The Voice of Prophecy (Dual Magics Book 2)

by Meredith Mansfield

  Vatar sat in the middle of the boat and considered his bonds. At some point, he was going to need to do something, even if he didn’t know what yet. Whatever it was would likely be easier with his hands free. The rope that tied his hands in front of him was strong, too thick to break easily, but he was sure he could release himself. How? Well, he could transform. The bonds wouldn’t fit on the lion the same way. Maybe that . . . No, the problem was simpler than that. He didn’t have to transform completely. Just his arms. The very thought made him shudder.

  No. It was simpler even than that. It wasn’t himself he needed to transform; it was the rope. Into what? Something that could be easily pulled apart. He chewed his lower lip as he thought. There was a kind of seaweed. He’d seen it in the markets, where it was used as a bed to help keep the fish moist and fresh. Its length was segmented, with little, air-filled bulbs at the joints. The seaweed broke easily at those joints. He hadn’t done a third-level Transformation since that afternoon at the waterhole, before the bear attack. Perhaps he should try it, first, just to be sure. He concentrated for a moment, picturing what he wanted. Then tried to put the rope—and only the rope—into that image. When he looked down, his bonds were seaweed. They even had the slimy feel of seaweed. He wrinkled his nose. And the smell. He smiled as he released his concentration, allowing his bonds to become rope again before any of the Guards noticed. Not yet. The right time would come soon enough.

  The boat bumped against the wharf below the Palace steps. The Guards pulled Vatar and Theklan roughly out of the boat and marched them up the broad stone steps and down the long, narrow hall of the Palace entry.

  When they reached the desk at the far end, Vatar smiled. That desk was still manned by Dinus, Cestus’s step-father.

  The sergeant stopped in front of the desk and gestured to the narrow doors on the right, “The prisoners are to be put in separate cells until called for.”

  Vatar looked to the left, remembering the comfortable room in which he had first met Father. “We’ll wait over here. We promise not to try to fly out the window and across the bay, Dinus.” Vatar led Theklan through the door.

  Behind him, he heard the sergeant’s frustrated voice. “They are to be put in separate cells.”

  “You’ve done your job, Sergeant. Holding them until they are called for by the Council is mine,” Dinus said. “Go on back to your duties.”

  The sound of marching feet retreated back up the long corridor.

  Dinus came into the ante room a moment later. “You’ve been a friend to Cestus when he needed one most, Vatar. If there’s anything I can do for you, just name it.”

  Vatar sat down in one of the upholstered chairs. “No, thank you, Dinus. We’ll be fine here.”

  “I could untie you.” Dinus looked down and back up. “At least until they call for you.”

  Vatar shook his head. “No. It’s too great a risk for you. Besides, I don’t think we’ll have long to wait.”

  “I can send a message to Veleus.”

  “One of my brothers was with me when I was taken. I think Father already knows,” Vatar answered, confidently.

  “Dinus!” a familiar voice roared from the hallway.

  Vatar smiled. “In here, Father.”

  Dinus left them as soon as Father came through the door.

  Father seemed out of breath. “Vatar, I didn’t know about this. I had no warning. The Council decided this while I was at your farm this morning. It was Gerusa, using my absence to act against you. Do you have any idea what it’s about?”

  Theklan collapsed into a chair by the windows. “It’s my fault. It’s because of what I did.”

  Father turned toward him. “What did you do?”

  Hesitantly, Theklan explained what had happened.

  Father paced across the room. “Hmm. Well, you can’t be blamed for defending yourself. Still, I see why they brought you here. Let me think. I’m sure there’s a way to turn this around. There’s always an angle.”

  “Don’t worry, Father. I’ll know what to do,” Vatar said.

  Father stopped mid-stride. “What?”

  “I will know what to do and how to do it.”

  Father sank into the chair opposite Vatar. “Vatar, the Council could imprison you here.”

  After what he’d done to the ropes in the boat, Vatar knew with absolute certainty that that wasn’t possible. “No. They can’t.”

  Father opened his mouth to say something, but just then the bell rang to call the High Council into session.

  Father stood up. “I don’t dare be late for this. Be very careful, Vatar. Remember Gerusa is your real enemy.”

  In a little while, different Guards came to escort Vatar and Theklan up several staircases to a room at the very top of the Palace, the Council Chamber. The Guards hauled Vatar and Theklan up to one end of the big table and left them standing there.

  It was a big room, with windows in all four walls. Vatar’s position gave him an unobstructed view of the mouth of the bay. Vatar looked away from that to study the room and its occupants.

  The only furniture was a single large table with twelve chairs around three sides—all but the end where Vatar and Theklan now stood. All but one of those chairs was occupied. From the layer of dust on that one, it had been a long time since anyone sat in it. Hadn’t Father said something about Calpe’s seat being empty? For six hundred years?

  Immediately opposite them sat a woman who studied them with open curiosity. Father sat on one side of her and another woman, wearing a very unpleasant smirk on the other. He’d better watch out for that one. Besides Father, the only other person Vatar recognized was the High Priest, Montibeus, sitting next to Father. All of them but Father and the woman at the opposite end of the table wore closed, displeased looks as if they were the ones who’d been yanked out of their homes and marched here with bound hands. They weren’t going to be easy to convince—of anything.

  Vatar deliberately took up as casual a posture as his bound hands would allow. “Why have you brought me before you bound like a common prisoner? I would have come freely if you had asked. Are you afraid of me?”

  The woman sitting across from Father narrowed her eyes. “We’ll ask the questions here.”

  “Actually, Gerusa, it should be Amaurea asking the questions,” Father said.

  Gerusa drummed her fingers on the table briefly. “You have not been coming to the Temple for your lessons, have you? I believe you are aware that that was a condition of your freedom.”

  So that was Gerusa. And Father had deliberately interrupted to let Vatar know that. Vatar lifted his chin fractionally. “Cestus, my appointed teacher, has been bringing scrolls to me at my home. We discuss them over a game of chess. So I haven’t needed to come to the Temple.” He was very glad for his insistence that Cestus bring him a few scrolls to read, just then. “Untie my hands. Are you afraid of me?”

  “This boy. Is he your son?” Gerusa asked, ignoring his question.

  Vatar choked on a laugh at that. He looked aside at Theklan. “I’d have been about eight when he was born. Even among the Dardani, it’s not usual to become a father that young. Theklan is my wife’s brother.” He held Gerusa’s eyes with his own. “Are you afraid to untie my hands?”

  Gerusa ignored the question again and looked toward Theklan. “We have a report that he used some unusual form of Talent this morning. Is this true?”

  Vatar shrugged. “He defended himself against a gang of thugs. Obviously the Temple Guard has been slipping. It used to be safe to walk anywhere in the city. Why are you afraid to untie my hands?”

  Gerusa scowled and met Vatar’s eyes again. “Why do you keep asking us if we are afraid of you? Why would we be afraid of you?”

  Vatar smiled. “Because you should be.” He concentrated and his bonds became the greenish brown, jointed seaweed. He pulled the seaweed apart easily, freeing his hands. In absolute silence, he turned to untie Theklan’s hands, too. Then he turned back to face the High Counci
l, standing ramrod straight. “You cannot hold me.” Vatar knew that was true. He’d understood it in the boat, when he had worked out how to free himself. If he could free himself from this, he could free himself from any imprisonment in just the same way. “There is no place on this island that can hold me if I choose to leave.”

  Gerusa made a growling noise and her nostrils flared as she stared back at Vatar. “Perhaps we should just have you killed, then. You and everyone associated with you.”

  Theklan gasped and drew back in terror.

  “Easy,” Vatar whispered to him in Far Speech. “No one’s going to hurt you. Trust me.”

  Father leaned forward at Gerusa’s threat, but all the other Councilors leaned back and away from her. Vatar glanced around the table. He was the stepson of a chief. He’d watched Pa work on building a consensus among the members of his clan and sometimes the whole tribe. Whatever she’d said before to stir them up, that speech had lost her the support of nearly all of the other Council members. And Gerusa was so focused on him that she didn’t seem to have noticed it.

  “You dare not kill me.” The words just seemed to be on Vatar’s tongue before he could stop them, but he knew that they were true.

  Gerusa jabbed her finger toward Vatar. “Why? Because you’re a member of the Smiths’ Guild? Or because you are Veleus’s son?”

  Vatar shook his head and held his ground. “No. Because I’m your last chance. I’m the last chance you will ever have of becoming again what you once were, what you should be. There will not be another. Without me and my children, you will dwindle and fade until you have no Talent left to support the Lie you have bound yourselves to. If you kill me, you kill your future.” The words were just there, shining with truth. Vatar would have had trouble forcing himself not to say them.

  Several members of the Council gasped at this, including Father, but Father’s reaction was slightly different. He was certainly surprised, but his surprise appeared to be tinged with recognition, almost as if he had expected something like this.

  Gerusa stood up from her chair, leaning toward Vatar. “You jumped-up little half-blood . . . . If you think you can intimidate us . . .” She sputtered incoherently for a moment. “I’ll show you who you’re dealing with!”

  Gerusa narrowed her eyes and gradually her form shifted into that of a sea dragon, more or less. Mostly less. Although he’d never seen one himself, some part of Vatar knew what the dragon should have looked like. It was painfully clear that Gerusa’s only knowledge of the monster was what she had seen painted on a wall or drawn in a book. Her Transformation looked almost two-dimensional, as if it was possible to walk around the edge and see the real Gerusa behind it. Vatar had a deep-seated dislike of anything dragon-like, but he found this comical.

  He laughed. “If that’s meant to frighten me, you’ll have to try harder.”

  The thought of seeing the real Gerusa behind the dragon gave him an idea. In his mind he pictured Gerusa and suddenly the sea dragon was gone. Gerusa was herself again. The Council gasped as one. All except Father, who’d seen this before that very morning.

  Gerusa leaned heavily against the table, as if the sudden and unexpected shift had affected her balance.

  “Now, if you want to try to frighten someone, you have to do a better job of it. Like this.” Vatar shifted into the newly-familiar lion shape. The teeth of the lion flashed as he roared a challenge directly at Gerusa. Then he let it go and became Vatar again.

  Gerusa stammered as she tried to formulate a response.

  Another Councilor spoke over her with a slight tremor in his voice. “He spoke the truth. It was a true Fore Seeing.”

  The woman at the far end of the table, between Gerusa and Father, swiveled her head to look at the speaker. “What?”

  The man shrugged. “I can only tell you what I see, Amaurea. I’m on this Council not because I’m the most Talented of my lineage, but because I’m a Sooth Teller. He spoke no lie. He sees what he says he sees.”

  Vatar felt words rise to his tongue again. “The day you touch me or mine is the day you mark for your own downfall.”

  “You threaten us, now!” Gerusa picked up a heavy candlestick from the table and flung it at Vatar’s head.

  Reflexively, Vatar formed a shield to deflect the candlestick. He expected to feel the impact, anyway, as he had with the young bull that had almost trampled Theklan, and braced himself for it. He was momentarily surprised when he felt nothing as the candlestick clattered to the table, three feet in front of him.

  “No. It’s not a threat,” he answered, his voice still calm and reasonable in stark contrast to Gerusa’s. “I will not be the one to bring about your downfall. I am not the Fasallon who is not a Fasallon you have feared so long. The truth is I’m as Fasallon as any of you. But if you harm me or my family, you will set your own destruction in motion. I know that this is true.” His voice dropped lower, so that most of the Councilors couldn’t hear. “Though I don’t know how I know.”

  Amaurea looked between Father and Gerusa for a moment. “Leave us to confer for a few moments. The room immediately below is quite comfortable. I’ll have food and drink sent to you there.”

  Vatar nodded. He and Theklan descended one flight of stairs and entered the doorway at the first landing. It was indeed a comfortable chamber, not unlike the room by the entry desk. There were windows on three sides. From this height, the windows gave a sweeping view of the Temple, the main part of the city, and the mouth of the bay. Only the wharfs of the fishing and merchant fleets to the south were hidden by the stairwell. Food and drink was brought very quickly.

  Theklan licked his lips nervously. “Vatar, how . . . ?”

  “We’ll talk about all of that later,” Vatar answered. “When we get home.” When I’ve had time to figure it out myself. He wasn’t quite sure where some of the things he’d said had come from. It hadn’t been the voice; that much he was sure of. And when that one man had said it was a Fore Seeing, everyone else had settled right down. Well, everyone but Gerusa. So, maybe at least it wasn’t something strange and new that no one knew anything about. That was some comfort.

  Theklan glanced up at the ceiling, separating them from the Council Chamber above. “They’re awfully mad.”

  Vatar smiled. “Not all of them. They won’t harm us. Not today, anyway.”

  “I’m sorry, Vatar. I shouldn’t have . . . .” Theklan said.

  “Shouldn’t have what? Defended yourself? Of course you should! You forget I know what it feels like to be stoned. I’ll never deny anyone the right to defend themselves against that. You don’t need to apologize for that, Theklan.”

  An hour passed before one of Palace Guards came to take them back upstairs. The Guard came to attention at the door. “Your presence is requested in the Council Chamber.”

  Vatar smiled at Theklan and raised one eyebrow. “That’s better.”

  Two additional chairs had been placed at the end of the Council table. Vatar and Theklan seated themselves.

  “We have had no reason to quarrel with you until now,” Amaurea said. “You’ve never caused any kind of trouble for us or in the city.”

  “It has never been my intention to cause trouble,” Vatar answered.

  Amaurea nodded. “There’s no need to start a quarrel, now, then. If you will pledge not to take action against the Council, we promise that you and your family will be safe in Caere.”

  Vatar looked around the table. Father seemed pleased. The other Councilors looked resigned and perhaps a little shaken. Only Gerusa’s face betrayed hatred, anger, and frustration. Her expression reminded him of Maktaz and the vendetta that had caused the old shaman to try to kill Vatar. He wouldn’t willingly turn his back on Gerusa. Vatar wasn’t sure how far he’d trust any of them, aside from Father. “I give you my honor-pledge that I will not take action against the Council or the Fasallon so long as you keep faith with your pledge.”

  “You understand, we must have some assurance,” Amaure
a said.

  Vatar’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t much like having his word questioned. “What more do you need? I’ve given my honor-pledge. No Dardani would break that. There is no greater assurance I can give.”

  “You just declared yourself to be Fasallon, only an hour ago,” Gerusa said.

  Vatar waved this away. “But I was Dardani first. That’s the strongest pledge I know.”

  Amaurea tapped the table and cast a stern glance at Gerusa. “Even so. We need closer ties. The boy will attend the Temple school.”

  Vatar sat back, frowning. “Theklan’s education is a question for my wife, not me. I can’t make that promise without consulting her.”

  Amaurea paused. Obviously no one on the Council had considered that this might be a sticking point. She swallowed. “We’ll allow you a seven-day to discuss it and give us your answer. And you will also return to the Temple for training.” She gestured at the man sitting next to Father. “High Councilor Montibeus has offered to undertake this training himself, one day in seven.”

  Vatar caught his father’s eye. Father nodded fractionally.

  “What sort of training?” Vatar asked.

  Montibeus leaned forward. “Whatever appears appropriate. Use of Talent, perhaps. It is hoped that through this . . . association, we may come to know one another and trust each other.”

  Vatar rubbed his chin. He doubted that he had nearly as much to learn from Montibeus as Thekila and Quetza could teach him. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to learn any more magic than he already had. He shook his head. “Every other seven-day. I have commitments to my guildhall and my family.”

  “I would be pleased to have your wife join us,” Montibeus said.

  Vatar smiled. Then the lessons really would be for Montibeus’s benefit, much more than Vatar’s. “Whether Thekila chooses to join me is up to her. I cannot speak for her. Though I will extend your invitation. I’ll come every other seven-day.”