhaps, light haired, light coloring and eyes, a serious face with vaguely familiar features—
Ah. Vithya-Vadnais. Was this Erai-Yanya’s child, then? Strange, that she’d had a boy. The Vithya-Vadnais mages had been women for generations.
“Tsauderei,” Evend said, sounding hoarse.
“Come. Sit. I get about with difficulty these years, so please overlook my lack of manners,” Tsauderei said to the youngster.
Evend and the boy came down to the circle of chairs before the window. Evend looked out, his deep-set eyes narrowed. “Spring has come again,” he said, and despite the wheeze in his voice, Tsauderei heard the timbre of satisfaction, of triumph. Bereth Ferian had been bound beyond time during winter for many, many years, until just last year.
Evend dropped into a chair, and said, “This is Irtur Vithya-Vadnais. I have adopted him.”
Tsauderei nodded, thinking: So you have picked an heir at last? Sadness suffused him. Evend was already foreseeing his own end.
“Welcome, young man,” Tsauderei said.
Irtur politely returned the greeting. Tsauderei liked his voice, a quiet voice, with clear enunciation, and a straightforward assessment to his gaze. Irtur was an observer.
It seemed that Evend was not yet ready to state his business. “Is the Unnamed still contemplating a crossing?” Evend made a gesture toward the west.
“She’s gone,” Tsauderei said.
The lines in Evend’s long face deepened. “You permitted her to go?”
“It was her choice.” Tsauderei sat back. “We have had this discussion at least twice.”
Evend shook his head, and sighed. “I did not believe you would act.”
“I did not act. I stood aside. We’re going to have to, you know,” Tsauderei said, smiling. “You said it yourself, last spring, hard on Zydes’s defeat.”
“I said that this was no longer our world, the one we watched over all our lives. I spoke perhaps out of defeat, out of the shock of discovery of the changes that had taken place while I was hiding beyond time.”
Tsauderei said with deliberate emphasis, “Sartor has faded from world consciousness. Everon is also a dream, as is Wnelder Vee. Imar is mired in pettiness, Colend is ruled by a madman.”
In other words: If there are any more world leaders who know magic, they are you and I, my friend. And this boy’s mother, whose magical knowledge is great, but who refuses to acknowledge the political world.
Evend passed his hand before his face, and pressed his fingertips into his brow. “And those remaining allies have walled themselves off in isolation,” Evend said. “But we’re still bound by our old oaths.”
“When you start telling me things we both know, you’re about to ask me something we both also know I’m going to—question.” Hate, Tsauderei once would have said. But Evend had taken more damage while Detlev’s prisoner than Tsauderei had at first surmised. More, even, than Evend seemed aware. “Let’s jump right to that part, shall we?”
“I believe that Norsunder’s defeat last year was too easy. I know Detlev is going to come back. Himself, this time, and not send one of his minions. I can face that prospect and prepare for it, if I know that I have in some way secured our future.”
Tsauderei watched the boy drop his head forward and look down at his hands.
“I want you to ward Irtur against what happened to me. Until he is an adult,” he added with haste, avoiding Tsauderei’s gaze.
Tsauderei thought: I was right. I do hate it. But he was the stronger in knowledge of defensive magic.
He said, “Leave the boy here. We will discuss it.”
Evend looked from one to the other, then bowed his head. The etiquette that deplored this type of magic was so ingrained that he would not argue, though Tsauderei could see the anxiety goading the once-tranquil Evend. “You will keep me apprised of Atan’s progress?” Evend asked.