Sartor

  “You mean, like a day passes for him and a year for us?”

  “Nothing so measurable,” Tsauderei said. “More like this: if the Loi, the non-human denizens there, want your journey to last an hour, even if you’ve spent a week there, it comes to pass. Or the other way.” To Atan, “Go on. We left off with Granon Zydes, the Norsundrian commander.”

  Atan pressed her trembling fingers between her knees. “In Norsunder, promotion to command is not by merit, but by defeating others. So they are not unified. Not at all. That means he has to be busy watching for treachery, and I hope he hasn’t any time for Sartor, because for him, just as for the rest of the world, nothing has happened in Sartor for a century.”

  Lilah’s slanty brows swooped upward. “So you’re saying Norsunder isn’t really as powerful as everyone says?”

  Atan turned to Tsauderei.

  “Tell her the risks,” the old mage said.

  “Well, yes they are as powerful as everyone says. More, because we can only see their temporal activities. No one ever sees the real authors, called the Host of Lords,” Atan explained, wishing she knew when the test would end—and why Tsauderei had initiated it now, on the eve of her departure. Oughtn’t there to be final magic lessons? Except she’d prepared for this day her entire life. If she was not ready, or capable, a few hasty tutorials before departure would not save her.

  While Atan bowed her head, lost in this reverie, Lilah stared at her in amazement. She couldn’t believe Atan was really going into danger all on her own. It was a horrible idea! Except who else was there to go? Tsauderei was too old. He could barely walk any more. And it sounded like this Savar wasn’t any fireball of leadership either, even if he was a mage.

  “I get what you are saying.” Lilah squirmed uncomfortably, uneasily aware that she might sound as if she was insulting the oldest kingdom in the world. But she said it anyway. “Though Norsunder is powerful, you are hoping they are so busy making evil plans for everybody else, including each other, and looking out for armies and powerful mages that they won’t notice you sneaking in to undo their spells.” When Tsauderei and Atan each nodded, Lilah scratched her head. “I have just one question. About Shendoral and time being...” She rippled her hands in the air. “So that’s the kind of magic that made it possible for Sartor to be under a spell for a century, but you’re only fifteen?”

  “Gehlei was Atan’s guard as well as a nursemaid, you knew that,” Tsauderei said, and on Lilah’s nod, “Norsunder ordered all the royal children to be assassinated, but Gehlei defeated the assassin sent to kill Atan. Ran to the mountains. The spell froze everyone in time just as she reached the border to Sarendan. But the enchantment has been slowly melting, rather like ice. I found her fifteen years ago, before Norsunder could. She’d been frozen in time until then, as is everyone in Sartor. Whoever was left after the battle has not aged a day.”

  Lilah said. “So if you sneak in, Norsunder won’t notice the enchantment breaking, and everybody hopping up after a hundred years’ sleep?”

  Tsauderei said, “Atan’s entry will break the first part of the time binding. Not all at once. As for Norsunder... the only reason I am willing to see her go is that Detlev, the Norsundrian commander we fear most, is currently not even in this world. If he turns his eyes this way, then we’ll have more trouble than we can handle. No one in my generation has won against him. This is one reason the world is in such trouble.”

  Atan said, “There’s one tower that, like Shendoral, Norsunder can’t touch, because the protective magic is far older than the palace itself. The tower’s magic was a gift to my first ancestors. It’s why Eidervaen—called Ilderven then—was first built where it was.” Atan winced. “Ooops. Story mode. I hope I’m not boring you.” She looked up, her countenance contrite.

  Lilah exclaimed in surprise, “Of course not! Why should you think that?” But as soon as the words were out, she knew why. From the look on Atan’s face, she’d obviously been found boring by someone. Maybe several someones.

  It was unsettling to see the smart, well-trained Atan looking wry as she said, “Well, if I don’t watch out, I start spouting history. I’m full of history, magic learning, and not much else.”

  Lilah stared at her, and then all the puzzle pieces flew together, like a broken window repaired by magic. Nothing to do—Peitar—Bren—everyone busy but her—

  Atan not knowing if she was boring or not, which meant she didn’t have many friends—

  At least I can be a friend. I know how to do that. Surprising herself at least as much as Atan, Lilah said, “So I think I’d better come with you.”

  TWO

  Lilah watched Atan’s eyes widen, and the big grin that glowed all across her face before the worry and concern clouded again.

  “Think about it,” Lilah said quickly—and leaned forward to squish the sickening what have I done? feeling inside. “You said that armies can’t help. Norsunder would sure notice an army. But not one girl going alone. So why not two, so she doesn’t have to be alone?” She turned to the mage. “You’re going to be watching out with magic, right?”

  “As much as I can,” Tsauderei said. “But what would your brother have to say to me, if I let this happen?”

  Lilah crossed her arms. “We promised not to nag each other. I can do what I want.”

  Tsauderei laughed. “Saying that and having it be true are two different things.” Then he drummed his gnarled fingers on his knees as his bushy brows knit. When he looked up, he said unexpectedly, “Are you serious about your offer?”

  Lilah couldn’t hide her surprise that he was actually considering it. But then, he’d let Lilah, Bren, his cousin Deon, and their friend Innon go down into Miraleste as spies in the middle of the revolution—with a magical protection.

  He must be planning to give us something like that now, she thought, and looked at Atan’s expression of anxious hope. “I am.”

  Tsauderei said, “You will pardon me?”

  He made a sign, whispered under his breath, and before Lilah’s astonished eyes he vanished.

  o0o

  Tsauderei performed the transfer magic with the destination chamber of the royal palace in Miraleste fixed in his mind.

  He did not need destination images. It was a courtesy. Unless there was emergency—or you were on familiar terms—you did not fix on close proximity to a person, and suddenly appear. The destination chamber was the equivalent of knocking on a door and giving the porter time to answer and announce you.

  It also gave him time to prepare for what might be a difficult interview. As the destination chamber page ran off to report Tsauderei’s arrival to someone, the old mage glanced out the window at the city, full of people crawling over roofs laying new tiles, or rebuilding walls. In the other direction, boats sailed peacefully about on the lake. Fall was well along here, with its colors, its cool, extraordinarily clear air, through which one could just make out the shapes of the distant mountains bordering Sartor, far to the west.

  Tsauderei contemplated those mountains, his hands clasped behind his back, until a quick, arrhythmic step behind him brought his attention round.

  He was not pleased to see not-quite-twenty-year-old Peitar Selenna looking more like forty, but he knew that every ruined house, burned field, every family with an empty chair, would weigh on Peitar’s conscience until it was somehow amended, or healed, if only by time.

  One could not alter that any more than one could alter the intense, almost severe gaze from the thin, high-browed face, the sensitivity of the curved mouth so much like Lilah’s—though the two resembled one another very little otherwise—or the air of almost endless compassion that was striking in one so young.

  “Lilah is with us in the Valley,” Tsauderei said, and pulled from his pocket a small stone. He whispered a word over it, and the air formed a glittering bubble around him and Peitar. “There. We can speak for a short time in safety. I do not wish to rely on circumlocution when we need plain speaking. Lilah wishes
to accompany Atan to Sartor, to break the enchantment.”

  “Sartor.” Peitar’s lips shaped the word, but no sound emerged.

  “We both know how impetuous Lilah is. And how loyal to her friends. I can also see how much it would mean to Atan to have a friend, or I would not be here.”

  Tsauderei was surprised and unsettled by the intensity of Peitar’s reaction, so swift and then so quickly hidden. “If you want me to, I can tie Lilah by the heels. Give her a pleasant time in the Valley.”

  Peitar crossed to the other window, the lurch in his walk somewhat easier after several weeks of careful healing spells. It was going to take at least a year to restore those mis-healed bones. Peitar would not take the time to rest, which meant his recovery would be the longer.

  “You are asking, not telling me to keep her home for her own good.” Peitar turned to face the mage. “That suggests to me that you want her to go.”

  “Yes,” Tsauderei said. “Though I have misgivings, on the whole I think it might be a good idea. With certain safeguards.”

  Peitar looked through the window again, and Tsauderei wondered what his face was expressing that he did not want seen. “Is there a chance of success? I mean, does the possibility of success outweigh the quite obvious dangers?”

  He hasn’t spoken Atan’s name, Tsauderei thought, and took a step nearer, until he could see Peitar’s profile, half-hidden by the long, splendid dark brown hair he’d obviously forgotten to comb and tie back that morning. “I trust so.”

  “You cannot go with them,” Peitar observed.

  “No. Too many wards against me. If I perform the smallest spell, Norsunder is alerted in both the temporal and non-temporal realms. What you see before you,” he said, smiling with irony, “is a worthless old bag of bones who can no longer even heft a sword. Not that I was ever much good, even in my young days. I was adept at gymnastics and running and riding, but I never did learn to bang at people with steel. And magic I can just as well employ from a distance.”

  “That would be my preference as well.” Peitar’s profile was tense, his mouth compressed into a line. Yet he was not refusing.

  “What I am gambling on is that the two girls will go unnoticed. Atan is determined. I believe a companion would be a good thing for her to have.”

  Peitar’s head lifted when Tsauderei said ‘Atan.’ It was a tiny gesture. Most would not have seen it. But Tsauderei had made a lifelong study of human nature as well as magic, and he remembered vividly his own ardent youth.

  So he guessed what Peitar would have kept hidden: that he was suffering the throes of a first, adolescent love.

  The impulse to smile ruefully vanished. Any other young man of nineteen was certain to recover as swiftly as he’d fallen, but Peitar wasn’t like the usual young man, any more than Atan was like the usual girl of fifteen.

  Of course it had happened—he should have foreseen it, all those conversations during the stresses of the summer, history, reading, theories of government. While rain pattered outside and the fire leaped on the grate. Tsauderei should have foreseen it, and yet he would not have taken away those conversations, which two lonely young people had clearly cherished.

  I trust and hope he recovers, Tsauderei was thinking. This cannot possibly end well.

  Peitar broke into these thoughts. “Wish them both the best. And tell Lilah I’m glad that she is helping in this quest. She does have a knack for being in the right place at the right time, it seems.”

  “I shall,” Tsauderei said, and performed the transfer spell.

  o0o

  When Tsauderei vanished by magic transfer, a puff of displaced air buffeted Lilah’s face as the flames in the fireplace snapped and stirred. “Wow! That was weird!”

  “Transfer magic,” Atan said, wishing she could go to Miraleste, Sarendan’s capital, and see what improvements Peitar was making. Talk to him again, like they had during summer. Only now he would be too busy, surely...

  “Can you do that?”

  “Yes.” Atan smiled. “But I won’t be able to do it in Sartor because it’s warded against light magic using that spell.”

  “Light magic. That’s the kind that builds, or repairs, or makes things better in the world, right?”

  “And dark magic burns or spends magic. Its primary purpose is warfare. Well, more precisely, force. So dark magic spells are very, very hard to break, whereas light magic spells must be renewed.”

  Lilah nodded. “I remember reading about magic being gone after the Fall of Old Sartor. Though I thought it was more of that legend kind of talk, because of all that other stuff that the old poems and things said. You know, about how our ancestors had magic without doing spells, and talked to each other in dreams, and nagoo yadoo, nagoo yadoo.”

  Atan smiled. “Apparently some of it really did happen.”

  “Huh.” Lilah snapped her fingers. “Tsauderei did tell us that they used to control the aging process, before he did the child spell for us.” She scowled. “Tsauderei said he can lift it whenever we want to begin the change toward grownup, but I don’t want that. Ever. If it means ending up like my mother.”

  Atan bit her lip. “You are talking about romantic love?”

  Lilah held her nose and waved a hand. “More like the stench of romantic love.”

  “Yet you love your brother,” Atan said.

  “Of course I do!”

  “So family love is to be revered, but not the love that begins the family?” Atan asked.

  Lilah snorted out her breath. “You haven’t read my mother’s diary. Family love is smart. It’s good. You protect each other, and if you argue, well, you don’t get angry forever. But romance?” Her face reddened as she said fiercely, “It just makes you stupid! Mother loved my uncle. Yuk! I know, but apparently he wasn’t so bad when he was young. However, that’s nothing to what she turned into when she fell in loooove with Derek’s father. Drip, drip, drip, her whole diary turned from interest in her garden and other people to moaning about Kepreos this and Kepreos that. Drip? Rivers and oceans of tears, all the time!” She made a gesture of warding. “So he walks into a snow bank, in spite of having two small boys, and she gets herself sick and dies when I was a baby. Romantic love is selfish and stupid.”

  Atan had never seen Lilah so bitter and angry. It was the more unsettling because some of what Lilah said paralleled things she had wondered. Your parents were ill-matched in everything but love, Gehlei had said once. Strange, how powerful love is, and how poisonous when it doesn’t go balance. Then she’d frowned, and refused to say more.

  Lilah said, “I can’t help thinking that, as usual, the adults don’t know anything worthwhile, and what’s needed are some kids to solve the mess. Like the rest of the Sharadan Brothers. That is, Deon has gone off to find those kid pirates somewhere up north, but Bren and Innon would surely come. Or at least Bren. He’s got nothing else to do.”

  “But the more people we have, the more likely we are to draw attention.”

  Lilah jumped when a glittery flicker on the edge of her vision resolved into Tsauderei. Again displaced air breezed around the little cottage room. Tsauderei’s face was tight with strain. Obviously, transfer magic wasn’t easy for mages, either.

  “Peitar wishes you both success.”

  Lilah grinned, and patted the pocket of her gown. “As it happens, I got into the habit of always traveling with my thief tools. But there’s one thing I’m missing. So if I don’t come back right away, you better get someone to haul me away from the Lure-flowers.”

  Tsauderei didn’t argue, or even remonstrate. He said only, “You have an appropriate container?”

  “The spice bags we used all summer. Kept ’em from drying out and losing their strength. But Innon actually got ’em. Is there a trick to harvesting them?”

  Tsauderei nodded. “Not a trick, just extreme care. Spot the ones you want, make a dive, and begin holding your breath midway down. You have to get the entire flower, because it’s the dust inside that c
arries the magic that puts humans into deep sleep.”

  Lilah said, “All right. Better get busy.”

  Atan watched the girl vanish through the door before turning to Tsauderei.

  “What is it, Atan? Second thoughts?” the mage asked, recognizing the expression in his student’s face. Twelve years of Atan’s fifteen, he had been her teacher, a position he never would have chosen for himself, but he had been appointed by the Mage Council.

  He knew at glance that she was suffering ambivalence, and also knew that getting her to express it required prodding. She kept things inside too readily.

  Atan let out a short sigh, trying to ease that awful knotted feeling in her middle. “I want Lilah to come with me, and yet I can’t help thinking, what if something happens?”

  Tsauderei sat back, the fire reflecting twin pinpoints in his dark eyes. “Ah. I am afraid I don’t have any comforting advice to offer you, Princess Yustnesveas. The moment you step over that border, your innocence ends. You will begin a lifetime of feeling responsibility for others who willingly offer their lives for your cause. It is the pain of being a ruler, one I never want you to stop feeling, because the day you do, you turn into a tyrant.”

  Atan ran her damp palms down her sides, but that didn’t help the iciness of her fingers.

  “I have regretted the necessity of permitting you to go into Sartor alone, ever since the prospect before us evolved into reality. Lilah’s offer makes me glad. She’s young, but she’s smart and practical. She does not have that visionary gift that runs through the Irad family, but it’s more than compensated with the Selenna adaptability and good humor. Lilah will be good company for you. She will do her best to make you laugh. Get her to Shendoral, and if there is danger beyond, leave her there. That magic, I feel safe in venturing, being far older than Norsunder’s evil, will keep her safe.”

  Atan ducked her head. “Thank you. I have one last favor to ask.”

  The old mage lifted a hand.