Pelman reflected a moment. "Your father knows me well," he said finally. "Rosha, I do not know as yet what I shall become in Lamath. I found a book there, once. Your father will say it drove me slightly mad-or else he'll argue I'd' grown overfond of magic and drove myself insane, and that the book became the fetish of my insanity. Tell me, truthfully. Did he tell you he thinks the powers have possessed me?" Rosha nodded, then stammered forcefully, "What if this P-p-power that p-pulls you so is evil? What then?" Pelman was quiet for a moment. When he began again, his voice seemed to come from far away. "Some years ago, I was worn out by my powers. I used them so fiercely for so long in those wars of confederation you've heard so much about that I was exhausted. I came back to the North Fir-not to experiment with new forms of shaping, but just to be cradled in the birthplace of the old. I went deep, my friend, toward Lamath, and every step I took I became more convinced something there had summoned me. Somewhere between here and there it seized me, Rosha. A Power, but not one formed and sent after me by an enemy sorcerer. This was a Power drawn from earth and water, not from the fire and the wind. Fire and wind are fleeting, my friend. This Power rooted me to the ground I walked on. History, Rosha! It seized me and shook me with the nature of history, and left me dazed and dizzy-but with a new curiosity. Where did we come from, and when, and why, and what value is there in a day?" Rosha stared across the campfire at the shaper, his eyes wide. He blinked, and would have answered, but Pelman held up a hand, stopping him. "That was when I realized that this Power had being-why should history be important to a soulless force? You may listen to the wind-hear it? It rocks the trees gently or shakes them, according to its mood. The sound is so meaningless-it's empty. It passes and leaves nothing behind. Or the fire, crackling, throwing itself up into the air-" Rosha's eyes followed the sparks as they struggled upward, only to die away. "-and dying. Leaving nothing behind but ashes. But this, Rosha-" Pelman now grabbed a handful of dirt. "This has history. As you do. You're not a wind any more than I am. You are Rosha, the treasure of Dorlyth, who was the treasure of his own father Karis." "B-b-but what . . ." The boy let his words trail off. He didn't really know even the right questions to ask, so strange was all of this.
"I went to Lamath, Rosha. I became a monk of the Dragonfaith, a participant in the cult of the Dragon." Rosha reeled back. "M-my father never-" "Your father never knew. He thought I was wandering through the woods, feeding off nuts and berries. But I was searching for that history in the earth, scratching the soil with a rake day after day, just looking. And in the dead of night in a cavern beneath my monastery, I found a book. The Power seized me again, then. Rosha, I swear I didn't dream it! Through the weeks that followed I searched other books in the monastery library, finding finally a grammar in characters resembling those in the pages of my strange and attractive volume. And I learned how to translate those runes." "My father s-s-said you f-found it in the f-forest." "So I told him." "B-b-but why lie?" "Why involve Dorlyth in a thing he needn't know? Your father has carved his own history into the life of Ngandib-Mar with the sharp edge of his greatsword. He has carved his name in the lives of the people he has loved there. He is content with the skill of swords and the knowledge of powers. But you, my young friend- you are not so fortunate. You travel with me toward Lamath. For you it will be important." "What d-d-does this b-book say?" Rosha asked, his face wearing that intense expression he usually reserved for his swordplay.
"Where's Bronwynn?" Pelman asked suddenly. Both men jumped up and searched around them. Rosha threw open the flap of the tent and rushed inside. There was a look of shock and vengeance on his face when he reappeared.
"She's gone!" Rosha cried.
Talk, talk, all they do is talk, Bronwynn thought to herself as the two men philosophized. She was used to that-being forgotten by men who adored her as they wrapped themselves in meaningless phrases and called it philosophy. Neither man saw her stand, and walk to her horse. Neither saw her press a forked branch into the damp earth and then place Sharki, hooded and already sleeping, on one of the forks. Neither watched her tug her coat around her shoulders and walk away from the warmth of the fire toward the edge of its light. The stars were different, she decided, when you could stand still and stare up at them. She looked now for the striking constellation known in Chaomonous as the Butterfly, with its easily recognized body of three stars in a row. Then she remembered-that was a winter constellation.
This was spring. She looked instead for the Diamond Cluster ...
The light from the fire, scant as it was, caused her difficulty in seeing. She moved a few paces farther from it, and clutched her cloak more tightly as the cold seemed to deepen. No, she couldn't find the Diamond either. Pity about the Butterfly not being out. Those were the only two constellations that meant anything to her. The others she couldn't make any sense of. She turned to walk back to the campfire-and it was gone.
Panic seized her, at first. But Bronwynn was nothing if not quick. She gathered her coat around her and walked toward the dark center of the clearing, and burst through the wall of chill into the firelight.
"Bronwynn!" Pelman yelled, and breathed a sigh of relief. Rosha's face lit up with joy. Bronwynn noticed, and decided she quite liked that.
"You've hidden us," she exclaimed to Pelman as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
"Did you really think I was sleeping while you gathered firewood?" Pelman asked sternly. "The next time you-" He stopped. Why did he feel such a compulsion to lecture the lady? He turned on his heel and walked into the tent.
For lack of anyone else to talk to, Bronwynn looked at Rosha. "It's just like the wall of cold at the stream this morning! No one can see us, or hear us!" Rosha smiled shyly, and looked away. "A little startling at first," she went on, "but I kept my head and just walked back through it." Rosha looked back at the girl, and smiled again. "I am g-g-glad you ca-came back. I m-missed you." He turned away, looking for his blanket, and left Bronwynn standing there. She was cold, for the night was chill and the fire was dying. And yet she felt strangely warm.
Chapter Six
THE LONG HALLWAY that ran from Talith's tower to Ligne's apartments was glass-lined on both sides. This had certainly not been the King's idea, for everyone in the court could see him when he made that trip. It served Ligne's purposes, however, that the King be seen, and she had insisted on it. It was the only door into the rooms. Everyone knew there were other doors out, but only Ligne and a chosen few knew where they were located, and it was Ligne who controlled them. The King was not one of the chosen; but since he assumed he knew everything there was to know about Ligne already and had judged her to be loyal to him, he was totally unaware that a chosen faction even existed. He did wonder, however, when Ligne installed a hanging forest of sparkling cut crystal along most of the hallway's length. The strings of glass got in his way; as he knocked them brusquely aside when he walked to her room, they set up the most hideous tinkling. When he asked her their purpose, she just shrugged, and said, "I don't like surprises." On the morning two days after his declaration of war, Talith stood in Ligne's bedroom tying a golden sash around his royal waist. "I don't see how they got her out," he was muttering to himself. "With all the guards at the doors, and that noise in the hall-it doesn't make sense!" "Must that be the topic of every conversation?" Ligne snarled as she sat brushing her hair before one of the many mirrors in the room. "She was kidnapped by merchants, Talith. Obviously they bribed the guards, or distracted them somehow with some new bauble. You IT? have the guards in your dungeon. Why not ask them yourself?" Talith glowered at the woman. "It seems strange to me that they would take her and leave you here!" Ligne turned around to face him, red lips open in surprise; then she brightened and danced to her feet. She glided toward him and slipped her arms around his neck. She kissed him on the cheek. '"Thank you! What a sweet thing to say!" "What?" "Oh, but I'm sure the Lamathians didn't realize your love for me is so great that you would go to war just to win me back." "What are you talk
ing about?" "Otherwise I'm sure they would have kidnapped me instead of poor Bronwynn. You can be sure that if they had, I would have kicked and screamed all of the way. As it was, I got those two horrible bruises I showed you when they knocked me down." Ligne nibbled on the King's ear, and whispered, "You want to see them again?" Talith cleared his throat. "Not right now. Affairs of state you know. A war to plan." He started for the door.
"Your crown's on the chair," she reminded him, and he turned back to grab it and jam it down over his forehead. Out the door he went, knocking the crystal hangings aside so that a delicate tinkling followed him all the way back to his tower. Ligne smiled to herself, stroking her hair absently as she waited for the noise to cease.
"He's gone," she said to one mirror after the hall was quiet again.
"It's hot in there," the man grumbled as he opened the mirror out into the room and stepped from a compartment concealed behind it. The woman winced in disgust at the sight of him, but managed to smile through her grimace. How could anyone be so ugly? "You wear too many clothes, Admon Faye," she said. "Shed some of that finery and perhaps you would breathe more easily in these lowlands." "My dress is fine for the climate of Chaomonous, my Lady. But only a flower could thrive in this greenhouse of yours." He gestured at the hanging plants that ringed the circular room, one for each of the tiny windows, set high in the wall for the sake of Ligne's privacy. "But of course," he continued, "clothing isn't essential to the function of this room, is it?" "Sit down," she snapped, seating herself with a toss of her long green gown, "and we'll speak of things that are your business. My life is not." The slave raider's face was so grotesque that even his smile chilled the heart. He sat on the edge of her bed and propped one boot upon it.
"I don't like mud on my bedspread," Ligne said as menacingly as she could manage. "Do you mind?" "No, I don't mind mud at all, my Lady. I sleep in it every night. Now can we get on to our business?" Ligne flared. "I hired you-" "To be an assassin, not another of your human houseplants," he finished for her, his eyes boring into hers. "As long as that relationship is worthwhile to me, I will continue it. But I have been waiting long enough, and I have other matters to deal with this morning." Ligne glared at him for a moment, then forced herself to laugh. "Admon Faye," she said, "you are a very powerful man." "I'm also ugly and impatient!" he growled, starting to rise.
"I want you to kill someone," Ligne said quickly, and he settled back onto the bed, dropping his foot graciously to the floor.
"Who and where?" he demanded.
"I want you to murder the heir to the throne of Chaomonous," Ligne announced quietly. If she expected some reaction from him she was disappointed.
"Where?" he said again. "Don't you hear any news? She has been kidnapped.
and taken to Lamath." "I hear a lot of news, my Lady, much of it not true. I assume your sources are good?" "The best," she said smugly. "Dealing with the merchants then." He nodded to himself, then went on. "And are you sure the lady arrived in Lamath?" Ligne jerked. "Of course she did! Why would you ask that?" "I said I hear a lot of things. I've heard some rumors that she never arrived. But you say the merchants told you she's there?" Ligne nodded uncertainly, hiding her shock and quickly stifling her fears. "They could be lying, of course. But I'll find her." He started toward a hidden door.
"I, too, hear rumors," Ligne said, stopping him. "It's rumored you are seeking Pelman the player. He was sold into slavery and carried off to Lamath with the girl. Should you happen to see him, I will pay you extra to kill him as well. He's said some very unkind things about me in those plays of his." "Yes, Pelman always was an honest sort," Admon Faye sneered, and Ligne's temper flared again. "You want him dead and Pahd of Ngandib wants him alive. When I do find him, I'll sell him to the highest bidder. How's that?" "Get out!" Admon Faye chuckled, and crouched to duck through the low doorway concealed behind her marble washbasin. Then he stopped, and looked up at her. "Next time you want to see me, make it after the King's visit. I'm not going back in that closet." Then he was gone as silently as he had come, leaving Ligne to stew in silence.
Later that day the King's crystal-maker was ordered to replace some mirrors in Ligne's apartments. When the King threw things in anger, he tended to grab an unbreakable object. Ligne wouldn't throw anything unless there was some shattering of glass involved. If people couldn't see and hear your rage, what was the point of flying into one? Tohn swore aloud, and swung himself up into the saddle. The sun had just come up, but it was already promising to be a hot day. Tohn cursed this changeable weather, cursed his horse who was inexplicably in the mood to prance this morning, but most of all he cursed r whoever it was that had warned Dorlyth of his coming. Not only was the bearded swordsman not surprised, he was fully prepared for a siege! Every report Tohn received drove him deeper and deeper into depression. It had to be the magician's doing. Tohn stood in his stirrups to get a good view of the small keep, and dropped back into the saddle with a heavy thump that did nothing either for him or the horse. He jerked on the animal's reins and rode back to the brightly striped blue-and-lime tent that would serve as his command post. "Boy!" he bellowed, and his freckle-faced squire tumbled out of the tent, legs tangling in the unfamiliar flaps. "You bring me my helmet." The boy started inside. "And my sword," Tohn added.
"What, sir?" the lad asked, popping his head back out.
"Sword! You've heard of a sword, have you?" "Yes, sir," the boy said, and he disappeared. "And my standard, I'll need that, too," Tohn added. The boy appeared at the door flap again. "What, sir?" "My standard! How's Dorlyth mod-Karis to recognize me without my standard!" "I don't know, sir," the boy said, then hesitated at the door.
"What are you waiting for?" Tohn bellowed. Then he remembered something else. "And bring me that object in the blue bag . . ." He trailed off as the boy came out of the tent with helmet under one arm, sword and standard under the other, and the blue bag clutched in both hands. "How'd you know I wanted that before I called for it?" he roared.
"Simple, sir. It was the only thing left in the tent." "Give me that," Tohn grumbled, grabbing the helmet the boy offered him. He looked at the sun climbing higher in the sky and muttered, "That magician's cursed me, I know he has." "Remember, it'll be hot for the enemy too, sir," the lad offered with a smile.
Tohn looked at the boy. "Did I ask for encouragement? Did I?" he asked. The boy smiled at him, and Tohn finally chuckled and rubbed the youngster's head.
Then it was back to business. "Sword." The boy passed him his greatsword, and he unsheathed it in his left hand. It flashed brightly, and Tohn was pleased. He had drawn it for effect only. He wouldn't use it unless he absolutely had to. "Standard," he murmured, and the boy placed the butt of the stock in its holder on the saddle and pushed the pennant up for Tohn to grab it in his right hand.
"What about this?" Tohn looked down and saw that the boy was holding the pyramid bag up to him.
"Can't you see I've got my hands full? Hang it around the saddle horn." The boy obeyed, and stepped back to look at his master, resplendent in blue-and-lime. "Look pretty good for an old fellow, hunh?" Tohn asked, and the boy grinned back. Tohn mod Neelis wheeled his horse, shouting, "Captains!" He rode toward the castle.
The word was passed quickly along the battlements. Tohn and three others rode close to parlay. Dorlyth donned his own helmet and walked out onto the arch surmounting the door to the keep. He waited until Tohn was twenty yards away, then shouted, "Enough." Tohn and his captains stopped their horses.
"I would welcome you to my property, Tohn mod Neelis," Dorlyth began, "but I see you have already made yourself at home." Dorlyth waved a hand at the semicircle of colored tents stretched across the eastern hill of Dorlyth Field. "I take it there's a reason for this display?" "I seek only a man and a young lady," Tohn shouted back courteously. "They were guests of my house, but seem to have disappeared." "If they chose to disappear, perhaps your house should improve its hospitality. That does not speak well of Ognadzu." "Perhaps not," Tohn rep
lied, "but that is hardly our concern here. I need this man and woman, and have come asking if you have some information concerning their whereabouts." "You need six hundred men to ask a question, Tohn?" "I felt there might be some need for wide consultation," Tohn replied.
"Then are your war councils growing as large as those storied councils of the golden south?" "A lot of advice in a time of crisis can be most worthwhile, Dorlyth mod Karis." "I quite agree. That's why I've invited these, my friends, to join me in my keep. To share advice." "I trust they advise you to aid me in my quest for Pelman the powershaper and a girl in his company named Bronwynn?" "Actually they've been rather insistent on my not aiding you. As you say, good advice is most worthwhile." "As long as it is good advice, Dorlyth." Tohn was threatening now. "If you choose not to aid me, my searching could prove costly to you. It would seem that with the relative size of the forces involved, the better part of wisdom would be for you to help me." "Tohn, I give you freedom to search," Dorlyth called back.
Tohn brightened. "Is that an invitation to approach your gate?" "It's an invitation to try to take it, if you choose." There was a murmur of agreement from the soldiers who lined the battlements.
Tohn's pony pranced while its rider decided to make a different appeal. "We are old men, Dorlyth," he began. "We have no business scrapping with one another as two boys would roll in the mud. Let us be reasonable." "I'm listening," Dorlyth called back.
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