‘Nothing else for it.’Tonno clambered up too.
Briaali held up a hand.
Wait. The war of the Spiridrelleen is not set
aside because your friend is gone.
The Tree People gathered behind her, silent and impassive.
‘We cannot leave Calwyn alone with Samis.’ Darrow’s grey-green eyes flashed with their old steely glint.
My son, I would not have you abandon one you love. But every one of
the warriors of the Spiridrelleen, every one who dwells behind the thicket of
ice, is beloved by someone. Must they be sacrificed to your love?
‘Calwyn is the woman I love,’ said Darrow thickly. ‘But she is much more than that. She may be the saviour of Tremaris.’
Then she is a match for any chanter.
Briaali challenged them, each in turn, with her flashing black eyes.
I appeal to you, Voiced Ones.
We need you. Your people have brought untold harm to this world. Will you
not help us now?
There was a moment’s silence.
‘Calwyn
is
a powerful chanter,’ muttered Trout uncomfortably. ‘And she’s still got thatWheel. If she can get hold of Samis’s half, she can fix it by herself.’
Tonno scratched his head. ‘I hate to think of Mica, stuck in Antaris, not knowing what’s coming.’
I do not ask that you abandon the girl, or your quest. Only that you help
us first.
‘Very well,’ said Darrow. His voice was flat and weary. ‘Tonno, Trout, if you wish to go with the Tree People to Antaris, I will not prevent you. But Halasaa and I will go on to Spareth.’
‘May I come with you?’ asked Keela in a small voice.
‘If you wish,’ said Darrow brusquely. But Halasaa looked at her kindly and, in return, he received the first sincere smile of Keela’s life.
CALWYN
WOKE WITH
the glare of morning sun in her eyes. A dark shape blotted out the sun’s dazzle as Samis stood above her. Instinctively, Calwyn shrank back, but the sorcerer was holding out a hot, savoury-smelling pastry.
Calwyn thought she must be dreaming.The silver boat still swayed beneath the floating bubble, under the pale blue dome of the sky. Below, a blanket of cloud hid the forest. Even the Peak of Saar had vanished. It was bitterly cold. How could Samis have produced a steaming hot pastry from nowhere?
I need water
.
With one hand, he untied the silken scarf around her mouth and loosened the binding at her wrists, then handed her a tin cup of ice-cold water to gulp. ‘Eat!’ he ordered. ‘Be quick, little priestess, if you want to enjoy your breakfast.’
Calwyn was faint from hunger; how long had it been since she’d eaten? She reached out for the pastry. It was delicious. The buttery crust melted in her mouth, and the filling was hot and spicy. ‘How – ?’
Samis’s eyebrow lifted. ‘You surprise me, my dear. In your long journey, have you never improved the taste of dry bread?’
Of course. A spell of seeming. Already the spicy flavour of the meat was fading, and Calwyn found herself holding a stale crust. She said, ‘I don’t know any chantments of seeming.’
‘Indeed?’ Samis seemed surprised. ‘You’ve not troubled to learn them? Or was it too difficult for you?’
‘I’ve never tried,’ said Calwyn, nettled despite herself.
‘Perhaps you can’t change your voice – like this?’ He sang a shrill, falsetto note. ‘They say women find it almost impossible to keep these notes true.’
Indignantly, Calwyn opened her mouth to show him that she could sing any note he sang. Then she saw the lazy smile spread across Samis’s face. She would not be goaded, or tricked, into gaining another power of chantment. She would choose it of her own will.
‘Sing it slowly,’ she said. ‘So I can copy you.’
Samis raised an eyebrow, and sang a dozen whining notes, pausing after each to be sure Calwyn had heard it clearly. Before the last note was complete, Calwyn was stringing the song together. The chantment tingled on her lips, and a tiny, jewel-bright butterfly fluttered from her hand. It gleamed briefly in the sun’s light, then vanished like a burst bubble.
Samis gazed at her under hooded eyelids. ‘So.You can sing the Power of Seeming.’
Calwyn was elated, but she would not let him see it. ‘One simple illusion doesn’t make me a master of seeming.’
‘The Singer of all Songs need not know every chantment that’s ever been sung! If that were so, there would never be a Singer.’ Samis stretched out his legs comfortably. ‘What of the other powers of chantment? You have the Power of Tongue, obviously.The Power of Beasts, yes, I have heard you use that, and the Power of Winds. I know that you have visited Merithuros. Did you learn the Power of Iron there?’
Calwyn shook her head. ‘Only men can sing the chant-ments of iron,’ she said. Then, without warning, she sang a swift throat-song of ironcraft. The tin cup shot up from the floor of the balloon-boat toward Samis’s head.
But he was too quick. He lunged at Calwyn.The cup sailed harmlessly over the edge of the boat and was swallowed by the clouds below. A growl of ironcraft twisted the silver chain at Calwyn’s throat, choking her until stars burst before her eyes.
Deftly, brutally, Samis jerked the gag into her mouth and yanked it tight. He held her close, almost embracing her. His muscular arm was around her shoulders, and she could smell his body.The edge of his cloak was cool where it brushed her cheek. He tightened the silver cable that knotted her wrists together, though this time he left it just loose enough for comfort.
Samis sat back, stretching out his legs once more, as though nothing had happened. ‘The Power of Iron, yes. And what of the Power of Becoming?’
Calwyn turned her head away to hide her tears of rage and humiliation. She cursed herself for trying such a stupid trick. She hardly knew whether she had intended to harm him, or to show off what she could do.
‘I don’t want to hurt you, little priestess.’ He leaned forward and touched her cheek with his fingertip, turning her to face him. ‘But there must be no more foolishness. Do you want Darrow to live or die? We must work together. Believe me, there is no other way. Do you understand?’
Calwyn swallowed. Samis had said nothing about the Wheel; he was looking for solutions elsewhere, in Spareth. In an instant, she made up her mind.
I will help you.
Samis’s thick eyebrows drew together. ‘You surprise me, little priestess. I thought you would show more resistance. I confess I am disappointed.’
There is one condition.
The sorcerer relaxed, and laughed. ‘That’s better. Name your price, my dear.’
Calwyn hesitated. She must be very careful now.Whatever happened, he must not find out that she carried the other piece of theWheel.
You stole something from Antaris, a sacred relic of
the Goddess. If you give it to me, I will help you.
‘Ah!’ Samis drawled. ‘Your yellow ladies were so generous – there were so many gifts. A sacred relic, you say? A statue, a jewel?’
A – a brokenWheel.
Calwyn met his gaze unflinchingly.
‘There may be something of that sort,’ said Samis at last. ‘Among my possessions in Spareth. I will have to search for it.’ He smiled.
Calwyn stared at him. It seemed too simple. She suspected that, somehow, Samis was tricking her, instead of the other way round.
‘Now tell me,’ said the sorcerer. ‘Do you have the Power of Becoming?’
Yes
, said Calwyn, after a moment.
‘The Power of Ice, you have, of course.’ He bared his teeth in a smile. ‘All we need is the Power of Fire, and we will have our Singer of all Songs.’
Calwyn felt a surge of savage pleasure.
Thanks to your scheming,
the Clarion of the Flame is gone. Sunk to the bottom of the Knot of the
Waters. There can never be a Singer of all Songs now. The secrets of the
Power of Fire are lost forever.
‘Are they?’ Samis gave her a strange smile. ‘Are they indeed?’ He glanced at the sun, and held out a wetted finger to test the wind. ‘Too much to the west,’ he murmured. ‘I’ve treated you to breakfast.Would you care to return the favour?’
What do you want?
Though Calwyn had already guessed.
‘Sing a wind, my dear, to carry us south.’
Aren’t you controlling the bubble with chantment?
‘Don’t pretend ignorance, little priestess.You and I must be honest with each other. Ironcraft would never work at such a distance from the ground, as you know perfectly well. Not everything the Ancient Ones built was powered by chantment, though a spellwind would certainly be useful now.’
Calwyn nodded. Samis gave a growl of ironcraft, and the cables that bound Calwyn’s wrists and ankles slid to the floor, and the silken gag fell away. ‘Now sing, little priestess!’ he cried. Calwyn swallowed painfully, but her heady confidence had returned. Everything would be all right. Samis would give her the stolen half-Wheel. She would deal with him somehow, then she would join the two pieces with chantment, and the world would be healed. She would go back to the others, spring would come, and Darrow would be well. Her voice was strong and glad as she sang a lilting chantment of the winds that streamed away until it was lost in the clouds. She thought of Mica, who had taught her the songs of the winds, and prayed she would be safe in Antaris.
All that day, Calwyn’s spellwind carried them south. The clouds below were so thick that the boat seemed to float above another snow-covered landscape, with its own towering peaks and deep crevasses, shifting and dissolving with the movement of the air.
At evening, Samis used a chantment of seeming to transform their plain cups of cold water into spiced wine.
Calwyn held up her hand. ‘I don’t drink wine.’
‘Never fear, my dear, this won’t go to your head.’
Calwyn pulled a face as she sipped. ‘It would taste better warm. If only we had the Clarion.’
She was startled by the furious scowl on Samis’s face. ‘You and your friends were not worthy to keep the Clarion,’ he thundered. ‘Keela told me how you used it – as a bed-warmer, as a frying pan! Where is your respect for the objects of power? Better that it lie in the Knot of the Waters than be profaned.’
Calwyn’s eyes stung; but why should she care what Samis thought? ‘Without fire, we would have died,’ she mumbled.
Samis snorted, but he let the subject go. ‘What would you like to eat? Name it, and you shall have your desire.’
Calwyn hesitated. ‘Grilled trout,’ she said at last. She had a happy, well-guarded memory of eating trout by a stream with Darrow, long ago.
‘No pigeons stuffed with myrtle berries? No oysters in seasoned butter? No mango-fruit?’
‘Whatever I ask for will have the same nourishment as dry bread,’ said Calwyn. ‘So it makes no difference, does it?’
‘Your commonsense is admirable. If grilled trout is your wish, then grilled trout it shall be.’
This time Calwyn found it more difficult to give in to the illusion, and her fish was rather tougher than it should have been.
‘Now for mine,’ said Samis when she was finished. ‘Tonight, I think, I would like a slow-cooked Hiberan pie.’
‘I’ve never eaten Hiberan pie. I don’t know what it tastes like, I don’t know what to sing.’
Samis waved his hand. ‘I’ll teach you. Never mind the look of the thing, for now. Let us begin with the smell.’ He sang a precise, high-pitched chantment, and a strong, gamey scent rose in the air. ‘Try that.’
Calwyn breathed in, and copied the shrill, keening chantment.
‘Higher!’ barked Samis. ‘Breathe from the bottom of your lungs! By the gods, girl, has no one ever taught you how to use your breath?’
Calwyn sang again and again, copying Samis’s chantment to conjure the smell of the pie, then its taste, and finally the appearance of the tender strips of wader-bird meat in peppered gravy, cradled in a bed of steamed lily-leaves.
Seeming was the most subtle power Calwyn had ever sung; the most delicate variations in note, inflection, pitch, and force of breath altered the illusion dramatically. If the Power of Winds was like pouring out a jug of paint and splashing it around, the Power of Seeming was like painting a tiny image with a single hair.
‘Not bad, little priestess,’ said Samis at last. ‘The cooks of Hibera could not have served up better.’
The sky was dark, and Calwyn realised she was exhausted. ‘I don’t know how there can be so many Gellanese who practise the chantments of seeming. It’s so difficult. They must all be very gifted.’
Samis creased his nose in contempt. ‘Most of them learn – or buy – only one trick, and content themselves with that. They learn a single spell to brighten shoddy cloth, or spice up tasteless soup, or make dull stones sparkle. Then they guard that one trick like a precious jewel. It cost more to buy the chantment of false sleep than I would have spent in Merithuros in a year. The so-called chanters of Gellan are nothing but pedlars, not worthy of their craft.’
‘I don’t like the Power of Seeming,’ said Calwyn. ‘It’s not honest.’
She expected Samis to laugh at her, but he did not. ‘Like everything else in the world, it may be used for good or evil.’ He held up his finger to the wind. ‘We won’t need a spellwind tonight. The breeze has shifted. If it holds, we will reach Spareth by morning.’
‘So soon?’ exclaimed Calwyn.
Samis stretched out his legs in the cramped boat, forcing her to draw aside. ‘Are you looking forward to seeing the Desolate City again? Ah, they were great days, the days of our hunting, were they not?’
‘You killed my friend Xanni, you almost killed all of us!’
Samis shrugged. ‘You are not a hunter. I’ll wager Darrow sees it differently.’ He crossed his legs, and his cloak fell back, revealing leather boots that reached to his knees. ‘When you left me for dead in Spareth, I remained there a long time. I made many discoveries. There is one in particular that I look forward to sharing with you.’
‘Some new way of killing, I suppose.’
Samis laughed. ‘Teasing me, little priestess? Excellent!We are becoming friends.’
‘As good friends as you and Darrow once were?’
She spoke sarcastically, but when Samis answered, his voice was sad. He said, ‘I will never have another friend like Darrow.’