The Silent Tempest (Book 2)

by Michael G. Manning

Byovar and Thillmarius left soon after that, and the remaining Prathion krytek vanished, though whether they were truly gone or just invisible was an open question. Lyralliantha and the Illeniel krytek remained.

  Tyrion and his children began cleaning up the aftermath of the battle.

  The chickens were gone, whether dead or alive it was impossible to say. They didn’t find any avian remains. The lone pig had been the recipient of a poorly aimed blast of aythar. His body was spread across the interior of his shattered pen. They found two sheep, dead, and the rest were missing.

  It appeared their days of animal husbandry were over, at least for the next few weeks.

  The main house was undamaged. Its enchanted stones had resisted the few attacks that had struck it. The dormitory had sustained minor damage, and Ryan resolved that it should have the same treatment as Tyrion’s home when they repaired it. It would be a lot of magical labor, but it was worth it if it meant they wouldn’t have to worry about repairs in the future.

  Assuming they had a future.

  Tyrion pointed at one of the Illeniel krytek, a large quadrupedal insectoid with a pair of pincer like arms projecting above the main body. Its appearance was hideous, but it looked to be ideally built for clearing some of the rubble of one of the storehouses that had collapsed. “You, move those stones and stack them over there, so we can sort out what’s left in there.”

  The creature stared blankly at him but didn’t move.

  He walked closer, repeating his orders in Erollith, “I said I want you to help move those stones.”

  “We were not made to assist in your labors,” replied the krytek, dispelling any illusion he might have had that it was unintelligent.

  Tyrion’s temper was already dangerously short. Bringing his arm across in a sudden slashing motion, he activated his weapon enchantment at the same time. The krytek was unprotected and unready for such an attack, but the creature stepped back and to one side before his slash could land. The timing was uncanny.

  It made no move to create a defensive spellweave or otherwise defend itself. Tyrion was left glaring at it and feeling somewhat foolish. “If you’re going to stand around here, I expect you to help us clean up this mess,” he reiterated. Brigid was advancing on the krytek from the rear now, having noticed his angry tone and failed attack.

  Lyralliantha appeared and intervened before things could go any farther. “Stop!” she commanded.

  Tyrion and Brigid both graced her with withering glares.

  “Were you truly planning to attack one of the krytek now guarding your home?” she asked incredulously.

  “I’ve had a very trying day, and this obstinate, overgrown bug refuses to help us cleanup,” he growled at her.

  “They are not made for such labors,” she replied.

  “Your people nearly destroyed everything I’ve built here. The least they could do is help us straighten up their mess.”

  “My people saved you,” she replied coolly. “The battle today was the doing of the Mordan, Gaelyn, and Centyr.”

  Irritated he shot back, “She’Har are She’Har, whatever grove they’re from.”

  “No,” she replied, growing visibly annoyed, “they are not. We are all She’Har, but they are not my people, they are not my race.” Lyralliantha turned to the krytek, “Help him with whatever he asks.” The krytek nodded, and she began walking away, toward the Illeniel Grove.

  “Where are you going?” he demanded.

  “Home,” she answered. “I need peace, and it is obvious I won’t find it here.”

  Angry, he watched her walk for a moment before speaking to the krytek, “You heard her, start lifting.”

  Later he told Kate about the exchange, but rather than being supportive, she graced him with a look of disappointment. “You really can be a jerk sometimes.”

  “We almost died today,” he reminded her sourly.

  “That’s not the point. You’re treating the people who help you as badly as the people who hurt you,” she explained.

  “They’re the same people.”

  “The five groves are separate races,” she replied. “They’re related, but to them they’re as different from one another as sheep and goats. You insulted Lyra.”

  That was a fact he had never heard about the She’Har. “Did she tell you that?”

  Kate nodded, “She showed me, visions from the elders’ memories of their first world.”

  Stubborn, he responded, “She hasn’t taken the loshti yet, she couldn’t have that knowledge.”

  “They showed her during their councils, but speaking of that, have you considered the fact that you’ve driven her away when she has less than a week left before she is to take the loshti?” Her emerald eyes bored into him accusingly. “The last thing she wants right now is to be fighting with you during the last days she has before she leaves for a year.”

  He had no good response to that, and he had learned that his pride usually caused more problems than it solved. With difficulty he nodded at her, “I’ll apologize to her—later. I’m too angry to think straight right now.”

  She started to put her hand on his arm, but he tensed.

  “Later, Kate,” he told. “I’m not good company at the moment.”

  With an understanding look, she turned back toward the house. “I need to sort out what we’re going to eat anyway.”

  As soon as she had gone beyond earshot he glanced at Brigid, who still hovered nearby. “Did you see what that thing did?” The krytek in question was some yards distant now, moving the rubble as requested. Tyrion pitched his voice low for his daughter’s ears alone.

  Brigid nodded, “I saw them fighting the other krytek too. It took several from the other groves just to bring down one of them.”

  “It started moving as soon as I did. There was no delay. It was as if it wasn’t reacting, it was simply acting in time with my own attack,” he observed quietly.

  “How could they do that?” she asked intently.

  Tyrion shook his head, “I don’t know.” But I will damn sure find out.

  Chapter 40

  The She’Har returned the next morning, less than twenty-four hours after the attack of the previous day.

  Five lore-wardens came, one from each of the five groves: Listrius, representing the Illeniel Grove; Thillmarius, for the Prathion Grove; Goldin, for the Centyr Grove; Taymar, for the Gaelyn Grove; and Mareltus, for the Mordan Grove. Lyralliantha walked amidst them, carrying a large wooden case.

  They had no escort or entourage, no guards or other accompaniment. It was a peculiarity of their race. Where a human representative might have required protection, the She’Har simply didn’t bother. Their children, even the lore-wardens, were simply not that important. They could replace their children, only the trees, the elders, deserved real protection.

  Tyrion met them in front of the main house, and every person living in the community they now called Albamarl, stood with him.

  “I see you’ve returned without your soldiers,” he told them curtly.

  Lyralliantha advanced toward him, presenting the case, while Listrius spoke, “The five groves have come to agreement.”

  “What have you decided?” asked Tyrion.

  “Your race is sentient, aware, and deserving of respect. Our actions in the past have been harmful to you. From this time forward, humankind will be treated with the same regard that the five groves show to each other, and you will be considered a part of the Illeniel Grove—assuming you agree to this accord,” said Listrius formally.

  Together Listrius and Lyralliantha opened the case, displaying the black tablet within. Tyrion might have thought it was made of stone, but his magesight showed him the fine almost invisible grain of the Eilen’tyral that it was made from. The tablet was densely inscribed with the hexagonal symbols of Erollith. Being written on a flat tablet, the accord was written using only two of the six axes, the past objective moving toward the future objective. It was a more practical form of writing than
the usual six axes, three dimensional, sculpture-like documents.

  “Where’s the rest of it?” asked Tyrion after glancing at it briefly.

  Listrius’ brows went up momentarily. The She’Har hadn’t expected the human to be so familiar with their written language. “This document contains all the practical information, but we are indeed constructing a more formal document that will contain the personal and subjective elements for posterity.”

  “I’ll need a day to peruse this before I put my signature on it,” responded Tyrion. “I will also want to see the final complete document when it is finished.”

  “That may not be for some months,” Listrius informed him.

  “I will still want to see it,” said Tyrion brusquely. “To ensure the accuracy of the additional information, even if it isn’t functionally relevant.”

  The She’Har left shortly after that exchange, and Tyrion retreated into his bedroom with the She’Har tablet. Lyralliantha went with him. She no longer seemed irritated, but Kate gave her a look of sympathy anyway. It was obvious to her that Lyralliantha needed some support before her ordeal in a few days, but Tyrion was too preoccupied with his own concerns to notice.

  Kate left the two of them alone, hoping he would take the hint.

  “Read this part for me,” said Tyrion, pointing at part of the text.

  “All humans currently kept by the She’Har will be released,” she recited dutifully. “You should have been able to read that,” she admonished him.

  “I just wanted to make sure I understood it properly,” he replied. “I sometimes miss certain nuances. Does that mean they intend to release all the people in the slave camps?”

  Lyralliantha nodded.

  He chewed his lip, “That won’t do.”

  “I thought that part would please you.”

  “What do you think will happen if they release tens of thousands of psychotic mages?” he asked. “They outnumber the entire population of Colne and Lincoln, and they have no inkling of how to act in a civilized society. The ‘normal’ human population will be overrun, tortured, abused, and most likely enslaved.”

  “Will they not obey you?” she replied.

  “Without collars they won’t obey anyone. Even I couldn’t hope to control so many with nothing more than intimidation.”

  “How would you change it then?”

  “Your people created this problem,” he told her. “They’ll have to keep the slave cities running. Even if they were civilized, there’s no way for me to feed a population of that size. The She’Har will have to continue supporting them.”

  “Then nothing will have changed,” she noted.

  “We’ll build a city, here,” he explained. “I’ll make a tour of the slave cities every year and select some of the inhabitants to be released and allowed to relocate. Over time we can build and handle more of them. In the meantime, the She’Har will have to insure that their slave populations don’t grow—no breeding, no more child pens.”

  “How long will this take?”

  “Longer than my life I’d imagine,” he replied, pursing his lips. “Some of them will probably die before we get to them.

  Something in her expression caught his eye.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked her. “You look like someone stole your dog.”

  “It is of no importance.”

  Remembering what Kate had told him the day before, he spoke again, “I’m sorry for yesterday. I was upset, and my words were rude. Are you worried about taking the loshti?”

  She nodded, “In part. I am more concerned for what will happen to you while I am away.”

  “I will still be here when you return,” he said reassuringly. “Let the future take care of itself.”

  Lyralliantha laughed, “But that is the duty of the Ill…” She stopped suddenly.

  “The duty of the Illeniels?” he said, finishing her sentence and turning it into a question. “What does that mean?”

  “It is just a saying,” she replied stiffly. “My grove is known for being more concerned with the future than the others.”

  “No, you said ‘duty’, and that implies more than just a generalization,” he argued. “What did you mean?”

  “It is not something I am permitted to speak of,” she confessed, dropping her pretense.

  Tyrion’s mind was quick, and several things fell into place at once. “The battle yesterday, the way the Illeniel krytek fought—how did they avoid so many attacks?” he asked.

  She didn’t answer.

  “It’s the Illeniel gift isn’t it?” His eyes bored into her.

  Lyralliantha nodded but didn’t speak.

  “And the other groves know about it?”

  She nodded once more.

  “But you can’t tell me. That doesn’t make much sense considering we are about to join the Illeniel Grove, according to this treaty,” he responded.

  “Let us talk of something else, my Love,” she answered.

  Frustrated, he growled but when she leaned forward to kiss him he relaxed. No point in spoiling the evening over it, he thought. Besides, I’ve figured out more of their secrets than she realizes. Smiling inwardly, he kissed her again, rising to his feet, and lifting her into his arms before tossing her onto the bed.

  “Oh!” she cried, startled.

  He stalked forward, the look of a hunter on his face. “Don’t try to escape,” he told her in mock seriousness.

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” she said slyly.

  ***

  Three days later the amended treaty was signed, and the first accord between humanity and the She’Har became official. It was a solemn occasion that should perhaps, have been celebrated with great fanfare and ceremony, but the small community of Albamarl contented themselves with merely having a larger than usual dinner. The She’Har representatives remained long enough to hear Tyrion play on his cittern but returned to their groves soon after that.

  All in all it was a rather anticlimactic event, despite its importance in the history of both mankind and the She’Har.

  Lyralliantha was due to take the loshti the next day, so Kate left her and Tyrion alone that evening, electing to sleep in the other bedroom with Layla.

  In the wee hours of the morning, though, Tyrion rose, leaving Lyralliantha to sleep alone. It was still dark when he entered the dormitory and went to one particular door. Knocking, he found Emma awake and waiting for him. She was dressed, and Ryan sat beside her on the bed.

  “Are you ready?” he asked, even though the answer was obvious.

  “Yes, Father,” they replied together.

  Leaving the dormitory, the three of them went to one of the undamaged storage buildings. Inside, they descended a set of stairs into a dark room filled with musty smells and cool earth—a root cellar built to keep food. Moving to the back wall, they stood together in a small ring.

  “Don’t let her go too deep,” he cautioned Ryan.

  “I should be fine, Father,” remarked Emma. “Just make sure I follow the right course.” After a few seconds her eyes grew distant, and the earthen wall in front of them opened to reveal a dark passage.

  The three of them entered, and the soil closed behind them. The tunnel only extended for thirty feet ahead, but as they walked it moved with them, opening before them and filling in to the rear. It went deeper as they walked, and Tyrion kept his magesight tuned to the earth above them, marking their way.

  “More to the left here,” he told Ryan, giving yet another command to his son who was holding Emma’s hand as they walked. Ryan silently relayed the information to his sister, and the tunnel began to meander more to the left, giving a wide berth to one of the massive roots of the god-trees.

  “You’re sure they won’t detect us?” asked Ryan for the tenth time.

  “No,” said Tyrion, “but you don’t feel anything happening do you?”

  Ryan shook his head. Whatever Emma was doing, it seemed undetectable. The earth moved as if of its own acc
ord.

  “She’s clever,” complimented Tyrion. “I don’t think anyone outside of us could feel the empty space where we are now.”

  “I feel it,” said Ryan.

  “Because we’re in it,” responded Tyrion. “I can hear the earth talking to her. She, or it, is saying that there’s nothing here, nothing but more earth. I think if we were above ground we’d not even know it was here.

  “I hope so,” said his son.

  They traveled that way for another hour, moving slowly, avoiding the great roots of the trees of the Illeniel Grove, until at last Tyrion called for them to halt, “This is it.”

  Ryan squeezed Emma’s hand, speaking to her mind to mind; after a minute she blinked, emerging from her trance-like state. Tyrion moved to his other side and took Ryan’s left hand in his own. “Focus your attention above us,” he told them. “Be ready.”

  Emma’s eyes glazed over once more, and Tyrion’s face took on a similar expression. It was harder for him, for the voice he sought was farther away, muted by the heavy layer of earth above him. He found it nonetheless, and soon his mind was drifting with the wind.

  In Lyralliantha’s bower, far above them, a heavy dark-skinned fruit hung from a branch above her sleeping pallet. In appearance it was much like the calmuth that were to be found everywhere, but it was denser and its color different. A sudden breeze struck the branch.

  It wasn’t a wind strong enough to damage the branch, but within it was a thinner blast of air, moving much faster and with a razor thin edge. It neatly severed the stem holding the purplish fruit in place, and it began to fall.

  Another gust caught the fruit and buoyed it for a moment, sending it gently falling to one side, so that rather than falling on the bed, it sailed out of the bower and fell toward the distant earth below. It picked up speed for a few seconds before the air began to behave strangely once more, blowing directly beneath it, slowing its descent. When it finally touched the ground it was so softly that it hardly made a sound.

  The earth received it gratefully, and the dark soil swallowed it, leaving no trace of where the fruit had momentarily lain. The loshti was gone.

  In the dark cavern below, the fruit emerged from the earth to fall neatly into Tyrion’s waiting hands. Pulling a heavy wool bag next to him open, he removed a strangely carved wooden box. It had a hinged lid that he deftly opened. Inside, it was lined with velvet.