The Voice of Prophecy (Dual Magics Book 2) (11 page)

Vatar smiled again at Father’s evident surprise.

“Ignore the fact that you know she has transformed.” Father
cleared his throat “And the unusual size and color. Can you tell that the
Transformation isn’t her true form?”

Vatar snorted. “That’s no test. Yes, it feels wrong, but I
already know it’s a Transformation. And I know what Thekila looks like.” Vatar
closed his eyes, picturing Thekila in his mind.

All the others gasped in surprise, including Thekila.
Vatar’s eyes snapped open, heart thumping. What had gone wrong now?

Thekila stood beside him—as Thekila—eyes wide. She raised a
shaky hand to her face.

“How did you do that?” Quetza asked Vatar.

Vatar looked across at her. “Do what?”

Quetza shook her head. “You . . . undid her shape change,
returned her to her true form.”

Vatar’s eyebrows climbed even as his heart sank. “I did? All
I was doing was picturing her in my mind. I wasn’t trying to do anything.”

“I’ve never heard of anyone who could do that!” Quetza said.

“I have,” Father said. “But there hasn’t been anyone who
could do it for hundreds of years. Vatar, more and more you seem to be almost
the reincarnation of Tabeus. Except even he didn’t have that Talent. Only Calpe
was ever able to do that. And no one has been able to do it since. Calpe had no
descendants and her unique gifts were lost to us.”

Vatar breathed out. So it was just another Fasallon
gift—even if it was a rare one. Not something unexplained, at least.

That’s not true. Calpe had twin sons.
The voice was
perfectly clear in Vatar’s head. His hands thumped down on the table and his
eyes flew so wide he was sure Orleus, across from him, could see white all
around.

Thekila sat down and grabbed his hand. “What is it?”

“I just heard that voice again.” Vatar barely kept his voice
from shaking.

Father leaned forward. “What did it say?”

Vatar swallowed hard. “It . . . it said that Calpe had twin
sons.”

Father shook his head. “That’s not possible, Vatar. It would
certainly be in the archives and in the bloodlines. Calpe’s chair at the
Council table is vacant because she had no descendants to claim it.”

Vatar waved that off with his free hand. “I told you, I
don’t know where that voice comes from. There’s no way I could possibly know
that, even if it were true. These things come from somewhere . . . someone . .
.
something
else.” Even he could hear the edge of panic in his voice and
he tried hard to calm himself and slow his breathing. An awful thought crossed
his mind, sending his fear spinning out of control again, but this time not for
himself. He turned to Thekila. “What happens to you if we’re bound and I lose
my mind? What if I’m going insane?”

“You are not going to lose your mind,” Thekila said with too
much vehemence. “There’s some rational explanation for that voice. We just
don’t understand it, yet.”

“But what if—”

“Then we are stronger together,” Thekila said forcefully.

“Anyway,” Quetza put in, “how would insanity cause your
voice to tell you things you can’t know? That explanation doesn’t hold water,
Vatar.”

Father reached across and squeezed Vatar’s shoulder. “I
don’t think it’s that. But, if you’re concerned about it, Vatar, you should
talk to Boreala.”

Vatar thought a moment, then nodded. “I will.”

“We will,” Thekila corrected him. “The next time she comes
to check on Elaria. But I still say you’re not losing your mind.”

Vatar clasped her hand hard. “Then how do you explain it?”

Thekila shrugged. “I can’t, yet. But it seems so far that
this voice has only volunteered information.”

“Things I can’t possibly know,” Vatar said.

Father tipped his head to one side. “Unless you
are
Tabeus reborn. He
is
your distant ancestor.”

Vatar blinked. He hadn’t thought Father meant that comment.
It didn’t fit with Dardani beliefs. On the other hand, he liked Father’s
explanation better than his.

Thekila gripped his hand tightly. “I think we’ve talked
about this enough for today. We’ve gotten a few possible explanations. That
should be enough for now.”

~

Thekila watched Theklan as he came through the gate,
shuffling his feet and stepping down hard in the puddles left by the morning
rain. He hadn’t played in mud puddles in three or four years. He didn’t even
look up or respond when Veleus passed him on the way out. Obviously, something
had gone wrong this morning. “What happened?”

Theklan looked up at her. “N-Nothing . . .”

Thekila crossed her arms in front of her. “What happened,
Theklan? You only stammer when you’re trying to hide something.”

Theklan kicked at one of the puddles. “We were just walking
down the beach, not bothering anyone or anything but some seaweed.” Once he got
started, the whole story spilled out.

Thekila huffed in exasperation. “Theklan! I warned you
repeatedly—”

Vatar put a hand on her shoulder. “He was defending himself,
Thekila. Let him be.”

She looked up into Vatar’s face. “But it could cause trouble
for you.”

Vatar shrugged. “Then we’ll deal with it. If it comes. The
boy has to be allowed to defend himself.”

Gerusa narrowed her eyes and stared at the guard corporal in
front of her. “Say that again.”

The corporal stood before her desk, shifting from foot to foot.
“Two rocks the size of my fist just hanging there in midair. I know it was the
fisher boys who threw them. They admitted as much when we got them back to the
Guard Hall. From the way the other boy was staring at him, I’d stake this
month’s pay it was the red-haired one that was doing it. Whatever it was.”

A new Talent! Gerusa hadn’t ever heard of an ability like
that. “You’re sure of this?”

“Yes, High Councilor. My men will back me up. I made sure to
get information on both boys,” the corporal went on. “They’re both connected to
the Smiths’ Guild.”

Gerusa ignored the sudden lightening in her chest. It
couldn’t be, could it? If this was at all related to Veleus’s bastard, Vatar,
then this just might be the opening she’d been looking for. “You got their names
and families?”

“Yes, High Councilor. The other one was a brother to Fowin
the Smith. We’ve got no records of any trouble from him. The red-head said he
was new in Caere and staying with Vatar the Smith. Now we do have a record of
detaining this Vatar once before—”

Gerusa waved her hand in dismissal. “Yes. Yes. I know all
about that.” She had to restrain herself from jumping up and dancing. “You’ve
done very well, Corporal Tarus. And you will be rewarded for it. You’re
dismissed—but don’t go far. I believe I’ll have more work for you very soon.”

The corporal grinned. “Yes, High Councilor.”

As soon as he was gone, Gerusa stood up and paced across to
the window. This was most certainly the opportunity she’d been looking for. How
best to take advantage of it, though? Veleus would be sure to try to block her.
He’d managed that at every turn so far, with the leader of the High Council,
practically in his pocket.

Her head snapped up. Veleus couldn’t block her if he wasn’t
in the meeting. And her spies had informed her just this morning that he’d gone
out beyond the Temple Gate for the second time in a seven-day. Going out to
Vatar’s farm? Her lips turned up in an unpleasant grin. If Veleus knew about
this boy and his unknown Talent and hadn’t mentioned it to the High Council,
this could be just the wedge she needed to oust him from the Council once and
for all. And his puppet Amaurea, too.

And, with Amaurea gone, the High Council would have to elect
a new leader. With Veleus out of the way, they’d have no choice but to turn to
her for their new leader. She’d finally have the place at the head of the
Council that should always have been hers by right of Talent. It
would
have been hers if Veleus hadn’t intervened. And once she had power over the
Council, she’d see that things were done properly. Vatar, and this red-haired
boy, too—would be properly imprisoned here in the Palace as should have been
done in the first place. And let a powerless Veleus squirm at her handling of
his bastard. That would only add spice to her victory.

First, she needed to call the High Council into emergency
session—now, while Veleus was out of the Palace and couldn’t interfere.

Vatar went on out to his forge, hoping the harsh, fierce
song of the steel under his hammer would push their earlier discussion and his
fears from his mind, at least for a while. He couldn’t quite sink into the
calm, focused state in which he did his best work, though.

He was aware of the bustle of the others around him. Thekila
and Theklan on the porch, where they’d be out of the way, working through the
non-magical part of Theklan’s lessons. Arcas sorting through the herd in the
pasture for which animals were ready to sell down in Caere and which could
benefit from a little more rest and feeding. Elaria in the kitchen, making
bread for the evening meal. Most of all, Orleus and Quetza in the courtyard
making a few passes at weapons training. The clanging of their practice blades
counter-pointed with the rhythm of his hammer.

He began to slip into a different kind of focus. Not one
that excluded everything but his hammer and the metal on his anvil. This was
the center of a wider circle, taking in the others around him as well as his
awareness of the steel. Vatar smiled. This was a good way to work, too,
surrounded by and taking in the people he cared about.

His new focus was shattered by a disruption at the gate.
Vatar looked up as a contingent of the Temple Guard marched up to the gate and
forced their way through without waiting for permission. The dogs barked
hysterically. Arcas silenced the dogs and started for the gate. Vatar put down
the blade he’d been working on and stepped out at Arcas’s side.

Vatar stopped, feet slightly apart. “What can we do for
you?”

The sergeant of the guards looked around the courtyard
before turning back to Vatar. “We seek the one called Vatar the Smith. And the
boy named Theklan.”

Vatar shifted his weight to a more balanced stance. “I’m
Vatar.”

A corporal standing at the sergeant’s elbow pointed up to
the porch. “There.”

The sergeant nodded and pointed to two of his men. “Bring
the boy.”

Thekila tried to shield Theklan with her body and cried out
when one of the Guards pushed her aside. Vatar turned to run to her, but four
more of the Guards jumped out to restrain him. Vatar fought against them with
all of his considerable strength.

The sergeant stepped up and punched Vatar hard enough to
drive the air out of his lungs. “Bind his hands.” He glanced toward Theklan.
“The boy’s too.” Then he grinned. “You two are going before the High Council.”

Quetza helped Thekila up and they both started for the
Guards with murder in their eyes.

Orleus put out a hand to stop them. “That won’t help. Let me
handle this.” He stepped forward and spoke with military authority. “Sergeant,
what does the High Council want with my brother and this boy? They’ve done
nothing wrong.”

Despite himself, the sergeant braced to attention at
Orleus’s tone. Then his eyes narrowed and he took up a deliberately more casual
stance. “The High Councilors don’t tell me, do they? I was just told to bring
them.”

Orleus’s eyes narrowed. “You have to have a valid reason to
arrest a law-abiding guild member. Even the High Council can’t—”

The sergeant jerked up his head. “Who are you to say what
the High Council can and can’t do? Do you want me to take you in, too?”

Orleus drew to his full height and looked down his nose at
the shorter sergeant. “I am Captain Orleus of the Tysoean Guard, Sergeant. You
will
show me the proper respect. I know your superiors and I will report this to
them.”

The sergeant started to come to attention again, but stopped
himself just short of a salute. “Go ahead, Captain. I’m just carrying out my
orders. And being a Captain of the Guard still doesn’t give you the authority
to overrule High Councilor Gerusa.” Then he nodded to his men, who formed up
around Vatar and Theklan and marched them out of the gate.

Thekila surged forward and was stopped by Orleus. “Vatar! Theklan!”

Vatar smiled reassuringly in her direction. “It’ll be all
right, Thekila.” He turned to keep her in sight as long as he could.

When the guardsmen marching around them obscured his view
backward, Vatar looked aside at Theklan. The boy’s face was grey-white and his
gait was unnaturally stiff. “Don’t be frightened, Theklan.”

The sergeant turned his head. “No talking.”

“The boy is frightened,” Vatar answered in a reasonable
tone.

The sergeant stopped, turned around, and raised the butt of
his spear. “No talking!”

Vatar’s eyes narrowed. When he spoke, his voice was too
quiet, too controlled. “You
really
don’t want to do that.”

The sergeant lowered his spear, slowly. Then he jerked his
chin up. “No, you’d be a little heavy to drag all the way back to the Palace.
No talking.”

Vatar felt a cold calm settled over him. He was sure that he
would know what to do when the time came, and that he would be able to do it.
It was odd, but not unfamiliar. He’d felt something like this composure and
certainty at other crises in his life—when he’d made the spears for the tiger
hunt and when he’d challenged Maktaz. And he had known what to do when the time
came, then. He would this time, too. Blessedly, it had nothing whatever to do
with magic. It had started long before he knew anything about that.

Theklan, on the other hand, was trembling so hard he could
barely walk. Well, there was more than one way for anyone with Talent to
communicate.
“We don’t need to talk, do we, Theklan? Don’t be frightened.”

Theklan swallowed and darted a glance at him.
“Vatar?”

Vatar smiled.
“Yes.”

“Is this because of what I did earlier?”

Vatar nodded slightly.
“Probably. Don’t worry about
that.”

“What will they do to us?”

Vatar tried to transmit the strange calm he felt through the
link with Theklan.
“I don’t know. Nothing we can’t handle. When we get to
the High Council, don’t let them see that you’re afraid. And let me do the
talking.”

“I wish Thekila were here. No I don’t. But . . .”

Vatar felt Thekila’s presence. He realized he had felt it
all along. She was following them with Far Sight.
“She
is
here,
Theklan. Can’t you feel her? She’s watching us.”

Theklan’s eyes closed briefly in concentration, then he
sighed and shook his head.
“No, I can’t feel her.”

“I can. She’s here. Don’t worry.”

That seemed to calm the boy, a little.

Much as he would have liked to resist, Vatar had no choice
but to march along with the Guard through the Temple Gate and on through the
Temple itself to the little pier and the small boat tied up to it. He drew a
deep, steadying breath before stepping into the boat and then he realized
something. Wrapped in this cold calm, even the boat—even the trip across the
bay—didn’t bother him. For the first time since coming to Caere, he wasn’t
afraid of the waves.

Vatar sat in the middle of the boat and considered his
bonds. At some point, he was going to need to do something, even if he didn’t
know what yet. Whatever it was would likely be easier with his hands free. The
rope that tied his hands in front of him was strong, too thick to break easily,
but he was sure he could release himself. How? Well, he could transform. The
bonds wouldn’t fit on the lion the same way. Maybe that . . . No, the problem
was simpler than that. He didn’t have to transform completely. Just his arms.
The very thought made him shudder.

No. It was simpler even than that. It wasn’t himself he
needed to transform; it was the rope. Into what? Something that could be easily
pulled apart. He chewed his lower lip as he thought. There was a kind of
seaweed. He’d seen it in the markets, where it was used as a bed to help keep
the fish moist and fresh. Its length was segmented, with little, air-filled
bulbs at the joints. The seaweed broke easily at those joints. He hadn’t done a
third-level Transformation since that afternoon at the waterhole, before the
bear attack. Perhaps he should try it, first, just to be sure. He concentrated
for a moment, picturing what he wanted. Then tried to put the rope—and only the
rope—into that image. When he looked down, his bonds were seaweed. They even
had the slimy feel of seaweed. He wrinkled his nose. And the smell. He smiled
as he released his concentration, allowing his bonds to become rope again
before any of the Guards noticed. Not yet. The right time would come soon
enough.

The boat bumped against the wharf below the Palace steps.
The Guards pulled Vatar and Theklan roughly out of the boat and marched them up
the broad stone steps and down the long, narrow hall of the Palace entry.

When they reached the desk at the far end, Vatar smiled.
That desk was still manned by Dinus, Cestus’s step-father.

The sergeant stopped in front of the desk and gestured to
the narrow doors on the right, “The prisoners are to be put in separate cells
until called for.”

Vatar looked to the left, remembering the comfortable room
in which he had first met Father. “We’ll wait over here. We promise not to try
to fly out the window and across the bay, Dinus.” Vatar led Theklan through the
door.

Behind him, he heard the sergeant’s frustrated voice. “They
are to be put in separate cells.”

“You’ve done your job, Sergeant. Holding them until they are
called for by the Council is mine,” Dinus said. “Go on back to your duties.”

The sound of marching feet retreated back up the long
corridor.

Dinus came into the ante room a moment later. “You’ve been a
friend to Cestus when he needed one most, Vatar. If there’s anything I can do
for you, just name it.”

Vatar sat down in one of the upholstered chairs. “No, thank
you, Dinus. We’ll be fine here.”

“I could untie you.” Dinus looked down and back up. “At
least until they call for you.”

Vatar shook his head. “No. It’s too great a risk for you.
Besides, I don’t think we’ll have long to wait.”

“I can send a message to Veleus.”

“One of my brothers was with me when I was taken. I think
Father already knows,” Vatar answered, confidently.

“Dinus!” a familiar voice roared from the hallway.

Vatar smiled. “In here, Father.”

Dinus left them as soon as Father came through the door.

Father seemed out of breath. “Vatar, I didn’t know about
this. I had no warning. The Council decided this while I was at your farm this
morning. It was Gerusa, using my absence to act against you. Do you have any
idea what it’s about?”

Theklan collapsed into a chair by the windows. “It’s my
fault. It’s because of what I did.”

Father turned toward him. “What did you do?”

Hesitantly, Theklan explained what had happened.

Father paced across the room. “Hmm. Well, you can’t be
blamed for defending yourself. Still, I see why they brought you here. Let me
think. I’m sure there’s a way to turn this around. There’s always an angle.”

“Don’t worry, Father. I’ll know what to do,” Vatar said.

Father stopped mid-stride. “What?”

“I will know what to do and how to do it.”

Father sank into the chair opposite Vatar. “Vatar, the
Council could imprison you here.”

After what he’d done to the ropes in the boat, Vatar knew
with absolute certainty that that wasn’t possible. “No. They can’t.”

Father opened his mouth to say something, but just then the
bell rang to call the High Council into session.

Father stood up. “I don’t dare be late for this. Be very
careful, Vatar. Remember Gerusa is your real enemy.”

In a little while, different Guards came to escort Vatar and
Theklan up several staircases to a room at the very top of the Palace, the
Council Chamber. The Guards hauled Vatar and Theklan up to one end of the big
table and left them standing there.

It was a big room, with windows in all four walls. Vatar’s
position gave him an unobstructed view of the mouth of the bay. Vatar looked
away from that to study the room and its occupants.

The only furniture was a single large table with twelve
chairs around three sides—all but the end where Vatar and Theklan now stood. All
but one of those chairs was occupied. From the layer of dust on that one, it
had been a long time since anyone sat in it. Hadn’t Father said something about
Calpe’s seat being empty? For six hundred years?

Immediately opposite them sat a woman who studied them with
open curiosity. Father sat on one side of her and another woman, wearing a very
unpleasant smirk on the other. He’d better watch out for that one. Besides
Father, the only other person Vatar recognized was the High Priest, Montibeus,
sitting next to Father. All of them but Father and the woman at the opposite
end of the table wore closed, displeased looks as if they were the ones who’d
been yanked out of their homes and marched here with bound hands. They weren’t
going to be easy to convince—of anything.

Vatar deliberately took up as casual a posture as his bound
hands would allow. “Why have you brought me before you bound like a common
prisoner? I would have come freely if you had asked. Are you afraid of me?”

The woman sitting across from Father narrowed her eyes.
“We’ll ask the questions here.”

“Actually, Gerusa, it should be Amaurea asking the
questions,” Father said.

Gerusa drummed her fingers on the table briefly. “You have
not been coming to the Temple for your lessons, have you? I believe you are
aware that that was a condition of your freedom.”

So that was Gerusa. And Father had deliberately interrupted
to let Vatar know that. Vatar lifted his chin fractionally. “Cestus, my
appointed teacher, has been bringing scrolls to me at my home. We discuss them
over a game of chess. So I haven’t needed to come to the Temple.” He was very
glad for his insistence that Cestus bring him a few scrolls to read, just then.
“Untie my hands. Are you afraid of me?”