“Nevertheless,” Ramirus said, “the reference seems clear.”
“Yes. Yes. Of course . . .” He cleared his throat. “One is tempted to read the second line as referring to the number of children in the generation after that, but there is no support for that interpretation. Even allowing for unrecorded bastards—” He looked at Rhys as though he was about to apologize for the reference, then thought better of it “—there is nothing near that number of offspring in the lyr lines. Especially during the Dark Times. Families were small for a long time after that.”
“Perhaps these numbers refer to the generations themselves,” Kamala said.
Rommel looked at her. “Pardon me?”
“How long has it been since this prophecy was written? About a thousand years, correct? Forty-nine generations is almost that.”
As the archivist’s brow furrowed in concentration, Kamala sensed Ramirus’ eyes fixed on her. Well, did you think I would not conjure knowledge for myself before giving you my relics? Despite the danger of baiting him, she found she was enjoying the game immensely. Did that mean she was truly a Magister at heart?
“Yes, yes, that could be the meaning,” Rommel agreed. “Perhaps not intended literally, as an exact number, but simply to indicate a considerable period of time. Long enough for the lyr to forget some things about their own heritage.”
“The image of a flame might refer to the gift of the gods,” the Lady Protector offered. “In which case, the meaning of the entire prophecy becomes clear: After enough time, men will forget the nature of that gift, or how to use it.”
Rommel nodded excitedly. “Yes, and what is most interesting about all this is the next section is clearly meant to show us how to retrieve that knowledge. If we can decipher it properly.” His eyes narrowed in concentration as he studied his notes. “Three ladies . . . the eldest . . . some kind of lineage reference?”
Kamala paused just long enough for her to look as if she had to think about her answer. “There are some monuments in Alkali,” she mused. She turned to Rhys. “What did you say they were called?”
“Three Sisters. Wind-carved towers, at the north end of Alkali’s central plain. They’re called the Three Sisters.” There was an odd look in Rhys’ eyes as he said that; it took her a moment to realize why.
Rhys had talked to Namanti about the Three Sisters, not to Kamala. That was well before Kamala had joined him. So how did she know what he had said to his companion said back then?
“So.” Rommel dipped his quill in ink and began scribbling new notes next to the old ones. “The Three Sisters in Alkali. That means the eldest would be—”
“The tallest one,” Lazaroth said. Thus far he had been silent, his dark eyes brooding as Kamala and Ramirus had offered up their tidbits of stolen knowledge. He was sharp enough to know that something was up, and he was not pleased.
Rhys nodded stiffly. “That is the one which Anukyat’s Citadel guards. The base of the monument is part of its structure.”
“And this reference to a twilight throne?”
Kamala smiled with satisfaction; this answer did not require sorcery. “The servants of the Citadel spoke of such a thing when I was there. Some great antique chair made of bones, covered by blue-black leather. The color of twilight, they said. The servants believed that it was at the top of the tower. They called it the Throne of Tears.” She paused, remembering. “Every now and then some foolish boy would climb up, looking for it. They never came back.”
Gwynofar nodded. “It is said that in the ancient days there was a throne fashioned from the bones and wings of Souleaters. Some now believe it was never real, only legend.”
“Apparently Anukyat believes in it,” Favias muttered. “Why else have a fortified outpost in the middle of nowhere?”
“So, some sort of blood offering must be made in front of this chair,” Rhys said. “Is that the idea? And that will awaken ancient magics, reveal forgotten truths, call down the favor of the gods to protect us from the Souleaters?” It was the first time that he had allowed his voice to express the full measure of his newfound cynicism and Kamala felt herself holding her breath as she wondered if the others would take note of it. But they seemed too wrapped up in unraveling this mystery to notice the bitter edge in his voice—or else they just chose to ignore it.
“There is nothing of gods in this prophecy,” Rommel pointed out. It was a simple factual statement, but ironically, it was just the response that Rhys needed to hear; Kamala could see her traveling companion relax slightly, as he realized he was not going to have to pretend to honor the gods that had abandoned him.
“It speaks of the seven ruling bloodlines acting as one.” Ramirus said. “Perhaps embodied in a single individual.” He stroked his long beard thoughtfully, pretending to muse over the problem. In reality, Kamala’s handful of brick fragments had already provided him with most of the information he needed. The rest was all showmanship, for Lazaroth’s sake. “With the same number of ancestors from each bloodline, perhaps?”
Deep furrows appeared in Rommel’s brow as he considered the question. “Well, it would not be so simple as all that, since each ancestor after the first would carry multiple strains himself, in varying proportions, but theoretically it could be worked out. See here . . .” He spread out his genealogical charts on the table. “If we can figure in the dilution of each succeeding generation properly, we can produce a formula which allows us to evaluate the blood of each existing lyr for its precise relationship to each of the original seven founders. Lord Kierdwyn, for instance, traces his heritage back to the bloodlines of Kierdwyn, Abeja, Brusus, Han, and Tonado most strongly, with lesser strains of Skandir and Alkali. All the lyr can be mapped thus, turning the whole problem into a simple mathematical exercise.”
“Hardly simple,” the Lord Protector mused.
Rommel flushed. “Forgive me, your Lordship, I—”
Stevan waved his protest short. “I meant it as a compliment, Rommel. Ten centuries of genealogical records are no small thing to wade through, much less reduce to mathematical measure, simple or otherwise. So do you think you will be able to find us one of these . . . well, I suppose we shall have to come up with a new word for it . . . a lyr whose birthright is in balance? In whom all seven bloodlines are equally represented?
“Oh, I am sure, Your Lordship. If Magister Lazaroth will help me send word to all the other archivists, we can start work on it right away. We may not be able to find a lineage that is as perfectly proportioned as the prophecy would like, but we can certainly locate the best candidate for you.” He hesitated. “That said, it will take time of course. . . .”
“All the more reason to begin immediately.” The Lord Protector looked to Lazaroth. “Please give Archivist Rommel all the help he needs.”
“Of course.”
Kierdwyn turned to look at his lord constable. “Ullar, you are quiet today. Have you nothing to add?”
The officer snorted. “I am a man of war, my liege, not a jongleur. The fine points of poetry I leave to others, prophetic or otherwise.”
“But if we wished to send in a force to claim this relic, that would be a different story, yes?”
The constable bit his lip as he considered. With his coarse stubble and his hard, cold eyes, the expression gave him a particularly fierce look. Then, without a word, he got up and went to the sideboard, where several maps had been laid out. Sensing his intention, Rommel quickly gathered up his drawings and Favias moved the pen and inkwell safely out of the way. Just in time. A large map was unrolled across the table and those sitting nearest the corners instinctively reached out to hold it flat.
Alkali.
Every mountain and valley of the rogue Protectorate was mapped out in meticulous detail, including the pass that Rhys and Namanti had originally intended to access; there had not yet been time to update it. With a shudder, Kamala saw a plateau marked the northern edge of the map, and a hard black line cutting across it. The Wrath. It seemed almost o
bscene that a curse of such baleful power could be reduced to a simple pen stroke.
Anukyat’s Citadel was marked on the map as well, along with details of the outer and inner defensive walls. According to the map, it commanded the highest inhabitable ground for miles in every direction. All but bare of trees, the area immediately surrounding it offered little cover to protect invaders. The map showed that clearly, too.
“Its defenses aren’t what they used to be,” the constable told them. “But the place was designed to withstand a siege at least long enough for reinforcements to arrive from the south. Rough terrain to the west means bringing in supplies won’t be easy, at least from Kierdwyn.” He looked up at Kamala. “You could not work spells there?”
Surprised to be consulted, it took her a moment to find her voice. “No. Not reliably.”
Master Favias said, “The Wrath has expanded its geographical area of influence. Presumably since the Spear was damaged.”
“Which means it may continue to do so,” Ullar noted, “so relying on sorcery for anything would be a mistake. That is not a pretty picture, especially once winter comes.” He looked up at his rulers. “You tell me you want to conquer a fortress in the middle of Alkali, I can come up with a plan for that. We’d have to bring in our supply lines from the southwest, so that Lazaroth could protect them—I’d wager his skills against that pissant Alkali Magister any day—and that means we’d have to control a few key transit points, here, here, and here. And then hold this pass to protect our flank.” He indicated various places on the map as he spoke, too quickly for Kamala to do anything more than acknowledge they were there. “But that kind of campaign takes time. Possibly a lot of time. And I’m hearing we don’t have that.”
“No,” the Lord Protector agreed. “Not if the Souleaters are already here.”
Ullar clucked his tongue as he studied the map. “Well, there is an alternative,” he said at last. “But it would be a chancy thing without sorcery to back it.”
“What is that?”
“First, your Lordship, please clarify something for me. What is the real goal here? Getting hold of some piece of mystical furniture and bringing it back here so we can bring in our best-bred lyr and have them try it out? Or just getting someone with the right birthright to sit down in the thing, possibly right where it is?”
Kamala could feel a wave of tension come over the table as they all realized what he was proposing.
“Well,” the Lord Protector said slowly, “It might require more than merely ‘sitting down’ . . . but yes, sending someone to it would be an option.”
“A dangerous option,” his wife offered.
Ullar snorted. “War is dangerous. One does not win it without taking risks. And we know what the battlefield will look like in the end if we lose.”
He stroked his stubbled chin as he studied the map; Kamala could almost hear his brain churning. Finally he turned to Rhys. “Am I correct in understanding that the Citadel flanks this tower, it does not surround it?”
Startled, Rhys looked to Kamala for confirmation; evidently he thought her memory would be better than his. When she nodded he said, “Yes. That’s right.”
“Well, that is good then. But hells!” He cursed softly under his breath. “I would give my right eye to be able to send someone in for a good reconnaissance right now.”
“Why can’t you?” the Lady Protector asked him
“Because the damned thing is surrounded by enough open ground that getting close to it unobserved will be all but impossible without some kind of arcane support. And according to the witch here, we can’t rely upon that.”
“Ah,” Kamala coughed gently into her hand. “I didn’t say that, exactly.”
Heads around the table turned toward her.
“You asked me about spellcasting,” she said. “That was nearly impossible. But witchery performed elsewhere was unaffected, at least as far as my experience went.”
“Explain this to me,” Ullar said. “Assume that I do not know your art at all, and make it simple.”
She didn’t really want to elaborate, but there was no way to back out of it now. “I had shapechanged before entering the area in question,” she said, a hint of defiance in her voice. Would the Magisters wonder why a mere witch was performing such a costly move? Would it make them question what she really was? “I had no trouble maintaining that form as I approached the Wrath.” She shivered inwardly, remembering how that experiment had ended. “Changing back within the affected region almost cost me my life. Spells I tried later were all unstable. Perhaps it is the art of binding and shaping power that is affected there. Perhaps a human spirit subjected to the Wrath cannot manage the concentration required. But spells that were crafted elsewhere seemed to hold true, even when we were standing before the Spear itself.” And remained true afterward , she thought with satisfaction. Your own Magisters still cannot break through them.
For a moment Ullar stared at her, digesting that information. Then he turned to Lazaroth.
The Magister nodded, anticipating his thoughts. “Send me your scouts. I will give them wings.” He glanced at Kamala, his dark eyes narrowing. “May the gods prove you right, witch.” He spoke the last word as though it tasted vile on his tongue. “Otherwise we may lose some good men.”
“Enough,” the Lord Protector said. He offered a nod of appreciation to Kamala. “Your testimony is appreciated.” Then he turned his attention to Ullar again. “Even with sorcery to guard our ‘chosen one,’ this is a risky venture. We have no way of knowing what safeguards already exist in that place to detect such invasion. Perhaps even sorceries established long ago, before the Wrath began to falter.”
“Aye,” Ullar agreed. “We will have to distract the enemy.”
With a calloused hand the constable indicated the border between Kierdwyn and Alkali. “Let us bring war to Alkali. Armed men prepared to fight, gathered along the border, who honestly believe they are about to attack in force. That way any sorcery focused upon them will get the proper message. Here, and here also—” He indicated several points along the border. “—we will gather our forces and focus such reconnaissance spells upon the enemy as a real war would require. That should keep their Magister busy enough. Meanwhile, if we can get the High Kingdom to join forces with us, threatening a two-pronged attack, that will double the deception. . . .” He raised an eyebrow as he looked at Gwynofar. “Your Majesty?”
To her surprise, Gwynofar found herself falling easily into the mindset of war; a lifetime of marriage to Danton Aurelius had prepared her for such things. “Salvator might agree to such a feint if he were convinced of the need, but I am not sure he could get an army here in the time frame required. The distance is great, and he will not allow the use of sorcery to shorten it.”
“Not an unreasonable stand, for once,” Ramirus said. “Sorcerous transportation is risky at best, and must be managed one man at a time, or something very close to that. Some will be lost along the way; that is inevitable.” He looked at Ullar. “An acceptable cost in war, but perhaps less so when one is merely dealing with the illusion of war.”
The constable grunted. “I see I did not make myself clear. This will be a ‘real’ war to everyone but us. Not even my generals will know the truth.” He looked at Stevan. “Anything less would make us vulnerable to the enemy’s divination.”
The Lord Protector nodded. “Quite correct.”
Evaine turned to Gwynofar. “Will you speak to your son? Convince him of the need for this?”
She sighed. “I will do my best. But he is Aurelius, and therefore stubborn. Do not make plans that depend upon his compromising his beliefs.” She paused. “We do have several garrisons in our northern provinces. It might be possible to position them as you require within a reasonable time frame. Not as many troops as an all-out war would require, but perhaps as an auxiliary to your own efforts it would be convincing enough.”
Ullar nodded. “Good. The goal is to threaten enough of the
border that Alkali’s attention is focused there and its defensive forces spread thin. With luck, if Anukyat believes that he is safely out of the line of fire, he may even send down some of his own Guardians to help out.”
“While we do what, exactly?” the Lady Protector asked. “I wish to be clear on this.”
Ullar scowled. “Hard to answer that precisely, until my scouts report. But if this tower can be scaled from the outside, I’m thinking it might be a lesser battle to try to sneak our ‘chosen one’ into place than to bring this relic to us.” He looked to the two rulers. “With your approval of course, Your Lordships.”
For a moment the room was so silent Kamala could hear herself breathing. Then, with a soft rustle of silk, the Lady Protector turned to face her husband. Her face was pale, her hand trembling where it lay on the table; clearly the conversation had unsettled her. For a long moment they just looked at one another, communing as couples do who have lived together for so long that they no longer need words to communicate.
Finally Stevan turned back to Ullar. “We will hear what your scouts have to say,” he declared, “and then we will decide. In the meantime, let it be known among your men that Kierdwyn is going to war. One way or another, that is the truth of it.”
“Yes, Your Lordship. Immediately.”
“I assume you will provide a well-layered plan so that anyone using arcane powers to investigate this matter will find enough secrets and diversions to keep him busy.”
“Plots within plots,” Ullar promised him.
“Excellent.” the Lord Protector turned to Rommel once more. “You and your colleagues must find us someone who can play the role of this ‘chosen one,’ with all dispatch. Someone whom the prophecy—and the gods—will favor. Nothing can be decided until we know who that is, and what he is capable of.”
Wings of Wrath Page 33