CHILDREN OF AMARID

by DAVID B. COE

  “That’s possible,” Baden agreed. “Still, they knew enough about Tobyn-Ser to focus their efforts on destroying the Order’s reputation and undermining its standing in the land. Even that would require far more knowledge of our land than we have of theirs.” He looked at Orris. “I’ve come to the belated conclusion that you may have been right all along. The time has come for the Order to reestablish the psychic link. Tobyn-Ser has been invaded for the first time in four hundred years. And we let it happen.”

  The burly mage gazed back at him, his expression unreadable in the strange light of their circle. After some time, he nodded.

  Jaryd poked at the fire with the branch he still carried, the one containing his vivid sapphire ceryll. “What if the others won’t agree?” He glanced up at his uncle from beneath the thick shock of hair that fell over his forehead. “Naturally, I believe what you and Orris have told us, but what if the others don’t? From what I saw at the Gathering, it takes a good deal to spur the Order to action. And that single glass eye may not convince some of the more intransigent masters. Do you have anything else?”

  Baden reached into his cloak and pulled out the black fragment that they found when they returned to the town center. “We found this,” he said, passing it to Jaryd. “It’s a piece of the material of which the birds’ feathers are made.” He watched the shard make its way around the circle.

  “It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen,” Trahn conceded, “but I still agree with Jaryd’s assessment of our position. I, too, have no doubt that what you’ve told us is accurate. But others may find it difficult to look at the glass disk and this dark scrap, and see replicated birds and flame-throwing weapons. That’s an awfully long distance to travel on faith.”

  Baden gave a small, mirthless laugh and glanced at Orris. “I know. I’m counting on Jaryd and Alayna’s presence, and the staff that they carry, to bridge that gap. If we can convince the Order of Sartol’s guilt, and get them to listen to what Theron had to say, these fragments may be enough to do the rest.” He shrugged, a gesture of resignation. “They’d better be; they’re all we have.”

  Baden gazed up at the stars. Leora was dancing in the northern sky. He felt weary, as much from the evening’s discussion as from his battle the night before and the many days of riding. “We should sleep,” he commented. “Even though we’ve conceded that Sartol will reach Amarid before we do, we don’t want to give him too much time to flood the Great Hall with his lies.”

  The others rose slowly, all of them obviously as fatigued as the Owl-Master. Baden, Trahn, and Orris arrayed themselves around the fire, while Jaryd and Alayna moved off several yards, seeking a bit more privacy. Despite his exhaustion, however, Baden found that the thoughts churning in his head kept him from falling asleep. He fought it for some time, but, realizing eventually that this was a losing battle, he turned over onto his back and stared into the night.

  Sartol had probably reached Tobyn’s Wood by now, he mused. He would reach Amarid within five days. What would he do then? The Owl-Master wielded tremendous power and possessed a keen intellect. But, in many ways, he represented the least of their worries. Even given his strength and his guile, he was but one man. If Baden and his friends could convince the Order of his treachery, they would be able to defeat him.

  Sartol’s allies, however, were another matter. “This is an adversary unlike any the Order has ever faced,” Theron had told the young mages. “The Order will have to adapt. It will have to change.”Or it will perish, Baden added, completing the thought. Jaryd and Alayna had not indicated that the unsettled Owl-Master concluded his warning in that way. But there could be no mistaking the implication. And Baden knew that, without the Order, Tobyn-Ser could not defend itself against the outlanders. That, of course, was the point. That was the purpose behind the attacks, the cause of the mischief that had become vandalism, that had, in time, turned to murder. Those who planned the attacks, whoever they were, possessed enough knowledge of Tobyn-Ser to recognize that they would have to vanquish the Order. So they had seen to it that the Order would have little or no support from the people of Tobyn-Ser. Clearly, that was the strategy of these Lon-Ser “mages,” and it was disturbingly clever. But what was their purpose? The Abboriji invasions had been simple, straightforward. They were territorial wars, nothing more, and certainly nothing less. As far as any of them knew, this newest threat might have been prompted by the same drive to expand. But Baden believed that there was more to it than that. The cunning and ruthlessness of this invasion—or, more accurately, of this infiltration—bespoke a darker, more sinister purpose. The Owl-Master had no notion of what it might be, only a strong, albeit vague sense that much more than Tobyn-Ser’s territorial integrity was at stake. This war, if war it was, he understood somehow would be fought for the land’s very existence.

  He also realized that if the Order was to prevail, it would have to turn to younger leadership. Odinan and Niall and the other older masters had shown themselves to be too resistant to change. Under their leadership, the Order would fail, and Tobyn-Ser would be lost. Even Jessamyn would have been ill-suited to lead the Order into this conflict. It pained him to admit this to himself, but he knew it to be true. This was what Theron had been trying to say. And this was what Baden would have to make clear to the Owl-Masters when it came time to choose Jessamyn’s successor.

  He took a deep breath. It was late. The fire had burned down, and the other mages had long since fallen asleep. Leora’s endless dance had carried her higher into the night, and Lon and Tobyn now stood below her, one facing west, the other looking to the east.

  17

  Standing on a stony crag in the Parneshome Mountains, with the sun warming his back and a cool breeze ruffling his hair, Jaryd looked down upon the dazzling cityscape of Amarid. The last time he had seen the precise white and grey of the First Mage’s home from a similar vantage point, as he and Baden concluded their long journey from Accalia to the great city, he had been a Mage-Attend, far from his home and family, awed by the notion of observing his first Gathering and moving among the most powerful men and women in Tobyn-Ser. Less than a month had passed since then, but it might as well have been a lifetime. He was a Hawk-Mage now, he mused, feeling Ishalla’s presence in his mind. And not just any Hawk-Mage; he was bound to one of Amarid’s Hawks and he bore the staff given to him in Theron’s Grove by the unsettled spirit of the land’s first Owl-Master. The mages with whom he traveled, whose mere presence once would have intimidated him and filled him with wonder, had become his closest friends. In a month’s time he had even overcome his fear of horses, Jaryd realized with a smile, as the animal standing beside him nuzzled his shoulder. He stroked its nose absently.

  A vision entered his mind, and for an instant he saw himself sleeping by a small stream. He recognized the scene: it was the place of his binding.Yes, he sent to Ishalla, from whom the image had come.You’re home again. Immediately, this image disappeared and another entered his mind. A large owl was flying toward him, its powerful talons outstretched, its beak opened in a menacing scream. Sartol’s bird. He felt his mood growing grim. There was one more thing that marked this journey into Amarid as different from the last one: this time, he planned to unmask a traitor, or to die in the attempt.Fear not, he sent to his hawk.We will face them together.

  “Am I intruding?” came a soft, familiar voice from behind him.

  “No,” he answered, turning and holding out a hand to Alayna, who took it and stepped forward to stand beside him as he turned again to face the city.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked.

  “I think Ishalla is frightened,” he told her. “And I’m not used to sensing fear from her.”

  She did not respond, and for a long time they stood wordlessly, his hand in hers, both of them staring at the buildings that gleamed below them in the sunlight. At length he began to wonder if she had even heard his last remark. But, when finally she spoke, he knew not only that his words had reached her, but that
they had carried her mind in the same direction that Ishalla’s image had taken his.

  “He’ll be ready,” she murmured without taking her dark eyes from the city. “I know that Baden has thought things through very carefully, and that he’s taking every precaution. But Sartol will be ready.”

  Jaryd glanced at her. “What do you think we should do?”

  She shrugged. She suddenly appeared very young and more than a bit frightened. He could only guess how difficult these last several days had been for her, or how much harder these next few would be. “He’s stronger than we are, Alayna,” he told her. “He’s cunning and deceitful, and he got to the Great Hall first, which means that he may have already swayed some of the others to his side. But we have to face him; it’s the only way to save Tobyn-Ser. You heard what Theron said: if we can’t defeat Sartol, we have no chance of stopping the outlanders.”

  “So we go down there, even if it means our death.” She offered it as a statement, but the expression on her delicate, tanned features was unreadable.

  Jaryd smiled. “We do, but it won’t.” He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it gently. “I just found you; I’m not going to let anything or anyone take you away from me. Not even Sartol.”

  She nodded and tried to smile. But the fearful look in her eyes remained.

  Jaryd heard footsteps behind them. “May I join you?” Baden called.

  “Of course, Baden,” Alayna answered, though her eyes never left Jaryd’s face. “We were just . . . talking.”

  A moment later Jaryd turned toward the Owl-Master. “Are we ready to get moving again?”

  “Soon,” Baden told him, “but there’s something I want to discuss with you first.” He stepped past the young mages to the edge of the bluff and looked out across the city as they had done a minute before. The wind stirred his thinning hair, and his always lean frame seemed almost frail under the ample cloak he wore. “As soon as we venture down into Hawksfind Wood,” he remarked, “we’re probably going to meet up with other mages returning to the Great Hall. Sartol saw to that a couple of days ago.”

  Jaryd glanced down at the ceryll he carried, seeing that its light still pulsed with the same, unwavering rhythm that had taken hold of it two nights earlier, as the company rode through Tobyn’s Wood. Alayna’s crystal flashed as well, as, he knew, did Trahn’s, Orris’s, and that of every other mage in Tobyn-Ser. They were all tuned to the Summoning Stone, which had been awakened to convene another Gathering. By custom, Baden had explained, this was appropriate. As an Owl-Master and the bearer of both Jessamyn’s staff and the news of her death, Sartol had not just the right but the obligation to call for a Gathering of the Owl-Masters to select her successor. But rather than showing the intermittent flickering of a call intended only for the Owl-Masters, their cerylls were pulsating with the steady beat of a general summons. The entire Order had been called to Amarid for a second Gathering, no doubt so that Sartol could formally accuse Baden and Orris of treason.

  “You both have assured me that Theron knew of no other traitors within the Order,” Baden went on, “but still, I’d prefer to err on the side of caution. Sartol may have allies that Theron hasn’t seen.” The Owl-Master turned away from the view of Amarid to face them once more. The dark rings under his pale blue eyes made his features appear even more gaunt than usual, and his voice sounded tight. “Once we reach the wood, your lives will be in danger—if Sartol learns somehow that you’re still alive, he’ll do everything in his power to kill you. So, as soon as we’re out of the mountains, I want to take the two of you to an isolated clearing that I know of just a few miles outside of the city. You can wait there for word of what we need for you to do.”

  Jaryd could feel Alayna’s grip on his hand tightening as Baden spoke, and as soon as the Owl-Master finished, she shook her head emphatically. “Once you’re in Amarid, Sartol will charge all three of you with murder and treason and have you placed under house arrest,” she said harshly. “That is, if he doesn’t find an excuse to just kill you. And you want us to sit idly in some clearing waiting for your instructions?” She shook her head again. “I mean no disrespect Owl-Master, but that’s foolish.”

  Surprisingly, Baden grinned, as he looked from one of the young mages to the other. “You two were made for each other,” he said. “Those words could easily have come from Jaryd.” He held up a finger as his smile faded. “First of all, whatever else Sartol might do, he won’t kill us. That would be too transparent; he’d be destroying himself. Second,” he continued, raising another finger, “I fully expect to be charged and arrested as you predict. But remember, both of you, Trahn, Orris, and I have many friends within the Order. No matter how convincing Sartol may be, at least a few of them will maintain their faith in our innocence and will help us. I assure you, you won’t have to wait long for our messenger.”

  Alayna still bristled defiantly next to him, but Jaryd nodded his agreement. “Do you know yet what you’re going to do?” he asked.

  The familiar smirk spread across the Owl-Master’s features once more. “There won’t be much that I can do,” he observed. “As Alayna has said, we’ll be arrested as soon as we enter the city. But as mages accused, we three will still have one choice that we alone can make: we can call for an immediate trial, or we can demand that our trial wait until the entire Order has returned.”

  “So that’s what your messenger will tell us, which of those you’ve chosen.”

  Baden nodded. “We have a right to face Sartol when he accuses us,” he explained, “and I’m hoping that we’ll be able to tell at that time whether we’d be better off waiting or forcing Sartol’s hand. But regardless of what we choose, your role in this remains the same. You must slip unseen into the city and make your way to our trial with Theron’s staff and the two pieces of the outlanders’ birds that we still have. I’m hoping that those pieces of evidence, and your description of what happened by the grove, will be enough to convince the Order of our innocence and Sartol’s guilt.” He turned to Alayna, who had listened in silence as he laid out his scheme, such as it was. “I understand your reluctance to accept this approach, Alayna,” he told her with unexpected compassion. “As difficult as this encounter will be for all of us, it will be hardest for you by far. If you have another suggestion, I would gladly hear it. But I’m convinced that this plan offers our best chance of beating him.”

  Alayna held herself utterly still for another moment. Then she sighed, and closed her eyes. “I have no alternatives to offer, Baden, and I do see the logic in what you have in mind.” She opened her eyes and looked at the Owl-Master. “I’m sorry for what I said before.”

  “You mean about my plan being foolish?” Baden asked, his eyes dancing.

  Alayna laughed. “Yes, that.”

  “Well, don’t apologize just yet,” he told her. “It may prove to be as good a description as any for what we’re about to do.” He winked at them, as if he were about to deal out a hand of ren-drah. Then he motioned for the young mages to start back toward the mountain path. “Trahn! Orris!” he called out as he followed them. “Let’s get going. It’s time we dropped in on Sartol.”

  The trail plunged precipitously out of the mountains, seeming to Jaryd even steeper than the route he and Baden had taken into the great city from the west, before the Midsummer Gathering. As comfortable as he had grown with riding over the past several weeks, Jaryd found the descent harrowing. Twice, he nearly pitched forward over the head of his horse and onto the rocky path, and by the time the slope began to level off his cloak was damp with sweat, and his hands had cramped painfully from gripping the reins so tightly. Fortunately, the company encountered no one as they negotiated the mountainside. But almost immediately upon entering Hawksfind Wood, as they rode by the crystal-blue waters of Dacia’s Lake, they heard voices approaching on a converging trail. Quickly, and as silently as they could manage, Jaryd and Alayna ducked into a nearby cluster of trees, while the others dismounted, pulled out some food, and
pretended to be resting. Watching from within the shadows, Jaryd saw four Hawk-Mages ride into view. He recognized one of them as Radomil, but he could not recall the names of the others. They stopped briefly to greet Orris, Trahn, and Baden, but they did not dismount, and they soon moved on.

  “That was close,” Baden breathed, after the foursome was out of earshot.

  “I would think that we can trust Radomil,” Jaryd commented as he and Alayna emerged from the trees.

  Orris, standing with his legs planted, and his burly arms crossed in front of his chest, nodded his agreement. “I know Mered fairly well. I trust him also.”

  “Both of you are probably right,” Baden conceded. “I consider Radomil a good friend, and I have great respect for Mered. No doubt the other two are good people as well. But given the position we’re in, we can’t afford to assume anything. It’s not merely a matter of whether these mages are trustworthy, although certainly that’s part of it. We also have to be sure that they will believe in us, and keep faith with us, even after they’ve heard Sartol’s accusations. We’re going to be asking a great deal of whomever we take into our confidence, so we’d better be sure.”

  “Do you have someone in mind?” Trahn asked.

  The Owl-Master hesitated. “I do,” he replied. Jaryd thought that he might say more, but instead, he pressed his lips together and rubbed his fingers across his mouth in an oddly nervous gesture. “I do,” he repeated after a moment.

  Alayna ran her fingers through her dark hair. “This isn’t the best place for us to stand around,” she said.

  Baden chuckled. “Probably not, no. I’ll take the two of you to the clearing I mentioned.” He glanced at Trahn. “You and Orris go on toward Amarid, slowly,” he instructed. “I’ll cut back to the trail a few miles ahead and wait for you there.”

  Trahn nodded, his green eyes bright with a mix of ferocity and anticipation that Jaryd had noticed on previous occasions. Not for the first time, Jaryd found himself thankful that the Hawk-Mage was on their side. The dark mage turned to face Alayna, and then Jaryd. “Arick guard you both,” he said, “for our sake, and that of Tobyn-Ser.”