Springwar (16 page)

A glance out the window showed the endless white snowfield turned to empty space full of drifting flakes as the plateau broke off at the edge of the gorge. Avall couldn’t see the floor for the driving flurries and the steam that rose from the Ri-Eron and the hot springs around it to render the gorge habitable. Already the air felt warmer, or perhaps that
was an illusion, since there was still snow under the runners, and banks of the stuff to either side, in defiance of daily removal crews.

And then they reached the first switchback, and the view shifted to raw rocks glazed with ice, and he dozed again. He didn’t wake until he felt the sledge jolt, and heard the grating of metal runners against stone instead of ice. “Wake up, boy,” Eellon intoned softly, giving Avall a gentle shake. “We have to change transport here. It won’t be long now.”

Avall nodded groggily and let himself be helped out the door, down into slush two fingers deep, then up into a wheeled carriage painted in Argen maroon. The activity helped him regain sufficient alertness to know that they were no more than two shots from home.

A moment later, they’d passed the Citadel: the seat of government for the entire Kingdom, where High King Gynn lived. Not long after that they were navigating the mostly deserted promenade called the River Walk, with the Ri-Eron steaming to the right, and the halls, holds, and gardens of the major clans and crafts passing on the left.

And then they were flanking Argen’s compound, and he could see the low, crenulated walls and higher, trapezoidal towers that marked the heart of his reality: the place he’d grown up, the place where the bulk of Clan Argen and its three septs—-a, -el, and-yr—lived, intrigued, and made wonderful things out of metal. Before he knew it, they were passing through the massive gates, startling a gate-warden at his post, then veering left, toward the stables, into whose warmth and shelter they disembarked, only to assay a set of narrow stairs and a dozen corridors and come, at last, to the main apartment level. Avall remembered it clearly—but from an odd angle, as Lykkon and Riff had stuffed him on a litter and carried him, with Eellon himself striding ahead to clear the corridors, most particularly of anyone from Argen-yr, but also of Argen-el, the King’s own clan.

Eventually Avall found himself in a small, comfortable room cut into intimate groupings by the intersecting vaults of the low ceiling. One wall was a parabola of windows, and showed the main audience hall below, while another was
mostly fireplace. Lykkon scurried off to secure food at Eellon’s request, and the rest busied themselves stripping down to indoor clothing. All the while Veen gnawed her lip, and Riff and Myx took comfort in staying close to each other, as bond-brothers were meant to do. In due course, Lykkon came trotting back with an enormous tureen on a cart, as well as bowls, bread, and spoons. He also had a companion, his thirteen-year-old half brother, Bingg, whose presence he explained by stating he’d found the lad in the kitchen and couldn’t shake him.

Eellon filled a bowl of soup, which he gave to Avall, then opened a bottle of almond liquor and served everyone, followed by hot mulled cider. “Don’t you have studying to do?” he asked Lykkon mildly.

Lykkon nodded. “But this is more important, don’t you think? Besides, do you really think I’d be able to study? Besides, do you want to have to explain all this to me again? Besides, it’s to do with lore, and that’s my craft of choice. Besides …”

“Besides, I’ll have to explain why you were missing to your chief,” Eellon grumbled. “But that’d be easier than keeping you happy, I suppose, so you might as well stay—with your ears open, your mouth closed, and your tongue bound by Clan Oath, where that applies, and Council Oath, where it doesn’t.”

Veen whistled under her breath. “You don’t take chances, do you, Lord Eellon? I’ve heard that pair invoked once in my life.”

“I’m trusting you with a lot,” Eellon acknowledged. “Like I said, I’d rather have you know and be bound than be speculating indiscriminately.”

Veen looked pointedly at a time-candle, which indicated it was two hands shy of midnight. “I think,” she growled, “it’s time we actually
did
some knowing. Something tells me I’ve just been made to take sides in a clan feud without recourse to full information.”

“Not by choice,” Eellon gave back. “In any case, you can always claim neutrality.”

“Let’s hear Avall’s tale,” Lykkon broke in.

Eellon regarded Avall keenly. “You up for it?”

Avall studied him as carefully, from where he was alternately sipping thick, savory soup and rich-scented cider. He felt unaccountably refreshed, and had an idea why. “You put something in this, didn’t you?” he accused. “To perk me up.”

“Nothing that will do you lasting harm,” Eellon retorted, settling himself onto a low sofa. “This has to be important, and time is of the essence.”

“If it was that important,” Veen inserted, from where she sat flanked by the two guardsmen, “you could’ve started in the sledge. Oaths would’ve been as binding there.”

Eellon rounded on her. “Look at the boy, Veen! He’s worn beyond worn, and not just from … whatever happened that brought him to your tower so precipitously. The Avall I know isn’t supposed to have hollows under his cheekbones like that. Or haunted eyes.”

Veen’s mouth popped open, but she didn’t reply. Avall almost laughed aloud. He’d forgotten the effect Eellon had on people who weren’t used to him.

Avall found eyes looking at him, and cleared his throat, wiping his mouth as an afterthought. “I actually do feel better, but if Eellon’s potion was what I suspect it was, I’ll sleep for a day after this, so I’d best get started. I’ll also warn you that the best way to prove some of my story is by demonstration, and that some of the things I have to demonstrate may be hard to believe.”

Eellon nodded gravely.

“Very well,” Avall began, “I’ll give our … guests the background later. It’s pretty complex intraclan politics,” he added, to Veen. “Suffice to say the situation really began when I happened to be working in the clan vein at Gem-Hold-Winter one day—and found something a bit out of the ordinary.”

Veen started to speak again, but Eellon silenced her with a warning hand. “Do you need privacy for this?”

Avall took a deep breath. “Lyk, Myx, and Riff already know part of what I’m talking about because they helped me dress. So do some folks from-yr, and—I fear—from Priest,
so it’s unlikely to be a secret long. I suspect
you’ll
be off to Ferr before the night’s over, if I know you.”

“I defer to you,” Eellon said carefully, but with a clear note of caution in his voice.

“Well,” Avall sighed, fishing into the neck of his tunic, “as I said, I found something … interesting. Specifically, I found … this.”

And with that he slipped the chain that held the gem over his head. A twist of nimble fingers freed the stone so that it glittered on his palm.

Eellon leaned forward to inspect it. He did not, however, touch it. Lykkon was practically breathing down Avall’s neck, he was craning so far forward, as was Bingg. But Myx was having no part of it, and Veen and Riff seemed to be taking their cues from their fellow guard.

“Not a ruby,” Avall said. “Not a garnet. Not a red variant of any gem we know.”

“Inner fires like an opal, though,” Lykkon noted.

“Touch it—gently,” Avall told him, easing it in his direction. He heard Myx inhale sharply, and recalled that the thing had burned him. But Lykkon didn’t know that, and Myx was none the worse for wear, as far as Avall could tell.

Ever curious, Lykkon eased closer, holding his breath as he cautiously extended a finger toward the softly gleaming gem. A pause, and he touched it, drew it back, then touched it again.

Avall studied his face, raised an eyebrow in query.

“It … likes me. Or something. I—” He paused. “That doesn’t make sense, though, ’cause
things
can’t feel.”

“I’m not sure if it
is just
a thing,” Avall replied, closing his fingers around the gem and cradling it in his lap. “Nor am I sure that it so much likes you as knows that you like me. As best I can tell, the only folks besides me that can touch it with impunity are folks I care about.”

Eellon regarded him impassively. “This is interesting,” he murmured. “But I don’t see that it justifies a trip overland in Deep Winter.”

Avall shook his head. “No, but something else might—several somethings, actually. Lyk told you how he found out
I was in the tower, didn’t he? Obviously he did, or you wouldn’t be here.”

“He told me he was convinced that you were there and that if I ever did a favor for him, it would be to go there. That’s all. I thought it was The Eight speaking through him. That happens sometimes.”

“And we may now know how or why,” Avall replied. “Or we may know that The Eight really aren’t The Eight at all, but simply someone with a gem like this putting notions in the royal head. Just because they don’t show up in records anywhere, doesn’t mean this is the only one.”

“It … lets you speak
mind to mind?”
Eellon gasped abruptly.

Avall spared a glance at Veen. “You shouldn’t have said that. But yes. I’m not sure exactly how, when, why, or what the limits are, but that can happen. The other person has to be relaxed—optimally asleep—or very empathetic with the sender. I found out about it accidentally. I was in bed, wishing I had Merryn to talk to—and then suddenly I was somewhere else—someplace that really isn’t—and then I
was
talking to her. I caught her asleep, and it was odd, and we’ve never managed contact again, really. But it
was
her.”

“Merryn!” Lykkon blurted. “But she’s at War-Hold, you were at Gem. That’s hundreds of shots.”

“Yes,” Eellon mused. “It is. But if you’ve found a way for people to communicate that far instantaneously …”

“It would upset many balances of power,” Veen put in. “Suddenly I’m glad I’m here. I’m not sure I want to know what I just found out, but if it means what it could … I think I just found myself on the side of power.”

“Maybe,” Avall replied. “But there’s more. It lets you mind-speak to at least some animals. Specifically, to birkits, which are—in some way—intelligent. We denned with a pack on our way here. It’s the only thing that saved us.”

Eellon shook his head. “This is a lot in a hurry, lad. I wish I was writing it down.”

“I am,” Bingg piped up from the corner. “Making a list. Like Lyk told me.”

Eellon snorted loudly, probably sensing another defection
to Lore. “So we’ve got mind-to-mind communication between people and between people and animals …”

“Between
some
people,” Avall corrected. “I think you have to either be kin or share some bond for what happened to me and Lyk to work. But there’s another way, too. Two-father, I think you’re the best one to rule on this—but it’s not without cost.”

“You’ve already cost me a night’s sleep,” Eellon growled.

“Do you have a knife?”

Eellon nodded, and brought out a small, sharp one.

“Cut yourself just enough to bring blood,” Avall instructed. “I’d suggest the hand, then pass the knife to me.”

The scowl deepened, but Eellon made a neat gash in the heel of his left hand. Blood welled forth in a series of beads. “You didn’t need that much,” Avall murmured, as he took the knife and made short work of opening the gash he’d made before. That accomplished, he retrieved the gem, laid it in his palm atop the blood, felt the gentle drawing that entailed, then extended his hand to Eellon. “Put your hand on the stone. And close your eyes.”

Eellon did. Avall felt him start and stiffen. And then he felt himself flowing into the gem and out into Eellon, while Eellon likewise flowed into him. But Avall consciously held himself back, unwilling to plunder Eellon’s secrets, though they were all laid bare for his inspection. Yet Eellon was in
his
mind, too. Avall steered him this way and that, providing a rambling sample of what could happen when minds were joined.

And then he slowly eased Eellon’s hand away and broke the link. His
self
retracted, and he saw Eellon sitting across from him, eyes wide, mouth wider, as his chief took breath after breath, half-dazed.

“Not something to share with just anyone,” he whispered. “Thank you … I think.”

“I’ve shared it with Rann, Strynn, and a woman we met on the trek named Div—though that last was an accident.”

Eellon drained his cup of liquor, poured another, and drained half of it. He eyed Lykkon speculatively. “Lyk,” he said. “Go get the King.” He tugged a ring from his right
index finger. His Clan-Chief’s signet. “Tell him I need him to administer a Sovereign Oath, and that it would be better done here.”

Avall felt his heart skip a beat, as Lykkon’s face went white. No one had administered a Sovereign Oath in his lifetime. Which meant that Eellon thought his discovery was even more important than Avall imagined.

“Does this toy do any other tricks?” Eellon wondered wearily, when Lykkon had departed.

Avall shrugged, feeling fatigue sneaking up on him again. “It heals wounds. I think it can draw strength from other people. I think maybe, it can make people … jump from place to place instantaneously.”

Myx leapt to his feet, startling them all. “That’s impossible! Except that it’s the only thing that explains—”

“Yes,” Avall broke in. “It is. But I wasn’t conscious, so I don’t know. The last I knew I’d fallen into the Ri-Eron and was drowning. Then everything went dark, and I woke up on your hearth.”

“Why there, I wonder?” Eellon mused. “Forgetting how preposterous that is, I mean.”

“Because it was the closest source of comfort?” Veen suggested. “From what your boy’s said, that thing seems to take care of itself. And to take care of itself, it has to take care of whoever has control of it.”

“That was my thinking, too,” Avall agreed. “Obviously it has many powers—there’s another one, for that matter, but since Lyk’s gone for the King, perhaps that ought to wait until he returns.”

Eellon sank back in his chair, his face lined with thought. “Aye, lad, maybe it should. But tell me again: Does
anyone
else know of this beyond this room, besides those you’ve mentioned?”