Dreams

by James Erich

  Snidmot snorted in contempt. “Nobody can foresee the future.”

  “They can. At least, Koreh believes that they can. And regardless of whether my judgment was correct—I admit, it was a hurried decision—I believe them about Harleh being destroyed without their aid. We know what happened the last time the gods fought over this territory.”

  “What?” his father asked.

  Geilin responded for his pupil. “The entire valley was burned to ash, the ground poisoned, and all living creatures destroyed. It was several hundred years before anything could grow and thrive here and several hundred more before men resettled the valley.”

  “But we worship the Stronni now,” Snidmot insisted. “They would never destroy us.”

  “On the contrary, the Stronni are not known for their mercy, or letting anything stand in the way of victory.”

  Snidmot attempted to reply, but the vek had grown impatient. “Enough of this. The alliance has been made, and we do not have the luxury of bickering over it for hours. Our ömem are useless, for the time being, and we can expect the emperor’s army to be here by this evening or tomorrow morning. We have a battle to prepare for.”

  He turned to Sael and said, “You will come with me to inspect the guards posted in the towers and around the walls. It’s unlikely we’ll be attacked before morning, but we’ll be ready whenever it comes.”

  Chapter 26

  KOREH wasn’t allowed to return to Harleh until after nightfall. He found Sael alone in his room, standing in the shadows, so he could look out the open window at the fields and forest beyond the city walls without being seen. The sky was a faint gray, though the cloud cover was too thick for the Eye to be seen.

  “Are you sure that’s safe?” Koreh asked, causing the young dekan to jump.

  Sael turned and glared at him. “What difference does it make? Apparently anyone can just come and go as they please, regardless of locks and walls.”

  “Not anyone. Just the Taaweh.”

  “And you.”

  His eyes seemed to take in the black shadow robe Koreh still wore.

  Koreh smiled at him and reached out to grasp his waist with both hands. Sael didn’t pull away, but he didn’t move closer either. “In a way, I’m one of them now,” Koreh said, then quickly amended, “Or, at least, I seem to be accepted by them. I can’t say I really understand them.”

  “But you trust them.”

  “Yes.”

  Koreh pulled him into an embrace and Sael gave up his pretense of resistance, wrapping his arms around Koreh’s back. He pressed his cheek against Koreh’s, then slid his lips along the young man’s skin until they reached his mouth. Koreh responded and kissed him deeply.

  “Why did you disappear?” Sael asked, when they pulled apart.

  “They were afraid your father would try to pry more information out of me. The Taaweh are very secretive.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. It’s just the way they are.”

  “I’ve spent the day explaining myself to Father,” Sael said, sounding petulant. “He was furious.”

  “Then why did he back you up?”

  Sael gave him a wry smile and shook his head. “Because he thinks it’s crucial that the men see me as having some authority. He wasn’t happy with my decision, but he thought it would be far worse for him to openly contradict me.”

  “Thank you for trusting me enough to accept the alliance,” Koreh said.

  Sael smiled warmly at him. “I do trust you. But that wasn’t the only reason for my decision.”

  “No?”

  “Look,” Sael told him, moving away to stand by the window again. “I think it’s safe. It’s overcast, so the Eye can’t see us.” He pointed. “Do you see the plain between here and the forest? The one we crossed on the way here?”

  Koreh joined him and looked where he was pointing. The forest to the west was a black silhouette against the cloudy night sky and there were torches moving about on the plain—tiny orange specks swarming in the darkness. “The emperor’s men,” Koreh observed. Fortunately the army was still leagues from the city wall.

  Sael made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “They’ve been gathering since nightfall,” he said, as if having an army camped on his doorstep was insignificant. “But that’s not what I was talking about. According to the histories, the Taaweh—though the Chronicles call them ‘Towe’, of course—once had an enormous city on that plain. During the Great War, the Stronni blanketed the valley with fire and other magic, until nothing was left standing.”

  He turned to look at Koreh. “If the war begins again and the fighting moves here, Harleh will be destroyed. If there wasn’t an army camped outside our walls, I might consider evacuating. But that isn’t possible right now. The Taaweh are putting us in danger by coming out of hiding, and that doesn’t endear them to me. But we can’t ask the Stronni for help. All our ömem are now blind—again, thanks to the Taaweh. They can see physically, but they’ve all lost the Sight.”

  Koreh did know. “Not only yours,” he said, “but the emperor’s too. The Stronni can’t see anything going on in this valley—not even offerings from the priests. That’s why it’s overcast. The Taaweh have completely isolated the valley.”

  Sael seemed to mull this over. “Well, at least we aren’t the only ones they’ve put at a disadvantage. Regardless, if the Stronni begin to attack the valley, our only hope of survival is to ally ourselves with the Taaweh. I confess I don’t think it’s a great hope, considering how badly they fared in the first Great War, but as long as the Stronni are cut off from us, we can’t appeal to them.”

  Koreh looked at his lover with new respect. The self-absorbed, spoiled aristocrat was growing into someone who might have a chance of administering a city and doing it well. If he survived. And if the city survived.

  Koreh moved away from the window, wanting to forget about the torches milling about at the edge of the forest and what tomorrow might bring. The Taaweh had allowed him to come back and spend one last night with Sael. He didn’t want to waste it.

  He picked up the tinderbox on the table and used it to light the candle. With the ömem unable to guide them, the samöt were probably hindered as well. At least he hoped so.

  “They’ve been teaching me things,” he said, attempting to sound lighthearted. “Do you want to see?”

  Sael nodded, as he closed the window and drew the curtains, though he didn’t really appear very interested, his mind still clearly on more important matters.

  Feeling a bit foolish, like a street entertainer doing cheap illusions or small ineffectual fire spells, Koreh lifted a silver pitcher off the table. It was nearly full of water—Sael hadn’t touched his dinner.

  Koreh stretched out his other hand and cupped it, then tilted the pitcher until water began to flow into it. But the water never touched his skin. It pooled in the air above his palm until he stopped pouring and set the pitcher down. The water hovered above his outstretched hand, oscillating slowly back and forth until it settled into the shape of a globe. Koreh held it up for Sael’s inspection, grinning triumphantly.

  Sael took a couple steps forward and reached out to touch it. Where his finger tapped the surface of the globe, ripples moved outwards as they would on the surface of a pond. But the ripples continued around, converging on the back of the globe to create a shadow of a fingerprint there, before bouncing back to the front.

  “It doesn’t seem very practical,” Sael said skeptically.

  “Well, just wait until I get better at it.” Koreh focused his attention and the globe began to flatten and expand until a hole opened in the center, making it resemble a wheel. Koreh caused it to rotate a few times before letting it return to the globe shape. Then he made the water elongate into a tube with a wide bulge at the base, until it so obviously resembled an erect phallus that Sael gave a startled laugh.

  Koreh smiled and dumped the water back into the pitcher. He’d seen one of the Taaweh explode a ball
of water into mist, but he doubted he could do that without getting them both drenched.

  “You learned that in one day?” Sael said, finally showing signs of being impressed.

  Koreh stripped off his black robe in a single, fluid movement and draped it on the back of a chair. He was nearly naked underneath, wearing only the simple loincloth the Taaweh considered necessary for combat. Not that he’d had time to learn any combat moves. They hadn’t even trusted him with one of their staves, to his annoyance. One of the things he was reluctant to mention to Sael was the way the Taaweh seemed to think of him as a child. They treated him respectfully, but he had the feeling they thought he would hurt himself if they taught him anything dangerous.

  “It was easy,” he said, casually, as he stretched out on Sael’s bed. “But you’re right. It’s not going to help much in a battle.”

  Sael reached out to feel the fabric of the robe with his fingers, rubbing it and looking puzzled. Koreh knew how odd the material felt, as if it had no more substance than smoke, yet still managed to hold together.

  When Sael had grown tired of playing with the robe, he let it fall from his fingers and turned to look at Koreh, worry darkening his beautiful features. “Koreh… I don’t want you to be in the battle.”

  Koreh frowned at him. What kind of a coward did Sael think he was? “I’m not going to just sit by while you fight. Or Moghm and his sons, for that matter.”

  “But I am a fighter,” Sael persisted. “I’ve been trained. You haven’t.”

  Koreh started to object, but Sael cut him off. “I know you’re capable of taking care of yourself and no, I haven’t forgotten that you saved my life a couple times—”

  “Five times.”

  That brought Sael up short. “Five times?” he asked, incredulously.

  “The assassins who killed your seer,” Koreh said, ticking it off on his hand. “The… whatever that thing in the river was. Marik—”

  “She wasn’t going to kill us. Just hold us for ransom.”

  “Fine, if you really believe that. But there’s still the ghusat and the swamp thing.”

  “It’s called a ten’nak,” Sael said, growing irritated.

  “Whatever.”

  “Anyway, I carried you across the plain while mages were shooting fireballs at us.”

  “All right,” Koreh said, smiling, “So that’s one for you. That still leaves me three ahead.”

  “I didn’t know we were keeping score.”

  “Or you would have saved me more often?” Koreh laughed. He undid his loincloth and discarded it, then patted the blanket beside him. “Come on. We’ve only got until daybreak before wizards start raining fiery death down on us.”

  Still annoyed, Sael stood there with his arms crossed in front of his chest, looking for a moment as if he were going to turn away. But he finally sighed and unfastened his belt. Koreh watched him undress, growing instantly aroused. It hadn’t been that long since Sael had undressed for him the first time, but Koreh couldn’t imagine he’d ever tire of it.

  Sael stretched out on the bed beside him, reaching out with one hand to stroke his chest. The church bells rang out Nemom, muffled by the closed windows but still audible. Sael stopped moving his hand as he listed to them. “You realize I’ve most likely cut myself off from the gods.”

  “You could worship the Taaweh.”

  “I don’t want to worship the Taaweh. I can’t even conceive of it. I’m not even convinced that they’re gods. And never mind myself—I’ve cut off the entire city of Harleh from the Stronni. There will be no eternity in the Great Hall. Not for any of us.”

  “The Taaweh cut Harleh off from the Stronni. And they would have done that regardless of your decision. Your only choice was to accept their help or reject it. You made the choice that will allow Harleh to survive.”

  “But at the cost of our immortal spirits?” This was something Sael’s father had probably given little thought to. He wasn’t a religious man. He tolerated the caedan because the people wanted their spiritual needs tended to, but he had once told Seffni, within Sael’s hearing, that after a lifetime of war, what he craved in death was rest. Not eternal warfare.

  “Do you remember the story of Üragit?” Koreh asked.

  Sael did, of course. It was a children’s story, meant to impress upon the young the importance of diligence in religious observances and a proper fear of angering the gods.

  In the days of the founding of the Empire, when gü-Khemed was a glittering new city and Emperor Khemed ruled over a unified kingdom stretching from the mountains of the gods to the forests of the south, there was a city in the foothills called Üragit. Üragit prided itself on being a very pious city at a time when many other cities and towns in the Empire had yet to turn from peasant superstitions to the worship of the Stronni. To that end, they sent their caedan throughout the city and the surrounding countryside to consecrate all the buildings, land, and rivers in the name of the Stronni.

  But one day a caedan came walking along the road to the city, covered in dust and sweat, as if he’d been walking for a very long time. The two guards at the gate stopped him and asked his purpose, to which he replied, “A shepherd has been making sacrifices to false river gods in a river that has been consecrated to the Stronni. Those who allowed him to do so must pay for this offense.”

  The guards pleaded with the caedan to spare the city, insisting that none within had been aware of what the shepherd was doing, but he merely said, “You two shall be spared, that others may learn the fate of those who offend the gods.”

  The guards fled upon hearing this. Then the caedan raised his arms and the sky rained fire down upon the city for seven days and seven nights, until every last man, woman, and child had been struck down, and every last remnant of the city had been burned to ash or turned to molten glass.

  After Sael recounted the story, he asked Koreh, “But don’t you see? The people of Üragit were fools to consecrate all the land and rivers around the city. They couldn’t possibly control what happened in those places. This is why the gods punished them.”

  Koreh shook his head. “The gods who destroyed Üragit show no mercy to those who have dealings with other gods. The fate of Harleh was sealed, as far as the Stronni are concerned, the moment the Taaweh reappeared in this valley. You merely chose to take the only way out—the only way that might save your people.”

  Sael didn’t look convinced. But Koreh had had enough of religious debate. He grabbed the hand that was still resting on his chest and pulled on it to bring Sael closer. Then he kissed him and did his best to distract him from what was to come in the morning.

  SOMETIME before daybreak, while it was still very dark, Sael was awakened by Koreh getting out of bed and bending down to kiss him one more time. “I have to go now. Fight well and don’t get yourself killed.”

  “You too.”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you too,” Sael responded, pulling Koreh close for an embrace.

  Koreh held him tightly, but after a moment he pulled away, saying quietly, “Tell Geilin not to waste energy aiming at the clouds.”

  Then he was gone.

  Sael thought the turmoil in his heart would make sleep impossible, but he was exhausted and eventually he drifted off again. He slept fitfully until the bells of Penent heralded daybreak. The Eye hadn’t actually risen yet, but it would soon. Sael opened his eyes and lay in his bed, the terrible hollow feeling in his chest making him acutely aware of Koreh’s absence and the possibility that he might never see his lover again.

  Chapter 27

  THE predawn sky was overcast, with a slight fog settling over the plain—far from ideal, from the perspective of the military commanders on either side of the battle. Often, the first round of attack, and the most destructive, was executed by the mages. The emperor’s vönan could rain fireballs down upon Harleh from a position of relative safety to the rear of their infantry, while the Harleh mages countered with their own fire magic.
Both sides had put up wards to deflect these attacks, but as the wards weakened, more and more of the attacks would slip through, causing massive casualties and damage.

  And something always got through. Each volley against the wards weakened them until momentary gaps opened up. Then it became a contest to see if the vönan could find these gaps and exploit them before they were sealed again by the mages watching over the wards.

  Harleh had had time to prepare better defenses than the hastily constructed wards put up around the emperor’s army, but the men and women within its walls were more or less trapped there, and casualties could be immense if fires got out of control.

  Historically, some battles had been won by the vönan alone, but channeling that kind of energy was exhausting. After the first wave, the foot soldiers generally took to the field and archers moved closer to begin raining arrows down upon the enemy, while the mages alternated between attacking and recuperating for the next round. During this time, the mages required as much daylight as possible, and an overcast day severely limited their power, both for offense and defense.

  Which was why that tactic wouldn’t work now. In order to conserve their mages’ power, the emperor’s army would probably resort to an infantry attack first, using crudely constructed siege engines to ram the doors of the keep’s outer wall. Harleh’s scouts had already reported the army had been felling trees at the edge of the forest during the night. Harleh’s mages would have little choice but to drain some of their own power fending off this attack.

  Sael sought out Geilin as soon as he was able and found his master on the ramparts of the outer wall of the keep, surveying the plain with a grim expression and eyeing the emperor’s army as they waited on the far side for the first light of dawn. Despite his advanced years, Geilin was at the top of his craft and had been placed in the first line of defense.