Authors: Angus Wells
Someone laughed at that and said, “You told us he was direct, Urt.”
He
was
present then: I felt more hopeful. I said, “Shall you remove Rwyan’s necklace now?”
“Shall that be done?”
I recognized Geran’s voice. There was a murmur of assent, and a Changed with an equine look about his long face stepped down from the benches. He was in his middle years, his hair a dull brown. He wore a robe that trailed the floor, dark green chased with silver patterning. Like the female who had delivered us here, he wore a golden circlet about
his brow. I noticed that his hands were spatulate as he raised them to Rwyan’s neck.
He sprang the lock and slipped the silver links from her throat. She sighed as if a weight were lifted from her and turned her head from side to side. I saw her talent fill her eyes and smiled.
She said, “I can see again.” Her voice was joyful.
The horse-faced man pocketed the necklace and trod a pace backward. “We’d not inflict needless hurt,” he said.
From the benches someone said, “That’s the province of Truemen.”
“Not all.”
I recognized that voice! I squinted into the light, seeking Urt.
I found him on the seventh tier. He seemed unchanged. Perhaps smaller, or I had grown since Durbrecht, but not at all aged. He gave me a small smile, but on his face I read concern. He ducked his head a fraction, acknowledging me, and made a gesture difficult of interpretation. I thought perhaps he warned me to tread wary.
The spokesman said, “We’d not keep you blind, mage. But know this—your talent is limited here, bound by our magic. It is a small thing, but do you attempt to use it against any Changed or any guest, then what follows shall make your blindness seem a pleasure.”
Rwyan nodded. She stared directly at the seated figures. (Once more gifted with occult vision, she could see them better than I.) She said, “Why am I here?”
A new voice said, “Because we’d have you here.”
“Why?” she demanded.
“You presume!” The speaker was clearly angered. “Ours to ask, yours but to answer.”
“And do I choose not?”
I saw a figure rise, limned in sunlight, indistinct. I thought it was a female. One arm flung out, and I heard Urt cry, “No!”
I sprang before Rwyan. Tezdal was at my side, both our bodies interposed between Rwyan and the standing figure. I thought we should be struck down. I was certain this Changed—perhaps all those present—commanded magic.
Urt said, “Do we condemn Truemen and ourselves use
their ways? Shall we rise bellicose against every little argument?”
“What other language do Truemen understand?”
“Some, kindness. Some seek to redress wrong. Not all are evil.”
“Not this one? This mage? One of those who made us and make us their servants?”
Rwyan said, “There are no servants on the Sentinels.”
“But enough in Dharbek,” came the response. “I tell you again—finally!—that you’ll answer, not ask.”
“You command like a Trueman born, Allanyn.”
Urt’s words were dry. I’d heard that tone before, used on Cleton, sometimes on Ardyon. Almost, I smiled. The one called Allanyn, however, found it not at all amusing. Her angry shriek was entirely female, and feline. I saw her arm drop as she rounded on my old friend. And friend still, I dared hope.
She said, “You insult me, Urt. Newcome to the Raethe, do you assume to slight me?”
The spokesman said, “Newcome or old, Allanyn, all have equal place here.”
“I’ll not be called a Trueman!” Allanyn snarled.
Mildly, Urt said, “I’d never name you that.”
Was it an apology, it sounded mightily like an insult. Allanyn appeared confused, unsure whether to take affront or allow appeasement. She remained on her feet, staring past her fellows at Urt as if she contemplated turning the full force of her rage on him.
Geran said, “Allanyn, do you sit? Better that we reach agreement before we resort to threat.”
I liked the sound of that not at all.
Rwyan pushed between Tezdal and me then. She seemed undeterred by Allanyn’s rage or any threat of reprisal. I clutched her arm and said urgently, “No! Rwyan, hold your tongue.”
Allanyn said, “Your lover gives sound advice, mage.”
I thought to deflect her anger. I said, “I’d know why we’re here no less than Rwyan.”
Allanyn said, “These Truemen are presumptuous.”
I shrugged and said, “We were kidnapped, brought prisoner here. Is it so odd we’d know the why of it?”
One of them chuckled and said, “That seems reasonable enough.”
Allanyn spat, for all the world like her forebears thwarted in some savage design.
Urt said, “Reason is usually the sounder course. From my own experience in Dharbek, I tell you that kindness brings a surer result than the lash.”
There was murmur of voices then. Some I thought in agreement, others opposed. I thought there were factions here, and that Urt sought to defend us. I hoped he should prevail.
The debate died away. Geran stood, his back to we three as he studied his fellows. One by one, they either nodded or shook their heads. I could not see clearly enough I might make out which faction won. The spokesman told me.
“You, Daviot, are here by accident, though I suspect we shall find a use for your Storyman’s talent. The mage because we’d glean knowledge of her magic—”
Rwyan interrupted him, defiant. “I’ll give you nothing!” she cried. “I’ll not betray Dharbek!”
As if she’d not spoken, the Changed continued, “The Sky Lord Tezdal, we’d return to his own.”
Rwyan said, “There
is
alliance!”
Geran ducked his head. “We treat with the Sky Lords, aye. Should we rather allow our brethren to continue under the Trueman’s yoke? Must we go to war to free them, then war it shall be.”
“And how many die?” Rwyan asked. “Changed and Truemen both. And Sky Lords.”
“Reason?” Allanyn’s voice rang contemptuous. “There’s no reasoning with this one.”
I said, “Tezdal’s no memory.”
“That we can right,” the spokesman said, and turned to Tezdal. “Would you have back your memory, Lord Tezdal?”
Tezdal frowned. He glanced at Rwyan and at me; I saw hope flash in his eyes, and suspicion. He said, “I’d know who I am, aye. But you should know this—Rwyan saved my life, and I have sworn to defend her. I’ll not see her harmed; neither Daviot, who is my friend. Who looks to harm them shall answer to me. Be I Sky Lord or no, that vow I’ll honor.”
I knew in the instant of his speaking that even were his
memory restored and he become again a Kho’rabi, he would honor that promise.
The spokesman nodded gravely, as if he, too, acknowledged Tezdal’s integrity. But then he said, “Do we first give you back your past and you be whole again; then do you decide where lie your loyalties.”
Softly, I heard Tezdal murmur, “That I already know.”
Rwyan said, “Are you truly able? Those techniques of the Mnemonikos known to Daviot have failed. Shall you succeed where he could not?”
“And doubtless you and your fellow sorcerers attempted it.” Geran’s voice held an echo of laughter. “However, where Truemen failed, I believe we may succeed.”
“You must,” said Rwyan, “command powerful magicks.”
I saw that she sought to learn something of their powers. No less the spokesman, for he smiled and said, “Lady, we do.”
“And do you refuse us, you’ll soon enough witness them firsthand,” said Allanyn.
Rwyan turned her eyes to where the cat-bred woman sat. “I tell you again,” she said, “that I’ll not betray Dharbek. What I know of our magic, I’ll not give you.”
Allanyn snorted spiteful laughter. “This wastes our time. The mage cannot be reasoned with. I say we end this dalliance, and use the crystals on her without delay. Let her defy
them!”
I cried out, “No!” And soft in Rwyan’s ear as fresh debate erupted, “Would you goad them needlessly? This one would have your life.”
Before she could answer, Urt spoke. “Reason may yet prevail.” His voice rose over babble. I had not known he was capable of so commanding a tone. “Do you but hear me out?”
“Do you plead for your Trueman friends, no.”
That was Allanyn, her rejection echoed by others of her sympathy. More called that Urt be heard, and finally the spokesman quelled their argument, motioning that Urt speak.
He said, “I think us agreed on one thing—that the Lord Tezdal be restored his memory. Is that not so, Rwyan?”
Rwyan said, “That was ever my intent.”
“Daviot?”
I nodded and said, “Aye.”
“And such restoration was attempted by the sorcerers of Dharbek, who failed?”
I could only nod. Rwyan said, “Obviously,” her tone a deliberate provocation.
Urt ignored it. He said, “Then can we succeed where you could not, the strength of our magic must be proven, no?”
I sensed a trap; I wondered where he took us, down what road. Did he look to protect us from Allanyn’s wrath or to betray us? I thought I could no longer entirely rely on his friendship: like Rwyan, he must surely define his loyalties here. I hesitated to answer.
Rwyan did not. She said carelessly, “Can you give Tezdal back his memory, then in that I must acknowledge your magic the stronger.”
Urt nodded gravely. Allanyn spat and said, “In that and more, mage. I say again—this wastes our time. I say we prevaricate no longer but put her to the test.”
As a murmur of agreement arose, Geran stood, arms raised until he had again silence. “Let Urt have his say.”
Allanyn’s cohorts fell quiet, reluctantly. Urt said, “Allanyn speaks true—that magic we command surpasses yours now. Does the Raethe choose it, then your mind can be drained of all its knowledge. Willing or unwilling, you’ve not the strength to resist.”
His tone was urgent, but I could not decide whether he warned Rwyan in friendship or in threat. I wondered how well I could know him now, after so long. Well enough to recognize a warning? Did he ask our cooperation that Rwyan might survive intact? Or did he only threaten, and I hope in vain that we’d found an ally?
I heard Rwyan say, “You shall slay me ere I betray Dharbek.”
I cursed the sunlight that denied me clear sight of Urt’s face. I could see him only as an outline, standing amidst his fellows, and must judge his intent from his voice alone. And that, I realized, was surely modulated as much for his companions as for Rwyan or me. Did he seek to aid us, he could not risk revealing his purpose.
He said, “Lady, there should be no need. Are you given to the crystals, you’ll tell us all, without let or hindrance.
You’ll have no choice; and after, your mind should be a void.”
The chamber was warm, but I felt cold. I dared not speak.
Rwyan said, “My case is stated. Do you put yours?”
Some little hope there. Urt said, “We are not those meek Changed you know in Dharbek. We’ve power here, and I’d show it you. Do you witness our strength, and then decide.”
Rwyan said, “My decision was taken long ago, when I took those vows my College requires.”
I must admire her courage. At the same time I was possessed of a great desire to shake her violently, to clap a hand over her mouth and agree on her behalf. She appeared bent on destroying herself. The thought of my lovely Rwyan reduced to a mindless husk (I had absolutely no doubt Urt spoke true in that) set a cold and sour knot in my gut.
I heard Allanyn mutter, “Time wastes.”
Urt said, “Do you watch us restore the Lord Tezdal his memory and know our power. After, you may agree to what we ask and remain whole; or—”
“I’ll take her for a servant,” Allanyn said, the sally met with laughter from her supporters.
I could hold silent no longer. I turned to Rwyan and said, “Rwyan, for the God’s sake—for my sake!—agree to this at least.”
She faced me with an unfathomable expression. “Would you ask me to betray myself?” she demanded.
I was caught, my choice betwixt net and hook. I’d have her live, whole. But did I seek to persuade her to forswear her duty, I knew I should lose her. I groaned and shook my head. “Not that,” I said. “But the time’s not yet come for that. I say only that you agree to what Urt suggests—observe their power, and after decide.”
She held my troubled gaze awhile, then calmly she turned to the assembly: “So be it. Do you show me what you can do.”
Surely it took them aback, for none spoke awhile, not even fierce Allanyn. And then Geran said, “Very well. Let us prepare.”
They came down from their tiered benches then, all of them, gathering about us, and Geran said, “This shall take
some little while. Do you go with these,” and we were surrounded by Changed wearing the golden circlets on their brows.
Tezdal made to leave with us, but the spokesman touched his arm and said, “Lord Tezdal, do you wait here. Your companions shall not be harmed.”
Tezdal shook his head, protesting. He pulled loose of Geran’s hand and moved toward us. The spokesman gestured, and Changed stepped close as if by accident but nonetheless blocking Tezdal’s way. I thought the Sky Lord would fight them, but Rwyan called out, “Tezdal, do you obey. There’s no harm shall come us yet,” and he frowned, hesitating. Rwyan called again, and he nodded. He seemed bewildered but made no further move to join us.
The movement of the throng hid him, and Geran nodded approvingly. “That was sensibly done, lady. You show wisdom.” He touched the band around his temples and said, “This signifies the talent. All those who wear these circlets command the gift of magic.”
He spoke mildly, but I recognized the warning. I was thankful Rwyan acknowledged it: she said, “I’ll not attempt to use my own power.”
Geran smiled as if he admired her audacity. “Then do you go, and when all is ready, you’ll be sent for.”
A tall, thin-faced Changed touched my elbow, indicating that I follow him. There were seven of the gifted attended us, and as they herded us away, I caught a glimpse of Urt through the crowd. He met my stare with a bland expression that told me nothing. I saw that he did not wear a circlet.
Folk made way for us as we were led from the audience chamber, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and hostility. On some faces I thought I saw pity. On one I saw unhidden hatred, and for all I’d not seen her clearly until now, I knew this was Allanyn. And that she was an implacable enemy.