Silent Hall

by NS Dolkart

  Narky did not speak to Bandu much. They had an understanding, as he saw it: neither of them would ever be able to really relate to the other, so why bother trying? As long as they didn’t need anything from one another and didn’t get in each other’s way, all was golden.

  During those times when Criton and Bandu were away and Hunter was busy sharpening his sword, Narky and Phaedra found plenty of time to talk. Phaedra had finally removed the plaster bindings around her ankle, and she stretched and exercised her foot while they spoke in an attempt to strengthen it. Narky mostly asked her about making friends and being polite, and she was generally happy to answer. She did not always answer him gently and she did not always answer succinctly, but she was always honest.

  He wished he had been able to talk to her sooner. If he had had Phaedra to guide him before, he might not have made such a fool of himself over Eramia, and then things might have been different. He might not have insulted Ketch, or goaded the boy into humiliating him, and then… and then he might have stayed on the island and died like everyone else. Much though he wished he could blot Ketch’s murder from human memory, it had also saved his life. Fate had given him a chance to reform. As long as no one found out about Ketch, he would be fine.

  If only they weren’t on their way to Psander.

  It made sense, of course: Psander could shield them from Magor’s gaze, and from His servants’ pursuit. Narky couldn’t argue with that. He couldn’t even blame Phaedra for looking forward to their next meeting with the wizard. “The best healers in the world say I’ll never walk properly again,” she said at one point. “Maybe Psander can do better.”

  “Do you like her because she reads?” Bandu asked. She was sitting nearby, eating some figs that she had no doubt stolen from that orchard a few miles back. Criton was away, buying food for the rest of them.

  “Phaedra wants her ankle healed,” Narky corrected her. “She might agree with Psander’s goals too, but that’s not the same as liking her.”

  “I do like her!” Phaedra protested. “At least, I sort of do.”

  Narky turned on her. “Really?”

  “Well, I mean, we’d never be friends,” Phaedra sputtered. “I don’t think she likes me very much.”

  “Who cares if she likes you?” Narky nearly shouted, causing Hunter to finally stop scraping his sword against that bloody rock of his and start paying attention. “Why would you even want her to like you?”

  “Because,” said Phaedra, “she’s a great woman.”

  “She’s a blackmailer!” Narky cried, and shrank back in horror at what he had let slip.

  “She is not,” Phaedra insisted. “She’s certainly tried to buy us with her knowledge, but that’s not the same. I don’t blame her for any of her decisions, even her dealings with the Gallant Ones. She needs our help.”

  “Sure she does,” said Narky. “But you didn’t just say you forgave her, you called her ‘a great woman!’ What makes her so great, her magic?”

  “It’s not the magic,” Phaedra said. “It’s that… it’s… ugh, I don’t think I could explain it to you.”

  That stung. She didn’t mean that her explanatory abilities weren’t up to the task. She meant that he wouldn’t understand. “Try,” he said.

  “It’s not going to be a quick answer,” Phaedra warned.

  Narky snorted. “When is it ever?”

  She frowned at him, and he realized he’d offended her. “Sorry,” he said. He tried his sentence again, this time with a smile. “When is it ever?”

  Phaedra chuckled a little despite herself. “All right,” she said. “But I warned you.

  “My father was a merchant. He started as a merchant, that is, but he did very well and became a financier. Everyone said he was a great man, and my parents expected me to live up to my name as a great man’s daughter. They always said that I could do anything in life, go great places, whatever I wanted. But what they meant was that I’d be able to marry well.

  “They taught me to read, and make dresses, and do sums, but it was only so that they could tell suitors that I was clever and learned. When I tried to talk about all the interesting things I’d read in my father’s books, they were afraid that I was learning too much. And you know a part of me started to believe them?

  “What if I was so smart that nobody wanted to marry me? The only reason they wanted to teach me was so that I could be a useful, accomplished wife to some nobleman or something.”

  Hunter looked shocked. “My father was thinking about matching you up with my brother.”

  “Kataras?” said Phaedra, looking pleased. “Gods, that would have made them happy. Anyway, I don’t think my parents expected me to be anything other than a good wife. What else is there for a woman to be?”

  Narky shrugged. He had never really thought about it.

  “That’s what’s special about Psander,” Phaedra said. “She’s not just powerful. She has huge plans for herself, and they have nothing to do with marriage. She got her power on purpose, by studying for it – not because she wanted to impress anyone. She assumes that her having power is legitimate. And you know, it is. That’s what I like so much about her. My parents taught me to be worthy of a great man, but they never taught me to be a great woman. I never even knew that was possible, until I met Psander.”

  Bandu scratched her head. “If there is great man, why not great woman? It’s of course!”

  “Not really,” Phaedra told her. “Or at least, I hadn’t thought so.”

  “But woman God is strong as man God, no?”

  “Maybe,” Phaedra answered, “but the Gods aren’t the same as people.”

  “Then Gods are no use,” Bandu said. “Don’t say what to do, don’t help, and fight all the time. Gods are no good!”

  “Shh!” Narky shushed her. “What’s the matter with you? They’re always watching us! You want to get struck down?”

  “I want Them to stop watching,” Bandu said. “What They care? I’m so small, why They even watch me? Maybe They don’t.”

  “She doesn’t mean what she’s saying,” Narky said, closing his eyes and hoping Ravennis would listen.

  “I do mean,” Bandu insisted, folding her arms.

  “The Gods don’t watch over Silent Hall,” said Hunter, looking up at the sky. “I hope we get there soon.”

  Narky followed his gaze, and found the clouds growing thick and dark overhead. Was it just the rainy season starting early? Or were the clouds gathering for them?

  28

  Phaedra

  The lightning came before the rain. The first bolt struck some hundred yards away, so close that the hair on Phaedra’s arms stood on end in reaction to it. By the time her ears had recovered from the blast, the rain was coming down in heavy sheets that felt like stones. Hunter and Narky scrambled to take down the tent. The horses had gone mad with fear, and were trying desperately to free themselves from the lone tukka tree to which they had been tied. Phaedra limped over and tried to calm them, but had to retreat to avoid being trampled. She looked to Bandu for help, but the girl had disappeared into the rain.

  The second bolt of lightning fell behind them, somewhat farther away but just as loud. Phaedra felt her heart stop briefly at the impact. Had the Gods sent this storm as a punishment? To which one should she pray to keep them safe? What could she possibly sacrifice?

  Another flash, another crack. Phaedra had to wipe the wet hair from her eyes, and even then she could not see far. Hunter and Narky had taken the tent down by now, and Hunter was vainly trying to calm the horses. Where had Bandu run off to? If anyone could calm the animals, it would be her.

  It took many long minutes for Bandu to return, dragging Criton along behind her.

  “We have to get to Silent Hall,” Hunter shouted at her. “Can you help me with the mounts?”

  Bandu nodded, and sure enough, the poor beasts began to calm down as soon as she approached them.

  “Let’s go!” Narky yelled, and he took one of the ho
rses’ reins and led the way.

  “I need help!” Phaedra called after him, but by then Hunter was already at her side. He flung her arm over his shoulder and supported her as she tried to walk, leaving Bandu and Criton to lead the last two horses.

  It rained the rest of the evening, and all that night. Criton led them toward the village where he had been buying supplies, and they snuck into a barn to sleep. The storm did not weaken overnight, and they started off again before dawn the next morning. They trudged through the mud for three days, and for those three days the flood never ceased. But at least the thunder and lightning had abated.

  Was Mayar of the Sea trying to drown them? Had Atel the Traveler forsaken their journey? Even if Phaedra had had the time or the animals with which to make sacrifices, she could not have guessed which God she ought to appease. Perhaps the Gods did not even intend this storm as punishment, but as a normal change of season. Narky joked that the Gods did not mean to punish them at all, but rather to reward the plants.

  They traveled in muddy misery for six more days, following Bandu’s intuition, or perhaps her sense of smell. In the rain, Phaedra couldn’t have told one hillock from another, let alone led her friends in search of a fortress that was quite literally invisible. Yet Bandu seemed confident, so they followed her lead.

  To Phaedra’s amazement, Bandu came through for them. On the evening of the sixth day, with the sounds of thunder echoing in the distance, Silent Hall suddenly appeared before them out of the mist and rain. The sight of Psander’s fortress had never been more welcome. Even Narky looked relieved.

  Criton pounded on the gate. Had a voice called down to them in response? With the wind blowing as it was, and the rain beating down against the stones, any such voice would have been completely drowned out. They strained their ears for some time in vain. Criton went back to assaulting the door. Could anyone even hear them?

  Suddenly, the gate opened. There stood Psander, gazing amusedly at Criton’s still upraised fist.

  “I heard you,” she said. “And what’s more, I would have known you were here even if you hadn’t been trying to knock the place down. I do have wards of alarum, you know.”

  “Oh,” said Criton.

  “Well, come in,” said Psander, standing back. “If you get any wetter, you’ll have to use fish as towels.”

  They led the horses into the passage under the tower, wiping their faces with their hands.

  “You’re a woman today,” Narky pointed out.

  “Yes,” Psander said. “The great wizard Psander spends much of his time holed up indoors nowadays. I’m his maid, Persada. It’s easier that way.”

  “So it does exhaust you to use magic,” said Criton, sounding relieved. “I thought it was only me.”

  “No, that’s quite common,” she reassured him. “And illusions are substantially harder to keep in place than transformations of the type you seem to favor. I would do the same as you, but I find actually being a man to be so uncomfortable that I’m willing to make the extra effort to avoid it. But I take it, then, that you have been practicing?”

  Criton nodded, and Psander looked pleased. “I’m glad to hear it. Forgive me for asking, but since you are all here, may I assume you have something for me?”

  Irritation bubbled up in Phaedra, try as she might to suppress it. Psander had not even noticed her limp! Or worse, maybe she had noticed but didn’t care. Phaedra put her hands on her hips and tried to stand straight.

  “We do,” she said enigmatically, or so she hoped.

  “I’ll be glad to give you fair compensation for your troubles,” said Psander. Her words were measured, but there was excitement in her eyes. Excitement, and hope.

  “I’ll have the villagers care for your horses,” she added. “You’d better go inside and dry yourselves by the fire.”

  They did as she said, taking their packs and the saddlebags with them.

  “Fair compensation,” repeated Narky. “Not likely.”

  They huddled around the fire pit in Psander’s otherwise empty dining hall, feeling safe at last. The warmth from the fire made them so sleepy that by the time Psander came back, Hunter and Bandu had already nodded off and Narky looked to be well on his way to joining them. Phaedra could easily have let herself drift away too, but she wanted to talk to Psander tonight. There were things that had to be said and questions that had to be asked, preferably without interruptions.

  “Oh,” Psander said, when she appeared in the doorway. “Perhaps we should leave our business for tomorrow. You all look like you could use a night’s sleep in a warm bed. I’ll find a few braziers for you to take up to your rooms.”

  The wizard was as good as her word, and soon the islanders were shambling up the stairs to their bedrooms, each carrying a brazier full of burning embers. It was funny, Phaedra thought, while she was showing Bandu how to warm her sheets without burning them, but Silent Hall seemed to have become a sort of home to the islanders. It wasn’t their real home, of course, but there was no questioning the fact that these beds had sat unused during their absence, awaiting their return. However harsh or unwelcoming the world became, Silent Hall would always be open to them.

  As soon as Bandu was safely in bed without having set her sheets afire, Phaedra slipped out of the room and went to find Psander. She found the wizard in the library, just as she had expected, except that Criton had beat her there. Criton, with his long, healthy strides. Why couldn’t he have helped Bandu with her bedsheets? The two of them were lovers, after all.

  Criton and Psander both looked up as Phaedra entered.

  “And because my defenses here are built on far more than that,” the wizard said, continuing whatever sentence she had begun before Phaedra’s entrance. “Hello, Phaedra. My mask, Criton, as you call it, is made by concentrating my own small field of magic. It’s much the same principle by which you transform yourself. This fortress, on the other hand, is made mostly of reworked God magic. The great power of magic theory is, among other things, in allowing an academic wizard to reuse the magic of others. My defenses here are powerful enough to overcome your Wizard Sight because they’re made of much stronger stuff than my own puny self. The Boar of Hagardis was only the latest sacred beast harvested for its divine power. I’m sure that raises more questions than it answers, but there you have it. Now, Phaedra, how can I help you?”

  “Oh, um, well…” said Phaedra, unsure of where to start. “I have a lot of questions, but…”

  “So does Criton,” said Psander. “I have now answered one of his questions, so I suppose I can answer one of yours.”

  Phaedra took a deep breath. “My ankle broke,” she said, “and it healed wrong. The priests of Elkinar did what they could, but I still can’t even walk properly. Can you fix it magically?”

  Psander looked at her pityingly. “I’m afraid I can’t,” she said. “There were once those who could: healing wizards who were beloved of even the lowliest peasants. But they were the first to feel the Gods’ ire. Even before I began my studies, the healing wizards were already being persecuted. They practiced their techniques on the dead so that they might learn to heal the living. The priests called this a desecration, and purged the world of its best healers. By the time I could rightfully call myself a wizard, healing magic had become a lost art.”

  “Well, I brought you a scroll on healing magic from Anardis,” Phaedra said, showing it to her. “Will this help?”

  Psander scanned it excitedly for a moment, but then shook her head. “If your appendix had burst, this scroll might have saved your life. I am grateful for this, but I’m afraid it won’t help with your ankle.”

  “Oh,” said Phaedra. “I’m… a cripple, then.”

  Psander nodded. “I’m sorry.”

  Criton scratched at his scalp. “You told us before that you were an expert in God magic. Aren’t some of these Gods supposed to be healers of diseases?”

  Psander’s face grew suddenly contemptuous. “Whole lifetimes have been
spent studying just one aspect of one God’s powers,” she said. “God magic is a vast field. Yes, I am an expert in Godly magic; specifically, I studied the magic of movement and travel, and I also made some promising discoveries about the ways that Gods mark Their territories. That’s what I was studying before the purge, anyway. These days, I’m more of an expert on hiding. But really, even the Gods do not seem to be experts on each other’s powers. I have studied Them for most of my life, but I’m only mortal.”

  “Did you study Atel then?” Phaedra asked. If there was any God that Phaedra felt qualified discussing, it was Atel.

  “I continue to study Him even now,” said Psander. “Atel the Traveler haunts my dreams. He is an infiltrator of boundaries, a God who ignores His peers’ territorial markers and who will worm His way into every crevice of the world sooner or later. If my doom ever comes, it will arrive on one of Atel’s roads.”

  Phaedra only stood and blinked, trying to let that sink in. Atel: the humble traveler, the barefoot God. The spy. Psander, who spoke openly of the Gods’ weaknesses and did not hesitate to send hunters after Magor’s sacred beasts, lived in fear of Atel. Phaedra was not qualified to discuss any God, it seemed. She knew nothing of the Gods.

  Criton was the first to speak, and it was easy to see that he had been waiting for some time to ask his next question. His voice was nearly a whisper. “Do you know anything about God Most High?” he asked.

  “The dragons’ God?” said Psander. “I cannot say I know much. But my mentor, who studied dragons, always insisted that He was not dead. His was a minority opinion, you understand, but he claimed that the dragons’ God was only dormant somehow. ‘Hiding His face,’ I think, is how he used to put it. I doubt any of his work survived, but if it did, it would be in the ruins of his tower near Parakas.”

  She lifted a hand, as if anything could stop Criton from getting excited at her words. “I would caution you against venturing there,” she said. “Mayar of the Sea rules in Parakas. Karassa’s father, Magor’s brother. His servants guard the fallen tower day and night, to prevent anyone from exploring the ruins in search of gold. My mentor’s tower was full of artifacts, including golden statuettes of dragons that he had collected over the years. When I came to gaze upon the ruins, I discovered that the men of Parakas had dedicated the tower’s riches as a sacrifice to Mayar, and would let no one near. I don’t recommend you try. We have a few days, I think, before this rain stops. When you regroup in the morning, perhaps I will be able to point you in some more fruitful direction.”