“Desperately,” I said, still shaking.
“Go ahead and try,” he said. “Even if you manage it, I’ll live.”
“I dare not,” I replied, turning away from him, breathing far too fast and too deep, “lest I have still some of my old strength and I injure you.”
“Ah. Come over here,” he said, catching my arm and leading me back to the pell, but never turning his back on me. Wise man. “Now. Pull your sword out with your right hand and use your full strength when you’re drilling. Take out your anger on it—and don’t worry, if you damage the pell I can make another one.”
It was a relief to let out my anger in striking something, to feel the steel bite deep into the wood and to pull it out again by main strength. I thought it was dissipating until Jamie cried out, “Now! Kill it!”
His timing was superb. I had just begun a high forehand swing, and I put all my anger and my whole body into the stroke, shouting as I hit.
There was a noise of tearing wood, a loud crack, and a dull thump and clatter as the top third of the pell landed on the cobbled yard.
There was deep silence for a moment.
“Hellsfire, Varien,” said Jamie then, very quietly. “Let me thank you now for not taking me up on my offer to let you strike me. Lanen’s lost one father this year, that’s enough for anyone.” He kept staring at the lump of wood on the ground.
I grinned. “You are welcome.”
I was calm again, all my anger gone in that last stroke. I had seldom had the satisfaction of using my full strength as one of the Kantri. It was good to know that I could do so in my new form. “In any case,” I said to Jamie, “at least you believe in truespeech now.”
“Varien, lad, I believe absolutely everything you two have told me,” said Jamie, still gazing at the severed lump of wood. I could not entirely recognise the tone of his voice, but it sounded a little like awe. “Absolutely everything.”
“Shall I continue my practice?” I asked.
He looked up at that, clapped me on the shoulder and smiled. “No, lad, I think this will do for a first session. Besides,” he said as he took me by the arm and led me into the house, “I need to make a new pell.”
Lanen
I was still a bit dazed as I watched the pair of them disappearing into the mud room off the kitchen. I leaned down and picked up the sheath of Varien’s sword, forgotten for the moment, and like Jamie stared at the result of Varien’s anger.
He had cut through a block of wood a hand-span thick with a blunt sword.
Jamie was right, Varien didn’t really need too much practice. All he needed to learn about swordplay was how to avoid his opponent’s strokes—and how to aim.
Roughly.
Shikrar
On my return from Terash Vor I landed in a clearing some distance from my chambers, in cold darkness. Judging from what Kédra had said, I guessed it must be no more than the first full moon of the new year—there were then several hours of darkness yet to come before dawn brought better hope and clearer thought. I remembered from my early youth having seen what looked like the end of the world in the darkness over Terash Vor. My father had taken me back the next day to show me that daylight would restore my perspective wonderfully. I had seen in the sunlight that day that there was not nearly so much fire as there had seemed. I had little hope on this occasion that daylight would bring any more illumination than the sun itself provided, but I would have to go back and make certain.
For the moment, however, I decided to walk the rest of the way back to my home, for my wings were stiff and sore and my new-healed shoulder ached with the chill of the high air. Winter lingered still, but the calm cold of the ground felt positively warm compared with the moving chill of the high winter wind.
Seeing the red glow of the earth’s wounds is very like watching the ground bleed, and it is profoundly disturbing. Seen in darkness it inspires fear even beyond its merits. I kept repeating this to myself as I walked, for the little comfort it brought, for I knew in my bones that when I returned to the firefields this noontide I would find no comfort in that sight.
As I drew near my own chambers I was delighted to see that Kédra was there before me and had lit a fire in the pit to welcome me. Of course he had warded the Chamber of Souls while I kept the Weh sleep, it was his duty, but I was deeply cheered nonetheless to see the light. Warmth engulfed me as I entered my chamber again and I sighed deeply with relief.
“Ah, Kédra, I rejoice to see you, and the blessing of the Winds upon you for lighting a fire. This night has got into my bones.” I stood in the flames, revelling as the fire licked around me and the piercing cold of the high air left me. Fire is life to us, and though it warms, no flame born of wood could possibly harm us. I closed my eyes and arched my long neck, putting my nose almost to the base of the fire to let the friendly flames warm my faceplate, sighing delightedly with the warmth. The fire licked gently at the soulgem in the centre of my forehead, sending a shiver of heat through me. I pulled my tail into the circle and folded my wings tight against my sides, letting every surface be caressed by the fire. Kédra hissed his amusement at my self-indulgence as I bathed in the generous warmth.
He had a large bowl of water warmed for me as well, flavoured with itakhri leaves. This brew is not for us the sovereign remedy that hlansif is for the Gedri, but it has a pleasant taste and warms from within, and it is cheering on a winter’s night. As soon as I could tear myself away from my fire-bath I drank deeply.
Kédra had waited a long while but he was far too curious for much patience.
“Well, my father?”
I did not answer immediately. The vision of the firefield was before me still, and the words to encompass it did not come easily.
“My father, what did you find?” he asked again. His voice was grown a little solemn, for he knew me well.
My own voice would have turned traitor had I allowed it. Instead I said calmly, “Kédra, my son, you have kept well since the birth of your littling? You do not neglect your exercises in the air for the joy of beholding your son?”
“Mirazhe and I both fly every day,” he said, smiling. “A good two hours each, as you taught me long ago.”
“And Sherók enjoyed being held as you flew last night. That is well.” I closed my eyes. “He will not be wing-light for many years yet, poor littling, and I fear there may be a great deal of flying to be done long ere that time comes.”
I do not know if Kédra was being stubborn, or if it was only that he had not seen what I had. “To what end? Why all this talk of flying, Father? The firefields bear watching, surely, but what need has my Sher6k of flight at his age?”
I bespoke him, showing him in the privacy of our minds that which I could not yet put into words.
Kédra swore. “Name of the Winds, Father. Are you certain?” he asked quietly. His voice held little hope—as I say, he knew me too well.
“Ask Idai if you will, for she flew with me,” I replied. “I have seen—once, when I was barely past my second kell, I saw the firefields roiling in the starlight. What she and I overflew last night makes that seem as perilous as cloud across the moon.”
“I see.” Kédra heaved a sigh and was silent for a moment, then looked at me and said wryly, “You know that there will be some who will blame even this on the Lady Lanen and Lord Akhor. So soon after that great upheaval, our very home destroying itself—I do not envy you, Father. How will you convince them otherwise?”
“I shall knock their heads together until I rattle some sense into them,” I replied shortly, for Kedra had said aloud what I had been thinking. I had known since Akhor left with his lady that every ill for many years to come would be laid at their feet, but I had never imagined that anything so drastic would happen so soon. Ah, well. Life delights in catching us napping. I yawned.
“My son, would you watch here with me yet a few hours? I feel the need of rest. The earthshake woke me from the Weh, and I am weary yet.”
Kédra was in
stantly solicitous. “Your pardon, my father. In the turbulence I forgot you had been wakened untimely. Feel you the need to return to your Weh chamber?”
“No, I thank you,” I replied, settling on my bed of khaadish. “For the most part I am healed. My shoulder is stiff and a little sore, but no more than I can bear. No, I need only rest, and meat when I wake.” I had shaken my wings just so and was tucking my tail under my head when Kédra said, “Father, truly, are you well enough to deal with the Council and what may come after?”
I glanced up at Kédra, who was gazing down at me and standing in the Attitude of Concern. I looked away and sighed. “Perhaps you are right, my son, and I am simply growing too old,” I said, attempting to sound piteous.
It had the desired effect, though I could not sleep until he stopped laughing.
The Summer Field is so called for its loveliness in high summer, when the flame’s heart, with their bright crimson flowers, bloom in their vast numbers alongside the deep purple and vivid green of summer midnight and the spiky yellow blossoms of the sunstars. I have not made a study of such things and know no more than their names, but their beauty always cheers me in the warmer months. The field itself is no more than a broad expanse of grassland, with enough room for all of us who remain to gather comfortably.
In the winter it tends to be a hard, frosty plain full of old stubble, neither comfortable nor lovely even in a stark winter fashion. However, it is outside and a wingbeat away from open air and safety, rather than being warm, underground and a constant danger, as is our Great Hall when the earth is unsettled. I knew not how many would come, as I had not called a formal Council.
The day was grey and cheerless when Kédra roused me from sleep, wing-stiff, sore and muzzy-headed and not at all inclined to tell the gathered Kantri that it was possible that we would all have to leave our home. Kédra had let me sleep as long as he could, leaving me only time enough to eat the haunch he had brought me before I had to leave for the gathering. I had hoped to have time to consider further what I might say, to soften the blow perhaps, to have alternatives to put to them. Still, sometimes it is best simply to lay the truth in all its starkness before those who must hear it and be done with it. No matter how much blame was laid at Akhor’s feet—or more likely thrown at his absent face—we still had to consider what to do, and that quickly.
I drank deeply of the cold spring near my chamber and that roused me enough to think straight. I started walking to warm my muscles, but eventually I had to stretch my stiff wings and fly the rest of the way to the Summer Plain, not knowing who or what I would find there.
As it happened, there were fewer there than I had anticipated. Earthshakes even as violent as the ones in the night were common enough not to inspire much fear in us, and the others had not seen what Idai and I had seen. Still, a score of the Kantri had gathered in that cold, windy place, one in ten of our number, to speak of what was to do.
I thought I had landed reasonably well for one both stiff and sore, but Idai bespoke me with her concern. “All is as well as may be, my friend. Help me now.” I replied, and bowed to the assembly. “I give you good morrow, my friends, and I thank you for attending,” I called out loudly. “There is much to be done.”
Kretissh spoke first, a soul nearer my age than Kédra’s. His voice was a strong comfort in the feeble daylight. “Shikrar, Keeper of Souls, what have you to tell us beyond what we know? The earthshakes were strong last night, truly, but no stronger than others have been and others will be. I know you of old, Teacher-Shikrar. What has moved you to call your students together?”
That raised a little laughter. I have an old habit of teaching. I taught flight to the younglings when there were enough to teach and I cannot seem to get out of the way of it. Akhor used to tease me about it as well, calling me Hadreshikrar, that is Teacher-Shikrar. How I missed him.
“Kretissh, would that there was aught I might teach any of you now. I am rather in need of knowledge myself, and hope that one among you might enlighten me.” I had no need even to raise my voice, so few of us were gathered. “My kindred, I went to Terash Vor after the earthshakes last night, and it was …” I closed my eyes for a moment. “It was worse even than fear could imagine. Never in all my years have I seen the firefields so active, so much of the ground flowing like water. It has shaken me to my bones. As witness I call the Lady Idai, who met me there.”
Idai addressed us all in truespeech, valiant, angry, bitter with the telling, for she was farsighted and knew what lay before us even as I attempted to deny it.
“Shikrar, the Keeper of Souls, speaks truth. Terash Vor is alight, and Ail-neth, and both Lashti and Kil-lashti burn. The other mountains do not sleep, but they are not yet as awake as are those four. My people, I have seen the Wind of Change sweeping over the very earth we stand upon. We must consider this deeply.”
From among the mutters a voice called out. “Eldest, you have seen such things many times. If this is worse than you have seen before, what of it? All things pass in time.”
“I hear you, Trizhe,” I replied. “And I too have had that thought, which is why Kédra and I are preparing for the Kin-Summoning. Perhaps one of the Ancestors might know more than we, might have seen such an upheaval before.”
I looked out over them. Most were not seriously concerned and seemed to think as Trizhenkh did, that this was merely the worst that had been for a while and, like all the others before it, would go away in its time. Maybe he was right.
Then in that cold and barren place I saw again in my mind’s eye the firefields alight, the ground all but boiling, and knew that he was not.
“I will speak of the outcome of the Kin-Summoning on the morning after the second full moon from this day. Let us gather here, for I shall here summon you all to Full Council for that time. Until then, I would ask three things of you gathered here. First, that others fly to Terash Vor to see for themselves why I am so filled with foreboding. Second, that at least one in each household might begin to keep watch. If the earth sleeps but lightly, so must we.” I hesitated, but knew I had to speak of this. “It may be, my friends, that our time on this island is at an end. I would therefore ask a third boon—that the younger of us should fly far, east, south, north and west, as far as wings will bear you, to learn if there is another place where we may make our home. We will ask the Ancestors, but sometimes newer knowledge is useful as well.”
That brought a surprised silence from most, but I was not the only one who had had that thought, for a voice rang out, saying “And what if there is no such place, Eldest? You know that we have long sought such a place and have never found it. What then, Teacher-Shikrar?”
I turned to Kretissh, for it was he who had spoken. “Then, my old friend, we are going to have to think very seriously about returning to Kolmar.”
“And the Gedri?” he asked angrily, amid loud murmurs.
“Let us not borrow trouble from the morrow, Kretissh, for surely we have troubles enough this day. If we must deal with the Gedri, we shall, but that day may be far, far distant, and in any case such a decision would have to be made by us all. Let us speak with the Ancestors first and learn what we may.”
Kretissh was not satisfied but in truth there was no more to say. When all who had come were scattered again, I bespoke all of the Kindred, letting my concern colour my thoughts as I called out the words of summoning that were used when a special Council was called. Never used for nearly six hundred years, then twice in six moons. Truly, the Winds must laugh at us sometimes.
“Hearken, O my people. Let all who are wing-light come to the Summer Plain at midday on the first day of the second full moon hence, and let those who cannot attend be certain to share truespeech with one who is present. I, Shikrar, Eldest and Keeper of Souls, in the name of Varien the Lord of the Kantri, call a Council of the Kindred, for there are deep matters to consider and much to be done to guard our future. I summon ye, my people all. Come to the Council.”
I sighed and se
t out for my chambers. If I was to perform the Kin-Summoning there was much now to do.
iv
The Mercenary’s Tale
Callum
Don’t know why you’re asking me, I was only there the once.
Well, twice.
Yes, that’s why we’d come so far from Sorún. Devlin, the master of our troop, told us we’d been hired to seek out a woman, up north Ilsa way. Why the man would need a whole gang of mercenaries to find and take a woman had us all thinking maybe she was a witch, but Devlin said she wasn’t. And she was not to be harmed, just found and brought away.
It was my first job with them. I’d just come into Sorún from—well, never you mind—and I thought I’d try this mercenary lark. I’d been a soldier for a little while, and since I’d managed to live through that I decided it was an easy way to make a living. I was a titch then as now, you know, small built, and I’d found that if you make a living with your sword men are less inclined to make fun of you.
Aye, aye, I know. I was nineteen at the time. I’ll wager you were wise as Shia at nineteen. Everybody is.
’T any rate, we’d been travelling for nearly two moons when we first started to realise we were in the right part of the world. Our instructions hadn’t been the best but Devlin was used to that, and the buyer wasn’t stingy with our pay so time wasn’t a problem. Or it wouldna been if it had been summer instead of bloody winter. There were eight of us and we had to camp a lot more often than we’d have liked. The cold got into my bones, lying on the hard ground, but I never let on. Too busy telling myself and all the others that I was fine, I could take the cold, I was man enough. Never mind that the others were all old in the trade, to a man scarred inside and out, minds of stone and skin of leather. Never occurred to me that their faces would be mine, did it? Old is something that happens to other people when you’re nineteen.
Well, we finally found the right village, or Devlin did. He and Ross, his second, left us all in a quiet little tag end of a wood while they went along to the nearest inn for a bite and a sup. Came back that night half-cut with the drink and laughing, they’d found word of her right enough. She was some local farmer’s daughter, her da had died summer last and she’d gone away soon after, come back just before Midwinter Fest with some man she’d married on the longest night. That got some laughs, me the loudest. I said she must be ugly to need all that dark and the others laughed some more.