Dyannis caught her breath. Hali Tower had signed the Compact soon after King Carolin and Varzil had formally presented it. The discussion had been brief, with little dissension. Hali was, after all, bound to Hastur.
She had not given the Compact deep thought, but had considered herself bound by the actions of her Keeper. But she was also acutely aware that she had only absorbed the opinions of those around her. She herself had never been tested. She had used her laran to heal the devastation brought by sword and clingfire, but she herself had never lain bleeding on a battlefield or felt the unquenchable caustic burn through her flesh and bone. Her childhood at Sweetwater had been filled with tales of war, but never the actuality.
Varzil, on the other hand, had known treachery and loss, had seen the people he loved under psychic bombardment, the very stones beneath them crumbling into powder, their minds reeling with madness. His dearest friend, Carolin Hastur, had fled into exile and had battled his way to victory at a terrible cost. During those years, when Hali had been commanded by Carolin’s usurper cousin Rakhal, Dyannis had feared she might be called to war against her childhood friend, perhaps against her own kin.
“I do not know,” she said slowly. A shiver passed over her as she realized that her own trials, whatever they might be, still lay before her.
8
Word reached Hali Tower that King Carolin, deeply concerned about the development of a new laran weapon, had asked Varzil Ridenow’s help. Varzil, in turn, sent a message to Raimon that he would leave Neskaya for Hali as soon as possible.
At the news that Varzil was coming, relief akin to euphoria swept through Hali. Silently, Dyannis distrusted their confidence. To them, her brother had almost legendary status—the Keeper who had appeared mantled in the glory of Aldones during Hali’s assault upon Hestral Tower, whose insight and persuasive powers had prevented a catastrophe of the magnitude of the destruction of Tramontana and Neskaya Towers only a generation ago.
Yet there were others who saw him as a weak, prattling peacemaker because he had not the strength to wage war. They suspected his motives and regarded the Compact as a ruse, a folly leading to ruin, a coward’s gambit.
She knew her brother’s temper, knew that it took far more courage to walk unarmed through the lands rent by hatred, as he had done and would do again, than to lead the safe and comfortable existence of an ordinary Keeper, behind the rebuilt walls of Neskaya.
He will come because we need him, because Carolin needs him, she thought. He will not consider the risk.
What, she wondered, would she do in his place?
The next few tendays sped by while they awaited Varzil’s arrival. Melting snows and spring rains made travel slow. He had to travel on horseback through the Hellers and down to Acosta, where Carolin would send an aircar. The treacherous wind currents made air navigation impossible in the mountains, even in the mildest seasons.
Meanwhile, Dyannis prepared to take her turn in the Overworld, keeping watch over the structure that Cedestri Tower had established there in order to harvest the energy from the lake floor rift. She had not encountered any human presence in any of her previous shifts, although Cedestri must know that it was being observed. Once or twice, she had caught a faint disturbance in the atmosphere, a swirl of invisible energy or a shadow fleeting at the very edge of her vision.
With a practiced breath, she cast her mind into the Overworld. During the first few moments, she sifted through the usual disorientation to find her bearings. Above her stretched the gray overcast, unchanging and featureless in all directions.
This is getting all too familiar, she told herself. I’ve been spending too much time here. The most difficult part was the continual discipline over her thoughts, for here in the Overworld, an imprudent impulse or moment of irritation could lead to dire consequences.
Once she felt stable, she formed a mental picture of the Cedestri water mill and waited for it to materialize. Usually, it condensed out of the amorphous colorless substance of the Overworld only a short distance away.
This time, nothing happened.
Dyannis turned in a complete circle, scanning the horizon. Perhaps she had formed an imperfect image, or the workers at Cedestri had altered their site beyond recognition. She tried again, searching for the power flow from the lake.
There it was, that twist of wrongness. As before, it bled into the Overworld, only this time there was no trace of the mill or any other device to harness its force. Instead, it spread out like a river over muddy flats, losing some of its impetus, but not entirely dissipating. The nerve-scouring tension was merely redistributed.
Although her skin prickled, Dyannis cast about again for any sign of Cedestri’s water mill. She found fragmentary images in the central part of the power bed, where the current still flowed. Only broken outlines, like fractured glass, suggested the vanished structure.
Dyannis frowned. This was no mere erosion with time and disuse. Almost nothing remained of the sculpted thought-stuff of wheel and tower except this faint vibrational residue. Whoever had built it had gone to great pains to dismantle it.
There was nothing more to be gained by lingering here any longer. Dyannis dropped back into her physical body and went to inform her Keeper of what she had found.
By the time Varzil reached Thendara, only the faintest traces of the stream and mill remained, and those were detectable only upon the closest examination. Perhaps, as Alderic suggested, Cedestri Tower feared they had been found out, or their enemies might use the Overworld route as a means of sabotage or sneak attack. Whatever the reason, the news was welcomed by everyone except Raimon, who pointed out that Cedestri already had a stockpile of crystalline bonewater, or possibly other weapons they knew nothing about, and had now been alerted to their discovery.
He said as much to Dyannis as they rode, along with Rorie and a couple of servants, to the King’s castle at Thendara. Although the day was mild, for spring had taken hold in earnest, they rode cloaked and hooded. The road around the lake and past the city of Hali was dry and they made good time, but Dyannis felt the prickle of electrical charge in the air. After the brief respite, it had been increasing daily once more.
It had been some time since Dyannis had been to Thendara and now, with her nerves already scoured raw by the tension between sky and land, she wondered if there had been a coup, a second usurper to Carolin’s throne, the city was so altered.
Unlike Hali, Thendara was a walled city, built for defense. In times past, she had entered through one or another of its gates with only a token greeting from the guards. The passages to the city itself had been open, the flow of travelers and merchants fluid and easy. Now there was actually a knot of people and pack animals waiting at the gate. Instead of the one or two guards in City colors, there were four, and they took their time questioning each person and inspecting each wagon and saddlebag.
Raimon nudged his horse to the front of the line. He and his party were above suspicion; there was no need for them to wait. Even if the guards did not recognize them personally, one glance would show them as Comyn.
“Halt there!” one of the guards called out, just as several travelers shouted, “Wait your turn!”
A man in common farmer’s garb rushed forward to grab the reins of Raimon’s mount. The horse, startled, threw his head up and danced sideways. Raimon kept his seat with an effort, for he was not a skilled horseman. The hood of his cloak slid off, revealing his bright red hair.
Laranzu! The thought shot through the crowd.
Rorie, who was a capable rider, shouted and pushed his horse forward, placing himself between the crowd and his Keeper. The farmer stumbled back, but not before Dyannis caught the twist of emotion. She read surprise, surely to be expected, but also—hatred?
Why? she wondered. What harm have we done to common folk? We have never wished them ill. Perhaps it is the sickness of the times, the weariness of the soul that comes from pain too great to bear.
Before she could react, h
owever, the party surged forward. One of the guards quieted Raimon’s horse, while another made room for them to pass.
Within minutes, they were ushered through the outlying markets along the broader avenues leading to Carolin’s palace. Dyannis saw much that was familiar, but also changes everywhere. The winter had been a cruel one, and she had done her share of tending to the sick at Hali and sometimes Thendara. Some had fallen to the usual winter lung fevers, made worse by cold and hunger, but there had also been several waves of country folk from one area or another affected by war—farmers whose lands had been laid waste by ordinary battles, villagers scarred by clingfire burns, children who had strayed too close to lands still under the glowing poison of bonewater dust. Always, her efforts had been received with gratitude, even when she had been too late. She had never encountered such dark stares, such quickly-hidden fists.
Once, Dyannis overheard a bitter-laced, “Sorcery! Witch-brood tyrants!”
What in the name of Aldones was going on?
“Raimon—” she began, but the Keeper silenced her with a gesture. Another escort, this time in Hastur blue and silver instead of the colors of the City Guard, had come to meet them. Dyannis had never liked being surrounded by head-blind strangers, but managed to keep silent as they passed into a gated courtyard. Stablemen took their horses, and a dignitary, most likely an assistant to the coridom or castle steward, greeted them with a deep, formal bow before ushering them inside.
Varzil and Carolin were waiting for them in the King’s least formal chamber. Varzil rose from his chair as Dyannis entered. She felt his rush of joy at seeing her, his mind as clear as a mountain lake on a windless day. Physically, he looked thinner than she remembered, his face drawn and weather-roughened.
Dyannis slowed her pace, curtsying to Carolin. The years of exile and kingship had worn heavily upon him, the once sprightly youth now a man marked by the cares of his office. He greeted her with warmth and unaffected grace, putting her immediately at ease.
Glancing from Carolin to her brother, Dyannis sensed the harmony between them, the sympathy of mind. They were of a kind, she thought, although very different in appearance and temperament. Shared passion bound them together, each nourishing the other. She felt a little envious, for she had no such bosom friend. Ellimara came the closest, and even then, the difference in their ages made true intimacy difficult.
Raimon and the others from Hali showed Varzil so much deference that for an instant Dyannis wondered if she ought to bow to him also, before she decided that was a ridiculous idea. When he held out a hand to her, she brushed it aside, stepped into the circle of his arms and planted a kiss upon his cheek.
“Have I grown, brother, or have you shrunk?” she asked. “I must be nearly as tall as you!”
“As small, you mean,” Varzil replied with a hint of his usual self-mockery.
“Not so small, I hope, that you cannot unravel this puzzle for us.”
“I am glad to see you, too,” Varzil said, ignoring the other Keeper’s scandalized expression. “Also that size has never been the determining factor in laran, or there would be scant hope for either of us.”
She laughed at that, happy to see that however much honor the world heaped upon him, Varzil had kept his sense of humor. With that same easy manner, he turned back to Raimon, and within a short time, everyone settled in their seats.
Carolin listened gravely as Raimon presented the latest information they had gathered. After Dyannis repeated her story, he sat for a long moment, elbow resting on the arm of his chair, chin cupped in his hand. His eyes looked dark and hooded like a hawk’s. A core of strength, bright and hard as steel, shone through. Although Dyannis kept her laran shields respectfully raised, she sensed how deeply this news troubled him.
At last, Carolin said, “There is no hope for it. We must send a delegation to Cedestri Tower and convince them by whatever means necessary to sign the Compact. Although they are no longer draining the pool of energy, they have a stockpile of the new bonewater devilry and little reason for restraint.”
Varzil nodded. He had often acted as Carolin’s emissary in such matters, so that now most people thought the Compact solely his idea. “You are right, Carlo, but neither strategy nor diplomacy will solve the problem for the long term. Even if Cedestri agrees, there is nothing to stop another Tower, or an illegal circle for that matter, from doing the same thing.”
“But surely now that Hali is alerted, such a thing is no longer possible,” Carolin said.
Raimon shook his head. “That might be possible if only the physical lake were involved. In the Overworld, you cannot set a dog to guard a gate. Time and distance are quite different, and a trained laranzu can sculpt either with a thought. Even if we mounted a continuous watch upon the energy pool, it would never be secure, and that assumes we could spare the workers to do it.”
No one disagreed with him, for Hali Tower, like so many others, had barely the numbers to do the work that came to them. Their Hastur King had forsworn the use of laran weapons, but could not guarantee a lasting peace. The next armed conflict would stretch their resources for healing and communications even thinner.
“We must act to eliminate the source of that power,” Varzil said. “The longer we delay, I fear, the more psychic energy will drain through the rift into the Overworld and the more unstable it will become.”
Varzil took up residence at Hali Tower while he and Raimon studied the situation, both at the lake shore and from the Overworld. News quickly spread throughout Thendara as well as Hali of Varzil’s presence. Groups of people, both city dwellers and travelers, assembled outside the castle, hoping for a sight of him, before being dispersed by Carolin’s men.
The electrical storms got steadily worse, both in frequency and intensity. Several times, lightning struck buildings in Thendara and Hali.
Varzil’s opinion was that the ruined columns were the remains of a massive laran device from the earliest Ages of Chaos. When he’d laid his bare hands on them so many years ago, he had received psychic impressions of its use—the device itself had acted as a magnet, drawing him back to the events that led to the Cataclysm. He’d caught only fragments of that story, two mighty Towers locked in mortal conflict, each drawing on powers far beyond any known today. Perhaps his own actions had created an opening between one time and another, between the ordinary physical world and the Overworld. Somehow, the workers at Cedestri Tower had discovered the pool of raw, unstable energy in the Overworld and had made what use they could of it.
“No one, least of all I, could have foreseen what would come from that one impulsive morning,” he said. His eyes held a curious inward focus, as if he were seeing another time, other people. Dyannis sensed a sadness beyond speaking, but perhaps that was for the boy he once was, filled with hope and moony dreams.
We have all lost that innocence, she thought. It came to her, a flash of insight as quickly forgotten, that her own impetuousness might be an attempt to remain as she once was, young and brash and talented, with all the world before her and no tragedy as yet to darken her footsteps.
At last, Varzil and Raimon formulated their strategy. To seal off the seepage of power from the lake, they must repair the rift, the portal into the Overworld. In doing so, there was a good chance they might be able to repair the damage to the lake itself, to reverse the Cataclysm. Excitement surged through the Tower at this news. The lake, restored, would become a symbol of hope, of healing, even more potent than the rebuilding of Neskaya Tower had been.
Preparations were soon concluded and a circle assembled. Although laran work was usually done at night, to minimize the distraction of stray thoughts and psychic chatter, this circle would meet in daylight on the shore of the lake.
Dyannis rose early that morning, too excited to sleep. Along with Varzil, Rorie, and the others, she made her way along the lake shore. Varzil led the way, searching for a place that was flat enough for a comfortable site and at the same time provided a clear energy c
onduit through the currents of cloud-water to the lake bottom. At last, he halted them.
Varzil’s plan was to begin the work as one united circle, with Raimon in the centripolar position as Keeper. Once a suitable resonance of mind was created, Varzil would descend into the lake with Alderic as his aide. Here he would establish a physical link with the columns and yet be able to draw upon the power and concentration of the circle.
Dyannis took her position, reaching out to Raimon on one side and Rorie on the other. She faced west, with the sun warm on the back of her jacket. There was only a little breeze, but it carried the scent of the tiny purple flowers that took root in the dunes. A few tendrils of hair had come loose from the butterfly clasp at the nape of her neck, brushing her cheek. Her spirits lifted. On such a day, in such a circle, she would be part of deeds that bards would sing of for an age.
For the past tenday, Thendara had crackled with escalating tension. The air reeked with unspent lightning. Eduin felt fear and suspicion building whenever he went into the streets. Mutterings of “Witch-kings!” and “Damned sorcery!” filled him with elation. For the first time in more years than he could remember, he had hope—hope of justice, hope of revenge, hope of finally laying the ghost of his father to rest.
When Saravio spoke, using words they had carefully rehearsed together, the crowds grew larger and more restive. The numbers of sick people who made their way to the Tower at Hali dwindled, and those who attempted the journey now bore the strained look of desperation mingled with terror.
Day by day, as winter melted into spring, the city simmered. Eduin could feel it like a caged beast, drawing ever closer to the breaking point.
The electrical storms, after a brief respite, continued to increase in severity. Rumor had it that the circle at Hali Tower was working to control them, but Eduin cared nothing for that, beyond encouraging people to blame the Towers. If the strange weather distracted the Hali’imyn from the revolt brewing beneath their very noses, so much the better. The longer they kept to their own affairs, the angrier and more unstoppable the uprising. Yet nothing, not even his remarkable success in harnessing the simmering resentments of the populace, could have prepared Eduin for the next news.
A Flame in Hali Page 10