Dreams of Fire and Gods 2: Fire

by James Erich

  “In time,” the boy said matter-offactly. “The magic that poisoned this place is gone, but not a single worm or insect has lived here for centuries. It will be many human lifetimes, but eventually this will be forest again.”

  “Is the boy… dead now?” Koreh wasn’t certain whether the idea saddened him or made him feel relieved.

  “Yes,” the Taaweh answered. But then he added, “He has gone into the mist.”

  Chapter 7

  GETTINGinto Harleh alongside the vek’s party had been easy enough. Donegh merely hid his cloak in the bushes and then slipped into the procession, which included several servants on foot. No doubt they’d been forced to walk alongside the carriages for a couple of hours. Some of the vek’s servants had given Donegh an odd look—they knew he didn’t belong with them—but no doubt they assumed he was a local peasant who wasn’t bright enough to get out of their way. At the same time, the Harleh guards assumed he was with the vek.

  Once inside the walls of Harleh, there were few guards. Donegh merely tagged along behind the procession along with nearly all the curious citizens in the city. When they reached the keep itself, it was easy enough to mix in with the stable hands. If anybody wondered who he was, they were too busy to give it much thought. Donegh eventually found a spot up in the hayloft where he could bury himself and hide until nightfall.

  Since entering the forest yesterday and discovering he was cut off from the ömem, Donegh had been going over the layout of the keep as he’d memorized it. Normally there would have been no need for him to memorize it, or not much. The ömem would have provided him with eyes to see most of its courtyards and corridors, and even glimpses into the outer rooms. That would have been enough to keep out of the way of the guards. Manysamöt depended upon this and grew lazy as a result. But those often ran into trouble when sudden storms moved in and blotted out the Eyes that the ömem depended upon for their Sight, or they found themselves in inner rooms without windows. It was always wise to memorize the layout of the target destination.

  In Donegh’s case, he’d been contracted for this job after the ömem had lost contact with the valley, so he’d never had the opportunity to explore it in his inner vision. Instead he’d been given a blueprint to memorize, and he’d gone over that until he knew every corridor, room, and linen closet in the place. The last samöt to infiltrate the keep—Larekh, who’d successfully assassinated the previous dekan, but paid for it with his life—had scaled the outer wall with hooks and surprised the dekan on his balcony.

  Donegh thought a more direct approach might be better—slipping right under everyone’s nose, so to speak. The front door of the keep was guarded, but since the courtyard was guarded as well and had an iron portcullis, the guards here were mostly for show. Other doors, such as the door to the kitchen and the door to the servants’ quarters, were guarded in principle, but generally had no more than a single watchman stationed nearby. If Donegh put a little thought into it, he could probably fool one of these men.

  He waited until after the church bells tolled Nemom, when it was dark enough to provide long shadows in the small courtyard by the kitchen door, and then slipped behind the black currant bushes in the herb garden. From here he could watch the kitchen servants going in and out to retrieve water from the garden well, fresh herbs, and wood from the woodshed.

  It was the latter that gave him his way in. When the shed was empty, he snuck inside and grabbed an armload of split wood. Then he waited until the guard was engrossed in conversation with one of the pretty young scullery maids who was coming back from the garden with an apron full of rosemary sprigs. Donegh walked right by them, heading for the kitchen.

  The guard spoke up and said, “You, there! What do you think you’re doing?” “Fetching more wood for the stove.”

  “Where did you come from? I never saw you come out of the kitchen.” “’Course I came out!” Donegh answered in a voice that could pass for a local country accent, if one didn’t listen too closely. “Mrs. Mohr needs to keep the stoves burning all night, if she’s gonna feed all the keep and the vek’s men, come tomorrow mornin’.” He’d overheard several of the servants refer to the foul-tempered cook during the day. “She’s ready to skin us all alive!”

  The guard chuckled at that and turned to the girl he’d been chatting up. “You know this boy?”

  “Him?” she replied, giving Donegh an uninterested glance. “I probably seen him.”

  “You sure? We’re supposed to keep an eye out for anyone suspicious.” “He don’t look suspicious to me,” the girl said dismissively. “I don’t know how we’re supposed to keep track of everybody goin’ in and out. There’s too many people runnin’ around in the kitchen tonight. I’ll wager someone’s gonna trip over someone else and make a huge mess. And guess who’ll have to clean it all up?”

  That seemed to be enough for the guard. With a good-humored grin, he waved Donegh by.

  And as simple as that, the assassin was inside the palace.

  “TELLme, Master Geilin,” the vek said

  casually, “about this plan you have for training women to be mages.” Sael cringed inwardly as many of the men at the dinner table snickered and Snidmot made a dramatic show of shaking his head and glancing at the ceiling. Sael should have known that his father wouldn’t let the matter drop. The vek had simply filed it away for another time. And apparently dinner was to be that time.

  Geilin seemed unperturbed. “Your Grace, I merely suggested the possibility.”

  “Preposterous!” Snidmot interjected. “Not necessarily. There are two reasons that vönan have always been men. The first is entirely practical—the Stronni insist upon it. The second is traditional—because vönan have always been men, we feel that this must always be the case.”

  “If vönan are the servants of the Stronni,” Snidmot said with exaggerated patience, “and the Stronni insist that they all be men, well, then… of course they must be!”

  “Agreed.” Geilin nodded and took a sip of his wine. “But as we discussed this afternoon, I am no longer a vönan, for the simple reason that I took advantage of an opportunity to learn… an alternative form of magic.”

  “A decision I find highly questionable,” Snidmot snapped.

  “Yes, Master Geilin,” Worlen said. “Are you quite certain that was wise?” “It hardly matters whether it was wise or not, Your Grace. It is done.” “So it is.” The others at the table seemed to find the conversation unsettling and were focusing intently on their trenchers. The food at Harleh was always magnificent, but of course the cook would rather have thrown herself off a parapet than allow anything to be burnt or underdone while the vek was here. It occurred to Sael that, with an assassin on the way to Harleh—if his father was correct, which he usually was—it might be wise to check the food for poison. But Worlen considered the use of food-tasters to be a deplorable practice, something the cowardly emperor might—and did—do. But not a Menaük.

  In this, Sael was in perfect agreement with his father. The thought of one of his servants collapsing dead from food that was meant for him disturbed Sael far more than the thought of being poisoned himself. The guards were on alert and the keep was being searched for anyone suspicious, which was about all that could be done without the aid of ömem. So Sael ate his roast duck in a delicately spiced verjuice sauce and drank his white wine without a taster. The meal was delicious, and he appeared to be surviving it well enough.

  Master Geilin went on, “The fact that I can no longer call myself a vönan does not mean that I am no longer a mage, Your Grace.” He smiled. “Indeed, the Taaweh have been ‘running me through the paces,’ as the grooms might say.”

  “From vönan to horse,” Snidmot muttered under his breath. “Quite impressive.”

  A number of the men from Worlen snickered, but Geilin ignored them. “ Vönan are powerless in Harleh Valley,” he went on. “And I don’t believe that situation will change for a very long time. Possibly none of us here will see the day when
the Eyes shine down upon Harleh again.”

  This caused a number of concerned glances to travel around the table. Though the possibility of a protracted war between the Stronni and the Taaweh had been considered in the discussions Sael had had with his father and many of those present, it was not a topic many of them felt comfortable broaching over dinner.

  “No, thank you,” the vek murmured to a servant who was attempting to refill his wine glass. Then he raised his voice to address the gathering. “I daresay we won’t keep the vönan and ömem confined to Harleh for much longer. Once the Taaweh declare open war against the Stronni—one presumes that this is their intention—Harleh will certainly still be in grave danger, but there will no longer be a need for secrecy. Those who wish to leave may do so.”

  “Even then, Father,” Sael spoke up at last, “it will be impossible for vönan to operate within the valley.”

  “True.”

  Geilin said, “Which is why, Your Grace, I believe we should train mages who can perform magic here.” “Women,” the vek replied with raised eyebrows, drawing another snicker from his men.

  Suddenly a voice—a woman’s voice—interrupted. “And why not women, Your Grace?”

  It was Tanum, Seffni’s widow, speaking from the far end of the table, opposite the vek. She was the only woman at the table, and she’d kept so quiet that most of the men had forgotten her presence. Even the vek looked surprised that she’d spoken.

  He carefully reached for his wineglass, saying, “Vönan or not, Master Geilin is still one of Sael’s advisors, and he is still responsible for securing the safety of Harleh. If he feels it necessary to train mages in the use of… unorthodox magic… that will be for Sael to decide.”

  “Your Grace!” Snidmot began to protest, but Tanum interrupted him. “Even if they are women?” Sael had to admit he took a certain amount of pleasure in watching his father squirm under Tanum’s questioning. The woman had been content to sit in the background over the past few weeks while she grieved for her late husband, but she had never been afraid of the vek.

  Sael’s father lifted his glass tentatively, as if anticipating a trap. “I shall leave that to the discretion of Master Geilin.”

  Geilin nodded, though it seemed to Sael the old man was uncomfortable being put on the spot like this. “As I said, Your Grace, I was merely—”

  “Master Geilin,” Tanum said, turning to him, “I should like to be trained.”

  In the sudden silence that came from everybody in the room freezing in place, Sael almost burst out laughing. But he knew Tanum would take that as an insult, instead of what it really was— delight at seeing his father get his comeuppance. So he choked the laughter back and disguised it with a quick sip of wine.

  “Don’t be absurd!” the vek snapped when he’d regained his composure. But Tanum was not intimidated. “I’m not being absurd, Your Grace. I’m being practical.”

  “Practical?” “Harleh is in a state of war,” Tanum went on calmly. “I cannot sit idly by, exchanging gossip over needlepoint or composing lists of dinner invitations. I need to be involved.”

  T h e vek sighed and set his wineglass back on the table without having drunk from it. “Tanum, I’m quite sure there are things—useful things—a lady of your station can do to assist. Perhaps the ömem could use some assistant nurses. No doubt you’re capable. But I will not have my son’s widow standing upon the battlements, waving her arms about and making a fool of herself in front of the entire city!”

  “Oh, is that what we do?” Snidmot muttered into his own wineglass, but everybody ignored him.

  Tanum raised her chin and looked at her father-in-law defiantly. “As I understand it, Taaweh magic is a bit more subtle than that.”

  “Whatever Taaweh magic is or is not, you are not to practice it. I forbid it.”

  “Your Grace, I am well out of my maiden years—”

  “You are a member of the Royal House of Menaük—”

  “—and I am a widow—” “—and as such, you will conduct yourself with a proper amount of decorum.”

  “—and I think I have earned the right to decide—” “Father!” Sael interrupted before the argument could spiral completely out of control. “Perhaps we should have this discussion at another time.”

  His father glanced around the table at the men busying themselves chewing or cutting their duck into minute pieces to escape this unseemly display of family discord. Then, as the staff entered with the next course, the vek said simply, “Quite so.”

  Tanum gave Sael a conspiratorial look that said, “Isn’t he tedious?” and then directed her attention back to her plate. Sael was sympathetic, but he had to admit he was as shocked as the others at the idea of a woman practicing magic. Still, he knew the Taaweh women were mages just as much as the men were. As far as he could determine, all the Taaweh were mages, though perhaps he simply hadn’t seen enough of them to get an accurate picture.

  One thing seemed clear to him— few of the vönan in Harleh would choose the path Geilin had chosen. What they wanted was escape from Harleh, so they could come into their power again. They weren’t interested in throwing away everything they’d spent their lives working for if the situation cutting them off from the Eyes was only temporary.

  Which brought up another question —once the Taaweh announced their presence to the Stronni and secrecy no longer provided an advantage, should anyone who wished to leave Harleh be allowed to do so? Once the Stronni began to attack the valley directly, would anyone wish to remain here? Sael feared Harleh would soon be abandoned, its residents scattered to Worlen or other cities to the east.

  But he waited until after dinner, when Tanum had retired and the men were taking brandy in the library, to bring the subject up.

  Not surprisingly, his father was appalled by the idea of anyone turning his back upon Harleh. “Some cowards may run away, and you’ll do well to be rid of them. But these people have been here for generations. They built these walls with their own labor. They’ve buried their ancestors here! Harleh is their home and they won’t abandon it.”

  Sael was far from convinced. His father wasn’t living here. He wasn’t enduring the unsettling discolored sky day after day, and he wasn’t watching an unnatural forest press in from all sides.

  “Your Grace,” Meik said, “there have been reports of…. Well, a number of people have taken their own lives.”

  Worlen frowned and finished his brandy, then carefully set the snifter down upon one of the library’s small side tables. His voice was somewhat softer when he spoke. “You know as well as I do, General, these things tend to happen in times of war.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  “Are you saying we should just ignore it?” Sael asked incredulously. His father replied coolly, “I’m saying I have no solution for it. What would you propose? A festival to cheer everyone up?” He clearly found the idea ludicrous.

  “I am finding it harder to justify imprisoning my own people, just to provide a slight tactical advantage to the Taaweh.”

  “Perhaps you should have considered that before making this alliance.”

  “Perhaps,” Sael replied, refusing to be baited, “but just how much will it cost the Taaweh, if the Stronni learn of them now? They appear to be capable of defending themselves. Why can’t we allow some people to leave Harleh, if they wish?”

  Sael could tell immediately that he’d said something foolish by the sour looks he received, not only from his father, but from the generals as well.

  “General Meik,” Worlen said, “there appears to be a slight gap in the dekan’s education on tactics. Would you mind?”

  “Certainly, Your Grace,” Meik said, though the look he gave Sael was apologetic. “Your Lordship…. Let us say that you were at war, perhaps with the emperor, and you discovered after your initial attack that his city was more or less invulnerable. Nothing you threw at it was having any effect at all. What would your next move be?”

  Sael fought bac
k his initial feelings of irritation and embarrassment and answered the general’s question. “Cut off his supplies. If possible, prevent any fresh water from going into the city. There are two rivers that go into güKhemed. If we diverted them into the surrounding fields, we’d also wipe out any nearby farms that could provide supplies. Other nearby farms we would capture or….”

  Sael hesitated, not wanting to finish his thought, but Meik finished it for him. “… Or burn.”

  “But… Worlen doesn’t supply the Taaweh with anything.” “No,” the vek said, “but the Stronni will perceive us as allies and traitors. They will destroy Worlen as a matter of course.”

  It was true. Sael had been thinking solely of Harleh these past weeks, but now he could see that Worlen was in far more immediate danger. “What can be done to protect Worlen?”

  His father snorted. “Protect it from the gods? Nothing. At least… there’s nothing we can do.” He paused. “I’m not happy with this. Not at all. But after weighing the alternatives, I’ve been forced to conclude that our only reasonable course of action is to petition the Taaweh to extend their protection to Worlen.”

  the shadows. The Taaweh hadn’t specifically taught him how to do this— it had just come to him naturally. Initially, as he began to travel through the earth from one place to another, he’d been blind, relying upon a sort of “feeling” of his destination. He thought of a place or a person, and suddenly he was there.

  KOREHhad been learning to see through But gradually he’d begun to “see” where he was going. It had been fuzzy and indistinct at first, as though he were looking through a pane of the thick leaded glass nobles were so fond of sealing up their windows with, which let in light but were too warped to really see through. Over time, the images had sharpened. Now he could see fairly well when he chose to look ahead, and better in dark spaces than in light. It appeared to be the opposite of the Sight the ömem possessed.

  This was how Koreh saw the samöt silently lower himself from the window of a darkened room on one of the upper floors of the keep—one used by the servants to heat the water that was piped down into Sael’s quarters—onto Sael’s balcony. The man was small and slight, with a head of tousled dark hair that gave him an almost childlike appearance. But from his face, Koreh estimated that he was an adult, or nearly.