I was about to protest but halted. I was no longer a scribe, and further, I had exerted myself to influence Ivandred with the spells I had given him to avoid battles.
The Herskalt gave me an approving look. “You are finally learning that influence is not the equivalent of evil. Nor is it always good.” His hand flickered in a complicated sign, and I jumped when without any warning, a semblance of a familiar place formed around me: the staff dining room in Alsais’s palace.
I say a semblance, though at first it seemed we were there. But there was no smell, no sense of air moving; further, I was still seated and nobody could see me. I could also see the Herskalt next to me as he indicated a smiling man of about thirty, his face round, his curly hair a rusty red whose color reminded me of Birdy’s when we were young.
“This is Kivic, a Chwahir spy hired as a bridle man,” the Herskalt said. “From this garden we can move back in time in a limited way. I believe it will be instructive for you to see the world through his eyes.”
He did not give me time to recover from my amazement— I found myself in Kivic’s head as he watched Torsu, the dresser he eventually killed.
The Herskalt’s gestures—the impossibilities made manifest—the ease with which all of this occurred, struck me anew with the power of magic. Once again I felt like the most clumsy beginner. I had to learn how to do these things!
At first Kivic’s murder of Torsu did not affect me, because it meant so little to him. I did not believe she was really dead until I looked down at her, feeling her lifelessness through “my” hands. That is when I recoiled, closing my eyes and clapping my hands over my ears, which was stupid because my mind was trapped inside his.
But then I was alone with my own thoughts, and the Herskalt rose from the bench. Once again he gestured with two fingers toward the hedge, which vanished, and we stepped through into the hidden chamber.
Giddy with amazement, I sat down abruptly as he replaced the dyr in its porcelain bowl. “Where is he now?” I asked. “I remember the queen saying something about demanding restitution.”
“You may find out on your own. I have given you the means to understand him, and also Lasva, so that you may better serve her. But you seem to prefer your reticence.”
“I do not want to look at myself through her eyes,” I said. “The dyr feels like trespass enough.”
“You do not have to look at yourself through her eyes,” he replied. “If you do—and many of us could not resist—you will merely discover what we did, that few people are as interested in us as we are ourselves. They regularly misconstrue our motives. They judge us according to their own personal standards and believe them universal. You will learn nothing about yourself. However, you could learn a great deal about the people most important in your life through their experiences—specifically the ones that brought you all here.”
Why should I not look at Lasva’s life through her own eyes, and just avoid the circumstances in which I was in her thoughts? That very evening I had been mourning my lack of connection. I knew that I would never use what I learned against her, she who had been so good to me. If anything, by bettering my understanding, I could better my service.
“I will,” I said.
FOUR
OF A NOTCHED TRUNK
I
discovered that I could not write to Birdy. It was too awkward—I could not tell him about my dyr studies. So I immersed myself in Lasva’s life and Queen Hatahra’s memories—though at first I was as frightened as if she could catch me at it and have me exiled. I found her just as daunting from the inside. Davaud was unexpectedly sympathetic, though we had thought him so dour from our distant perspective. Thence into Kaidas’s memories.
As summer waxed and waned, I put more effort into the wards—and extra effort was required, for I discovered that the Marlovens’ additions were simple, almost simplistic, compared to what I found below.
The characteristics of the tenth level mage captivated me. I was almost certain that a female mind lay behind the structure. Her protection-spell skills far surpassed mine, so much so that I had to stop and comb through those old dusty books belonging to Andaun-Sigradir in search not only of magic spells but also of the history of the castle through a mage’s eyes. I found lessons on protections, akin to the all-but-forgotten elementary magic text that I had memorized while crossing the continent. These spells seemed clumsy, fussy, and were definitely slow. The constant stresses about carefulness and preservation reminded me of Greveas, all but forgotten. Was this unknown mage Sartoran? If so, why the structure that appeared to be based on Venn knots?
Once again I had to slow down, but my reward was new insight into how magic was layered into keyed enchantments.
I brought that knowledge to the dyr. Without actually touching it—I was far too cautious for that—I attempted to tease apart the layers of enchantment that I could perceive around this object whose material was still unidentifiable. Not quite metal and not quite stone.
And so I came to the end of that year. I made sure to attend Kendred’s sixth Name Day celebration. My reward for an evening of anecdotes about children, the prince, and elementary lessons was Lasva’s happy smile when I entered her chamber. Ivandred was not there, which should have served as warning for me. But I, in my ignorance, looked out at the sentries walking the wall, their breath clouding as they slogged through a heavy early snow, and thought, at least the season of war is ended for another half-year.
How wrong I was became apparent when gossip arrowed through the castle that the Jarl of Totha had not come to renew his vows. “Snowed in—what a fool excuse!” Such words passed from lip to ear. They seem to want trouble, I thought at the time, and withdrew to my tower, shaking my head over the unaccountability of Marlovens.
It was not quite two weeks into the new year when an unprecedented event occurred. I sat at my desk, my sketches of that tenth level before me. What was missing?
Lasva threw open the door to my work room, fans swinging, eyes wide and blue. She was too distressed to speak in their language. “Emras, what have you done?”
I turned so quickly I almost fell off my stool. “Your highness,” I said—I, too, fell into old habit as I responded in Kifelian and scrambled up to bow in the full peace. “I? Done?” I began to point at my sketches, wondering how to put into words what I was working on.
“Magic. The Jarlan of Totha says that Ivandred slaughtered hundreds of them using magic. Hundreds, Emras. That can only have come from you.”
“Impossible,” I declared. “All I’ve taught Ivandred is how to prevent battles.”
In answer Lasva held out a much-folded piece of paper, obviously sent via scrollcase.
Lasva-Gunvaer:
You promised to be our advocate. I call upon you to heed that promise before there is nothing left of our land but ghosts. Has Norsunder truly allied with the king? How else could he loose fire and lightning against us, destroying our weapons and killing our warriors by the wing at one strike? It will take us days to Disappear the dead whose lives were destroyed in an afternoon. I do not know yet if Bluejay lives. I fear by tomorrow my children and I will be dead, in which case you will have no one to answer to.
Gdan of Totha
I looked up, confused by a half-familiar name. “Bluejay?”
“The jarl,” Lasva said. “One of the many Haldrens. Emras, can you take me to Gdan, and then to Ivandred? I have to try to make peace.”
“Take you to her by magic?” I asked. “Lasva, they might… not make a truce.”
Lasva said bleakly, “Then they don’t. I must find out about this Norsunder accusation. Oh, Emras, please see the necessity of haste! You must know their Destinations—don’t you have that written down somewhere?”
“Destinations might be in one of the records I have yet to peruse,” I said. “But I can do better, though it will hurt, I fear. These transfers are harsher because there is no time to lay down the relative protections around each Destination—” I stop
ped explaining when I saw her anxiety. “I can transfer to her scrollcase, if you can give me her scrollcase sign. If she has it with her, we will transfer directly to her.”
“Please take us. Or send me, if you must.”
The instinct to self-preservation caused me to hesitate. The danger was obvious, and I had already experienced a threat to my life from those people.
But I’d been spending weeks looking at moments in Lasva’s life. And though the Herskalt appeared to speak truth when he said that no one has the interest in us that we have in ourselves, his general remarks did not otherwise apply to her. She really did love us all. The rare glimpses of me (that is, when she was aware of me) in the memories I chose came with emotional surges of fondness, sometimes humor. She thought of me as such a steadfast, earnest little thing, sometimes puzzling. Even that terrible day when she so abruptly went silent, I was right about the cause, but she did not resent my ill-concealed weariness. Emras cannot fix my pain and it pains her, that was what Lasva had thought.
I said, “Let me get my cloak.”
When the transfer reaction wore off, Lasva swallowed several times, then whispered, “Now I know why everyone says they smell singed cloth near your tower.”
There was no time for my surprise. We found ourselves surrounded by a startled group of people whose oddly round faces hardened from surprise to intent. Most of them had shorn their hair, so it clustered around the tops of their heads.
Lasva walked straight to Gdan of Totha, who stood surrounded by young warriors. Gdan threw up a hand. “Halt!” she said to her followers, some of whom started to converge, hands on weapons. “She is here by my desire.” And to Lasva, “Come within. Tell me you can halt the king before he destroys us all.”
We were in a low building made of stone and timber. Windows on two sides made it clear we were not in a castle. Farmhouse? Gdan opened a slat door to a tiny room crowded with people seated on woven mats around a low table.
Lasva’s gaze rested on a young man whose nearly white hair was so short and fine that it reminded me of duck’s down. Gdan, seeing the direction of her gaze, lifted her chin. “Our defenders all cut their hair. They do not want their scalps worn by their murderers.”
“I loathe that practice,” Lasva stated plainly.
Gdan looked surprised, then made a gesture. “Of course. You are Colendi.”
“I am Colendi, which means I would much rather talk out problems than fight. You asked me to intervene. I will do that, but I must first understand your side of the conflict—what it is you want and where you are willing to compromise.”
“Compromise,” Gdan repeated, frowning.
Lasva opened her hands. I think she meant to emulate the Marloven gesture for truth-sharing, but it turned into the Colendi Opening of a Flower, the invitation to intimacy. “In Colend, this negotiation would last for weeks, amidst pleasant talk about plays and poems, between balls and dinners and journeys along the canal for idle flirtation. But if there is imminent conflict, well, must we not be as plain as we can? That means telling me what you wish, what you can accept. What…” She hesitated, then said firmly, “What you will refuse.”
Gdan leaned forward. “But all we were doing was securing our northern border.”
“I beg your forbearance, but do you not share a border with other jarlates of Marloven Hesea? Why should it require securing?”
“Because we had word that Tlen was going to send wings against our northern lands on the excuse of securing their border. When we heard that Marthdaun had allied with them…”
“A moment,” Lasva said. “A little background for the lamentably slow Colendi, may I beg? You and the jarl did not come to Convocation to renew your vows.”
“We sent a message to the king—we were snowed in.”
Slowly, patiently, Lasva worked through questions, her gaze steady as she looked for the signals of guile. I did not see any, but I was not court trained. Lasva herself was still, her hands loose in her lap. Finally she said, “As for the lightning…”
And every face turned my way, then averted, as if I would strike them dead with a look.
“… did anyone see it?” Lasva asked.
In answer, Gdan motioned toward one of the warriors. They were all muddy, almost indistinguishable. The one she indicated was not just muddy. There was a darker stain on his coat: blood. He leaned back against the wall, his shorn hair hanging in his eyes. Lasva looked away quickly then braced herself to look back.
“My riding mate died so I could run to report,” he said, his voice cracking. “But I was there. I saw our arrows turn to ash in the sky. And I saw lightning hit the middle of the front lines…” He dropped his head forward onto his breast, clamping his jaw shut.
Again I felt the weight of accusation against me—I saw the signs in quick, covert glances, and the tightening of hands on weapons—but it was not nearly as profound as my own sense of shock and betrayal. Words piled up, but I couldn’t speak them. No one would understand, and no one would believe me if I said that this magic was meant to frighten, perhaps to drench warriors, horses, and ground. Not to kill. The truth seemed to lie with the fellow barely out of his teens who struggled against grief.
Lasva rose to her feet. “I believe I have enough,” she said softly. “Where are we? In relation to the battle, to… to the king and the others?”
“They are probably camped on the other side of the ridge,” an older man said in a low voice. “We could send someone with a white flag, if you want to ride out and find them.”
Lasva looked my way. I signed assent, and she said, “We will find him.”
I had never transferred to Ivandred. Truth to say, I was not even sure I could. If I had not been so angry, I might’ve been afraid to try. The distance was short—the transfer was a sharp jolt, which, coming so soon after the previous one, left me with a bitter taste in my mouth and a headache behind my eyes. Lasva gulped for breath, one hand pressed to her chest. Then she drew in a shaky breath and looked around. I did as well.
We found ourselves directly outside of Ivandred’s tent—probably within arm’s reach of his scrollcase, but on the other side of the canvas. Startled guards had closed around us, weapons ready, but when they recognized Lasva they took a step back and saluted. They did not look at her, but at me, hands hovering near hilts and bows.
Lasva pushed aside the tent flap and walked in. So great was her perturbation that she did not even glance to see where the shadows lay, for as always there was only one glowglobe.
Ivandred, Haldren, and two or three others were gathered around a camp table with an unrolled map. They, too, were muddy. I did not look closely to see how much of that was blood. My attention went straight to Ivandred, who gazed at Lasva with eyes red-rimmed from exhaustion.
Ivandred said, “Out.” The word had the same effect as a Colendi pointing down in the shadow challenge.
All his leaders but Haldren moved past us; Haldren stayed.
A puff of cold air replaced the stuffy, sweaty atmosphere as Ivandred and Lasva faced one another. A shadow shifted behind them, and I sustained a second shock when the Herskalt stepped forward. “Emras,” he greeted me.
“I have just come from Gdan,” Lasva said to Ivandred. She held out the jarlan’s note. “She said that they were reinforcing their border because they thought that people from Tlen and Marthdaun were attacking them.”
“Look here, Lasva,” Ivandred said pointing to his map. He glanced my way. “You too, Sigradir.”
His gloved finger traced the hilly border between Totha and Marthdaun, then eastward along the border of Tlen, toward Ivandred’s oldest ancestral land. This hilly border ran alongside a river. On the north side were many little villages and market towns. I recognized a few names. Next to a great many of them were little markers. Ivandred touched one. “These are the targets for teams of Perideth’s best. They were riding in support of Bluejay’s defensive wing. Bluejay had no idea that Perideth was using him as an excuse to
make trouble up here in order to deflect me from a land grab in the south.”
“How do you know that?” Lasva asked.
“Fnor was the scout who discovered the ruse. Do you want to talk to her?”
“Fnor,” Lasva repeated and drew another deep breath, her hands pressed tightly together. “I accept what you say. I remember you told me that the King of Perideth entertained malign intentions in the southern reaches. And I remember that attack at the bridge. I also believe Gdan. She is afraid that you are about to massacre her people.”
“I plan to ride through, straight to Perideth. It will be a salutary ride,” Ivandred said.
“What does that mean?” Lasva asked. “Does that mean killing everyone in sight with bolts of lightning? Or putting them all to the sword?”
“They broke their oath. I intend to keep mine. My real target is Perideth. Totha is in the way for both of us. Bluejay should have thought of that when he allied with his cousin against me.”
“But I am not convinced that he did ally against you,” Lasva said. “I believe Gdan. Her skills at dissembling must be great indeed, if she is lying.”
Ivandred let out a breath of tiredness. “She is no liar. She and Bluejay are simple. He has always believed anyone he likes. Anyone who flatters him. And his cousin has made much of Bluejay’s great ancestors, telling him that he inherited Inda’s strategic sense. From all the signs, Bluejay has shifted loyalties.”
“What I understand from Gdan is that she is loyal to Totha, first and foremost,” Lasva said. “She seems to think that Bluejay feels exactly the same. Ivandred, I’m here to try to save lives. I beg you to find a way to spare Totha.”
While they talked, the Herskalt drew me aside. “I trust I am not about to hear that everyone dies anyway,” I said. “That is no justification for that spell being altered to kill people. There is no justification for that—for war.”
Banner of the Damned Page 69