Vilkas began to draw in his power, but Jamie put a hand on his arm. “No, lad, leave him be,” he said. “He needs to get it out of his system. He’ll be the better for it.” Jamie glanced at Rella, who nodded.
“I remember what it was like, seeing violent death for the first time,” she murmured. “Vomiting is the least of it. The nightmares that will come, if they haven’t already—those are the worst.”
I shuddered. Perhaps I hadn’t been so badly off, there in my silent cell.
Chalmik returned. He looked rather greener than I prefer to see people, but he seemed to be a little better.
It’s a shame, really, that Salera chose that moment to land more or less directly in front of him.
He cried out and stumbled backwards, but as no one else seemed to be bothering to panic he gathered his scattered dignity about him and stood firm. Amazed, but firm.
Will was at her side in a moment, grinning. “Welcome back, lass. I’ve missed you.”
“And I you, Father,” she said.
There was a thump from Chalmik’s direction, which we all charitably ignored.
“Though I have spent my time well,” she added. I noted with some pleasure that her speech was improving, though she still spoke slowly and carefully as her mouth grew accustomed to the shape of speech. “My people and I have made ourselves known to the Kantri and to the Dhrenagan, the Restored.” Salera’s eyes were gleaming, blue as a summer sky. “We live in a time of wonders! We are sso many, Hwill, and all so different! I never dreamed of this bounty ere we Awakened.” Her wings were fluttering in her excitement. “So many minds, so many souls to see the world and learn from one another.”
“Have they taken to your people, then?” asked Will, anxiously.
She lowered her head and touched his forehead with hers, just for an instant, to reassure him, for all the world as if she were a huge, bright copper cat. “Do not fear for us, my father. We all are the same Kindred. My people and I, the Aiala, the Awakened, together with the Dhrenagan and the Kantri—we are facets of the same soulgem. The Kantri”—and here she sighed—“the Kantri cannot help themselves, as yet. We appear to be younglings in their eyes, and in truth we are new-come to our true lives, but we are not nearly so young as they think. Still, all is new, all is changed. They will surely learn to see us in time.”
Varien stepped forward. Instantly Salera bowed, the sinuous bow of the dragon-kind. He reached out to touch her jaw, a greeting, a brief caress. “Littling, I beg you, have patience with us,” he said gendy. “For thousands of winters we have sat round fires in our chambers, telling over the old tales to pass the long nights.
For five thousand winters, Salera, we have told the Tale of the Demonlord and tried to find some way to communicate with the Lesser Kindred. In all our dreams of restoring the Lost, we never imagined that you were growing into a different people! Name of the Winds, it is yet less than a se’ennight since you and your people changed, and not even a full day since the Lost have been restored!” He grinned. “The Kantri come to Kolmar, the Lost restored—it is a winter’s tale come to life, a wonder as great as your own Awakening. Bear with us, I pray you.”
“We do not bear with you, Lord,” replied Salera. “We rejoice in you. The wider world is yet so new to us, and we have much to learn.” Her eyes twinkled. “We all have much to learn. The Kantri do not know this land, and there we may assist them. The Dhre-nagan remember it, but not as it is. Much has changed over the long ages. They will have to learn again, an old song transformed, or a new one with echoes of the old. It will be difficult at first, but surely we will sing together in time.”
“Bloody hellsfire,” muttered a voice from near the ground. Chalmik hadn’t bothered to stand up again, which I suspect was just as well. “What is this?”
Salera stretched her long neck around Will to gaze at Chalmik s seated figure. “I am not a what, Master Gedri, I am a who. I hight Salera, of the Aiala. What are you called?”
“Mik,” he replied, staring wide-eyed. “How—you’re—talking!”
“It is the way of a reasoning creature to use speech, is it not?” she asked.
“But—but I always thought—I’ve seen you in the forest, I thought you were… just…” He ground to a halt under her un—blinking gaze.
“Beasts,” finished Salera. Mik nodded. “We were, but the Wind of Change has blown upon us all. I believe you are the first Gedri I have met who was not present at our Awakening.” Suddenly she glanced back at Will. “Father—there are words for a first meeting among Gedri, I can feel the shape of them in my mind, but I do not know what I must say.”
Will could hardly keep from laughing and Varien was no better. Men! I replied calmly, ‘Tou have a choice, Salera. You can say ‘well-met,’ or ‘good day/ or you can give your use-name.”
“I have done that,” she said, worried, “but the shape of the words is not what it should be.”
Mik stood up, brushing off his robes. He approached Salera slowly but without fear. Good lad. “Good morrow to you, Mistress—uh—Sa—”
“Salera,” I whispered loudly.
“Mistress Salera. I am honoured to know you.” He put out his hand as if to shake hers.
She stared at it for a moment and looked back at me.
“We shake hands, one Gedri to another,” I said. “Will, come here, put out your hand.”
Grinning like an idiot, Will obliged me and we shook hands. Salera sighed and extended her hand, twice the size of Mik’s, each finger tipped with a long sharp talon.
“I cannot,” she said sadly. “I would harm him.”
For once in my life inspiration struck at the right moment. “Here, lass, you hold up your hand, but open it as much as you can.” She did, and the talons spread wide, leaving the tough skin of her palm exposed.
“Here, Mik,” I said. ‘Tou raise your hand too, and touch palms.”
Mik touched Salera’s palm briefly and said, simply, “Welcome, Salera.”
“Well-met, Mik,” she replied.
I couldn’t help but smile at the odd solemnity of it, but withal I found myself moved. As it happens, Mik, all unsuspecting, was the first to use the gesture of greeting between Aialakantri and Gedri that is now commonplace.
It’s a shame the moment couldn’t have lasted a bit longer. Ah, well.
Shikrar
I had been crouched over moving stone for some time. My new-healed back began to ache, so I paused, stretched my wings on high and reached out with my head and neck, easing the stiff—ness. I had not considered the effect of my full height on the nearby Gedri—I heard some cursing and, glancing down, saw that most of them had moved swiftly away from me. I am ashamed to admit that my chief thought was that, all in all, it would not be a bad thing for the Gedri to remain a little fearful of us for a time. There were so few of us, so many of them; and I was certain that the mob that had come casting accusations would not be the last to blame all their troubles on the Kantri, and others might throw more than accusations. It occurred to me as well that in all this long time, perhaps they had invented some weapon that would do us harm.
In the midst of my musing, my eye was drawn to a robed figure riding towards the town. I paid no attention until Salera shot into the air not a wingspan from me.
My mindvoice was echoed by Varien s as we both cried out to her in truespeech.
“Raksssshi!” she hissed, and launched herself at the rider on the road.
I could not get airborne nearly as quickly as she, I had to run instead. Out the ruined gates of the College and swiftly north to where the rider sat in the road, his horse long gone, gaping up at Salera as she gathered the breath of Fire. I just managed to shelter him from her Fire with my wing.
“Rakssshi! Evil!” she cried, trying to maneuver around me for a clear shot. I had never seen her fly like this. She was amazingly agile in the air, turning on a wingtip.
“We do not judge the Gedri, Salera!” I cried, struggling to protect the creature.
“Others of its kind must punish it if punishment is due. For all our sakes, control yourself!”
She screamed her frustration and wheeled away, breathing her Fire to the Winds in protest.
“You are wise, Old One,” said the creature under my wing. The stench of the Rakshasa rising from it all but choked me. The moment Salera had given up her attack, I folded my wings away. It laughed, and the eyes of the Rakshi gazed back at me from that human face. I spat Fire, carefully missing it by only a talon’s width.
“Take no comfort from my restraint,” I growled. “I would sooner destroy you than not, and I would be less forgiving than the little one—but you wear the guise of a child of the Gedri.”
“An excellent shield, is it not?” the thing mocked quiedy. “And so hard for their useless eyes to see past.”
“Goddess, it’s Healer Donal!” cried a voice. Magister Rikard came running up.
“Perhaps it was Healer Donal,” said I, cold fury in my voice. “It is now the shell around a demon.”
“I was just riding down the road when those things attacked me!” false Donal cried, as more of the Gedri crowded round. They are ever curious, as a race. The students came along close behind Rikard. Vilkas’s dark head rose above the others; at his side, as ever, kind Mistress Aral, and behind her the Lady Rella.
Jamie
“Friend, if either one of them had attacked you, we’d be looking at a pile of cinders,” drawled Rella. Her voice was light but her eyes were flint.
“The big one didn’t want to be seen to kill a human!” cried false Donal loudly, trying to back into the crowd. “It said so!”
“You poor man,” said a new voice, with nothing of pity about it. I had not seen Maran approach but there she stood, at the side of the demon-caught Healer. “Here, this should give you comfort.” She took something from around her neck and pressed her palm to false Donal s forehead.
He screamed and tried to fight her off, but she held him in a grip that regularly bent iron to her will. Eventually several men managed to remove her hand from his forehead, but still he screamed. There, as though it had been graven in his flesh, was a shape I remembered well. A star with many points around a central circle, the points in groups of three.
“What have you done to him!” cried one of the students, who was drawing in his power to help the afflicted one. False Donal tried feebly to fight him off.
“Nothing that would hurt a true Healer,” said Maran, scowling. “It’s my Ladystar,” she said, holding it up for inspection. “I had it blessed this morning. Just as well.”
The student laid his hands on false Donal and sent his power into the creature. The Gedri stopped screaming and growled, a grating, hideous noise from a human throat. “Leave off!” it snarled, knocking over the Healer and standing up. “Gah!” It rubbed the black shape on its forehead.
Magister Rikard made his way through the gathered folk. His face was grim and he glowed a clear blue, far brighter than the hapless student. “Donal, in the Lady’s name, what has happened to you?”
The thing started to curse. Rikard’s eyes widened. “True names—perhaps—I call you, Donal of Ker Torrin, Donal of the East Mountains, Donal ta-Wylark, speak to me!”
The man shuddered violently, closed his eyes, and collapsed. When next he opened them, they were no longer the eyes of the Rakshi. A plain human stared back at us all. Shaken, revulsed, terrified, but human.
“Save me, Rikard!” he cried. “It is not banished, it lurks and waits its chance to take me over once more.” He began to weep, suddenly, shockingly. “Shia’s heart, Rikard, I beg you, kill me, don’t let that thing come back!”
“How did this happen?” asked Rikard. His voice struck even me as being overly harsh in the face of such desperation. “Demons follow laws. How could they take over a man—a Healer!—if he did not invite them in?”
“I did, I confess it!” cried Donal. “For the love of Shia, I beg you, shrive me, kill me, I cannot bear it!”
“How did you fall?” demanded Rikard.
“Power,” said Donal. He was trembling in the mild air as though he lay naked in winter. “They gave us all power, power to heal, so much more than the Lady granted! And all for so small a price, that might never need be paid.” His whole body shook now, his voice thick with revulsion. “But they have called in our debt. I was drowning until you called me forth, Rikard. I know not how long I will last, I fight it with every breath as it is.”
“How may it be banished?” asked Lanen swiftly. “What have we to do to help?”
“It depends. Did you sign in blood?” asked a cold voice, and suddenly Vilkas stood over the wretch.
“No, no, it was just a lock of hair, that’s all they took from any of us.” Donal’s eyes grew wild. “Save me, Rikard, it returns. I beg you, take my life before I am lost forever!”
“You poor fool,” muttered Vilkas. “From such a compact the only way out is the death of the demon-master who made the agreement with you.”
“Who did you compact with?” demanded Maran, pushing her way forward. “Quickly, man, a name!”
“Marik of Gundar and Archimage Berys,” Donal replied, panting, as one who has run a long race. “It returns—in Shia’s name, I beg you, strike to the heart while yet my soul has hope of paradise!”
Maran went to draw her sword, Rella pulled out a dagger, but they were too slow. I went for my own weapon, but I was too late.
“Now!” screamed Donal, his face a mask of terror.
Shikrar’s talons pierced his chest, four talons sharp as swords. The Raksha, forced outside the body now that it was dead, barely had time to scream its frustration before Salera and Shikrar flamed it into oblivion.
Shikrar
With his last breath, the poor Gedri sighed “Thank you” to bright Salera and to me, and left this life to sleep on the Winds.
I bowed and sent a benison after the departing soul, and began to speak aloud the ancient prayer for the dead. I had never known it to be used for a child of the Gedri, but the Wind of Change blew stark across us all. Perhaps it was time for the Wind of Shaping to speak while the world shifted around us.
“May the Winds bear you, Donal ta-Wylark, to where the sun is ever warm and bright. May your soul find rest in the heart of light. May you join your voice to the Great Song of Tune, and may those you love who have flown before meet you and welcome you into the Star Home, the Wind’s Home, where all is well, and all is joy, and all is clear at last.”
The words were meant to give comfort, but I felt none. I had killed a Gedri Healer in full view of a hundred witnesses. No matter that I had done so to grant him release from bondage—no matter that he had begged for that mercy—it was an ill way to begin, and I did not like it as an omen.
Lanen
Varien had not flinched, even when Shikrar solved the problem of who was going to release that poor soul, but I couldn’t bear to look at the mangled body. I turned away, deeply regretting my breakfast—and there she stood. We had been near the back of the crowd when I heard some woman saying something about a Ladystar, but I hadn’t seen who it was.
Maran, my mother, stood at my left shoulder, gazing at Jamie and Rella as though her heart would break.
VIII. Healing and Healers
Rella
“Marik and Berys! He named them before witnesses!” I turned to Jamie, laughing with savage delight, and saw that his eyes burned with the same fire as mine. “Those bastards seduced that poor fool of a Healer into selling his soul to demons. They are now outlaws in every Kingdom in Kolmar. Fair game at last!”
I had been waiting years for this. The Silent Service had known for some time that Marik had been building up the House of Gundar, raising small branch Houses throughout the Four Kingdoms, each with its own supply of men and arms, and—rumour had it—its own sorcerer. I had thought that last an exaggeration.
“They have called in our debt,” Donal had said. And “They gave us power.”
Hells. br />
I grabbed Rikard from the frantic melee around Donal’s corpse. “Where was he quartered, Rikard? Where did he serve?”
“He worked in a little branch of the House of Gundar some leagues north of here, towards Elimar,” said Rikard, still gazing at the body. Rikard’s voice was flat, though with anger or with shock I knew not, nor cared in that moment. I dragged Jamie a little apart.
“Hells’ teeth,” I whispered to Jamie, “that’s it. The House of Gundar. We were right, damn it, the Healers are all sold to Marik and Berys the Bastard.”
“Every one? In all the Four Kingdoms?” Jamie swore. “Hells, there must be hundreds!”
“And Donal said the debt had been called in. If that’s an example—”
“Lady save us,” muttered Jamie, and I’d swear he turned pale under his tanned leather skin. “Hundreds like him? Walking demons?” He shuddered. “What chance would anyone have against them if there were no dragons by?’
“Little to none,” I growled. “But Vilkas said there was another way. The death of the demon-master who made the pact.” And I felt myself smile horribly. The idea of Berys’s death had always appealed to me.
‘The sooner the better.” Jamie’s sudden grin frankly blazed. “I’m first in line!” he cried.
“Only one tiny problem,” I said ruefully. “We don’t know where he is.”
“Ah,” said Jamie, suddenly quiet. “It is just as well then, isn’t it, that we’ve a Farseer to hand?”
And with that he strode over to face Maran, who stood, head high, waiting for him. I would have greeted her but she was too busy staring at Jamie, who was giving as good as he got.
They were both closed and armoured, hearts locked securely away. At least, I knew Maran well enough to see that’s what she thought she was doing, the poor innocent. You’re a blacksmith at heart, my girl, I thought, wrapping my own fragile heart in stone. You’ve had no practice. You can’t lie to iron.