The Binder's Road (The Sequel to 'Illumination')

by Terry McGarry

  Like the girl’s messages, it was scribed in Ghardic, a language in disuse, and signed with a rune—deis, Daivor’s mark, the blackthorn, no doubt taken up when Evonder took Daivor’s place on the Ennead, to differentiate him from Vonche, whose rune vol would otherwise have been his in that vowelless script. No common wordsmith could have read either message or rune. No one but a son of the Ennead. But only a son of Khine would have understood that last exhortation. It was how they bid each other farewell when they believed they would never meet again.

  He’d grieved, in the austere Khinish way, and moved on. It was not his calling to set Eiden Myr to rights. He was a sailor, a shipwright, a farmholder. Khine was untouched by the mainland’s troubles, unfazed by their aftermath. They had never relied entirely on their mages. They were robust folk not prone to illness or injury; their island was self-supporting. He carried surplus goods to struggling coastal villages. In hall, he spoke in support of accepting a certain number of refugees into quarantine when the Boot was racked by earthquake; when the land settled, his ships carried them back again. He’d aided the mainland as he could. He’d persuaded himself it was enough.

  Streln, the consummate Khinishman, had felt quite the opposite. His inclination in times of crisis was to take command. Thanks to the codices Evrael had salvaged, they now possessed historical precedent for such leanings, relayed through the scribes on Senana: The Khinish [126] descended from a martial seafaring race—a race of conquerors. When that race’s mages fled into exile from the outer realms, they isolated themselves on Khine. In prosperous safety, they suspended their domineering ways. But in Streln it became clear that they hadn’t lost them. They had oiled and stored their weapons for twice nine nonned years, it was the work of three moons to craft new handles for the existing blades and forge twice their number anew from the model they provided. Khinish society had retained its structure, through all those generations of peace, and their blood had never entirely lost its cold fire. They chose leaders they would follow into death. All they lacked was a cause.

  Lerissa n’Rigael was judged and incarcerated. Streln was perversely moved by her courage, her dignity, her resistance to pain. Intrigued, he visited her in her captivity. She told him stories about Khine’s forebears, their glorious ancient history. Evrael could not refute them; Evrael had read them, too, and the scholars would only confirm anything he challenged. She dropped offhand suggestions; when the results were pleasing, Streln began to actively seek her advice. He had her transferred to his estate. Slowly he lifted the prohibitions on her, allowed her to interact and find productive work. He would not see what was clear to Evrael: that he was the work she had set herself. She had years ... and the burning ambition Evrael lacked. In Streln the desire to rule was instinctive but tempered. In Lerissa it was an edged stone. She sliced her way into Streln, made herself seem indispensable, drove a wedge between him and Evrael—and replaced Evrael in his bed, as she replaced Evrael’s counsel in his ear.

  She told Streln what he secretly longed to hear. Eiden Myr needs your strong hand. The Khinish alone have the discipline to set that poor ailing land to rights. They are starving! They are dying! And all for lack of effective leadership. You cannot sit idly by on your pleasant island and allow it.

  Streln had not been wholly, or easily, convinced. Though nearly estranged from Evrael, he owed him debts of love and honor. He could not forget the years of wisdom and companionship his brother and lover had given him. And he could not ignore the attraction that charged the air whenever they caught sight of each other. But Lerissa’s insidious influence had rooted deep. She played on parts of Streln hidden even to himself. She gave advice that Streln was predisposed toward. Streln wanted her to be right.

  And Evrael persisted in advising against intervention. He did so publicly, at the midwinter hall. Many leading families spoke in support of him. Once Streln would have respected opposition as Evrael’s right; Lerissa whispered in his ear that it was betrayal.

  [127] Evrael would have preferred to attack the problem directly, on grounds that a woman nearly executed for collusion in darkcraft could not be permitted to counsel a headman; but such a maneuver would have been too easily dismissed as a spurned lover’s bitter fruit, and until Streln installed her in some official capacity, there was technically nothing to object to. He could not seek hall censure for a man’s choice of bedmate. In the meantime, the woman labored selflessly on behalf of the refugees pouring in from the beleaguered mainland, redeeming herself, good deed after good deed, in the eyes of Khinish who valued hard, honorable work above all else. She behaved as an exemplary Khinish woman for six years. Soon they would forget her corrupt past, which they had not witnessed and, so long as she continued to render impeccable service, could forgive as the misguided error of youth. It was only a matter of time until Streln bestowed land upon her and some philanthropic title. There would be grounds for attack then—but it would be too late. No doubt she knew that; perhaps she had already been offered land and name and had demurred, further entrenching Streln’s belief that her ambition burned pure.

  To kill her would bring suspicion immediately upon him. It could be contrived for her to die of some rampant mainland illness, but only if she ventured onto the mainland. He had seafolk keeping watch for ailing refugees, in hope that some one of her beggared charges might become his unwitting assassin; but such plots sickened him, and sometimes he believed she was herself an illness, twisting hearts as grotesquely as the sprain palsy twisted limbs.

  In hall, where reputation and probity held sway, he knew his footing. Backed by coastal landholders, with members of Streln’s own family taking his part, he had made it necessary for Streln to justify his desire to intervene. It is understandable, they said. We were bred to rule; the codices on Senana have proven it. But it would stretch our resources. It would cost us. And thus far it seems unnecessary. Eiden Myr is an honorable, resilient land. Let it effect its own recovery if it can.

  And so Streln had watched, and waited, and capitalized on the opportunity when it came: word that the remnants of the Holding warders planned to meet on what most mainlanders called Spindle Day, four ninedays after Ve Galandra, with Verlein n’Tekla and a representative from the Isle of Senana. The shieldmaster would be petitioning for resources, perhaps some official alliance. The scholars, the menders, and the homegrown soldiers were the closest the mainland had come to consensus leadership. It is possible, Streln claimed in hall, that this is a sign of their development. I will go to that council. Perhaps I may advise them. At the least we must hear the [128] words spoken there. I will journey on horseback, with a hand of my best men.

  It was pointed out, and of course it was true, that this was madness. Go by sea, he was told. Or send a delegate—send the fleetmaster in your stead. You might not survive such an overland journey, through villages racked by disaster and plague.

  What Streln wanted was firsthand proof that what Lerissa whispered was true—that the mainland would be lost without Khinish intervention. But he turned it back beautifully, ever the inspired orator, even as the waters roughened, Evrael felt a surge of pride and old love. If the mainland is as dangerous as you claim, Streln said, then we must intervene, to save it from itself. If not, I risk nothing but my winter grain by making the journey ahorse.

  The hall acquiesced. And Evrael, still unsure whether his reasons were political or personal, said, “And I shall sail there, to bear you home again.”

  That pleased the hall, which wanted the two of them at peace. It disquieted Streln, though only Evrael noticed. It no doubt infuriated Lerissa, who pictured Evrael alone with his old lover on shipboard, where he might slice him free of her glamorous netting. Evrael himself grew short of breath at the prospect.

  But it was not to be. Streln had traveled up the mountainous length of Eiden Myr, through Leg and Girdle and Belt, through Heartlands and Neck and Head, to see for himself whether matters were as grave as Lerissa claimed.

  Whatever he had experience
d or observed had caused him to conclude that they were. If this council did not dissuade him, he would make of the mainland a Khinish precinct.

  Why do I care? Evrael asked himself. The Khinish way is strict and honorable. Mainlanders might welcome the order and stability it would bring. Does it grieve me only that she will have won?

  And when did it become “they” and not we”?

  Dabrena n’Arilda had not yet arrived. There might still be time for him to warn her how much now rested on her performance here. She had no way of knowing what was at stake. Could the girl he remembered carry this off? Dabrena Wordsmith was little more than two nineyears of age when he met her, but she had rallied frightened, downtrodden warders to fight off the last Great Storm. It was an admirable feat. She might have grown strong enough to convince Streln that his intervention was unnecessary, or cunning enough to bluff him that it could be resisted. Evrael had seen firsthand how formidable young girls could grow up to be. If she had weathered [129] well, there was a chance that Streln, no matter what he had seen, would board Evrael’s ship, go home, and stay.

  When she came rushing harried through the door, a diminutive creature looking no older than when he last saw her, wisps of honey hair escaping their band, her white hose stained, bearing refreshments like a clumsy steward and towing a sullen child, he felt an axe cut the moorings to all his hopes.

  Dabrena deposited her tray of breadroot loaves and watered wine on the stone table and Kara on a stool off to the side, plunked herself into a seat without ceremony, and said, “I’m Dabrena n’Arilda, I welcome you, I’m sorry I’m late. I’ve brought Selen and Loris, who have expertise in recordkeeping. I know some of you have titles, but we don’t, and none are needed here. Has my delay allowed you to introduce yourselves to those you didn’t know? Good.” The Khinish headman looked as if someone had rammed him down on a fencepost. “Won’t you sit?”

  “I will stand.”

  With a slight shrug, she gestured Loris into the last seat, between Verlein and Evrael. The three-sided table was designed to seat nine, and though they’d tried with various chairs they could not comfortably change that loaded number. This was the only available chamber large enough to accommodate a group; the dining halls, sleephalls, scriptoria, and maphalls were always in use. They’d lined up plenty of stools by the entry, for aides and companions, but when Senana had declined to attend she’d thought to seat only four at the table itself—Pelkin, Verlein, Streln, and her. She had not counted on armed guards, or on the fleetmaster asserting an equal authority with the Khinish headman, or on Pelkin making a show of equality among runners.

  No matter. Empty stools gave Kara room to stretch out and nap if she liked. It would be easier for Selen and Loris to scribe on a table than on binding boards. If the headman had piles and the others saw absurd need to guard against attack, it only left more room for her people.

  She did not meet Selen’s eyes, and Loris applied himself to the preparation of a quill. On the way here, they had not spoken of the confrontation in the dining hall. She turned her mind from it.

  That a sowmid meeting with Verlein had become perceived as a council of leaders peeved her. She’d hoped to reallocate some of the shield’s growing number of fighters, who were wasted on their vain, lonely seaside vigil. She wasn’t sorry the Khinish fleetmaster was [130] here; if she could persuade him to assign some of his trading vessels double duty as coastal patrol, it would give her firmer footing with Verlein, who would be tricky to manage. She’d hoped the head scholar from Senana could be enticed to come as well. He’d been terse and uncooperative of late, all but accusing her of siphoning off his best folk—as if the dry swotters he considered their best were any use in the productive endeavors of this holding! She’d hoped to demonstrate their activities personally, to prove that they were not in competition for the brightest minds. But in main she’d seen an opportunity to sit him and Verlein down to discuss the ostensible outer-realms threat face-to-face. He’d declined her invitation, but word of its issuance had reached the Khinish headman, apparently leading him to believe that he was being overlooked in some consolidation of power, and he had messaged his intent to attend. It had not been a request. Bullheaded man, she had thought; she could not refuse him, but it opened her way to ask the runners to send representation as well. If she had to put up with the imposition of Khine, she’d bloody well get something out of it. Her former warders had been leery of too close association with former reckoners, and she gathered the feeling was mutual: each felt the other must have known more than they admitted about the Ennead’s corruption, each blamed the other for not acting against it. The rift between warder and reckoner had begun under that Ennead, was one of its nasty byblows. With this meeting she might begin to bridge that rift. They had sore need of the runners’ aid in their work.

  A small gathering to foster cooperation. It was more like some teller’s land-beyond. Three folk still wearing the black, and her folk no better in warder’s white, though it was mender’s white now. A man the very image of the old Ennead’s Evonder, though aged and brined, sitting here at the old Ennead’s table. The Lowlander who had ravaged this holding to no purpose, picking her teeth past lips drawn back in a snarl. A Khinishman out of some ancient history in which swarthy invaders came armored in boiled animal skin and metals. Half of them bristled with weapons and had sentries posted in her corridor. You’d need a blade to cut the tension—and there were plenty of those.

  “Why are these runners here?” said Verlein.

  All right, Dabrena thought. That speech you prepared was goat fodder anyway. Let it go as it goes. “For the same reason you are. Pelkin n’Rolf, like yourself, has not been here since the magewar. This is a new holding. I wanted to show it to you.” The two with Pelkin she had not met until last night when they arrived. She’d been disappointed and relieved. Three of his closest comrades had been vocates with her. It [131] would have been both joy and anguish to see them again. Doubtless he knew that, and so brought strangers. Pelkin himself she did not know as well as she should. If she could rectify that with all of them ... “Evrael te Khine also has not been here since the mage war. Strelniriol te Khine has never been here.”

  “As you have never been to Khine, nor anywhere besides here since the magewar,” said Streln. “You live in obscurity behind stone walls, just as your predecessors did.”

  “What predecessors?” she shot back. He was probing for a nerve. He’d struck one, but inadvertently, and she wouldn’t let it force her off the point. “This holding was established six years ago when an old way of life died forever. We have no predecessors.”

  “Then you have no heritage.”

  “We make our own heritage.”

  “And your own rules?”

  “There are no rules. There are goals. Learn. Heal. Soothe. Mend. Gather knowledge and give it out again. Do you object to that?”

  In dulcet tones, he said, “Not yet.”

  “An atmosphere of antagonism will be counterproductive.” Her gaze dismissed him and swept the rest. “This is neither conspiracy nor competition. Some of you I asked here, some of you asked yourselves. It makes no difference. You’ve all come a long way. Let’s find out how we can help each other.”

  “How do you propose to meet these lofty goals of yours?” Verlein said, scowling at Selen and Loris, who were scribing accounts on sedgeweave.

  Dabrena suppressed a sigh. By keeping codices instead of burning them, she thought. “I was hoping to lead you all in a tour of the premises, show you our scriptoria and maphalls—”

  “You could show me a nonned folk like these scratching the itchy skin of dead sheep, and it would tell me no more than you could sitting right here.”

  Because you never learned to read, like most of the rest of Eiden bloody Myr, despite every opportunity. Dabrena had to bite down to check her temper. Verlein, like Streln, was testing her. These were bladed folk. Their patterns of thought had developed differently from hers. She must make allowa
nce for that.

  “We compile information,” she said. “Our folk in the field learn how one region heals an illness, say, or solves a problem of irrigation; they bring that information back here, we compile it so that it can be quickly referenced, we make copies of the resulting codices, and we send them back out into the field, to provide answers for problems in other regions. We have nearly completed a set of maps of our land, [132] to better understand its needs, such as quality of soil and distribution of water. We’ve kept records of weather patterns, settlement and movement of people; we are midway through a rough head count, and we are beginning to see patterns in the spread of illness, the incidence of births and deaths, the—”

  “That’s what you’re doing?” Verlein burst out. “Binding sheaves of sheepskin to arm your folk, as a substitute for magecraft? You’re as useless as those inkmongers on Senana!”

  Dabrena smiled. She’d had this debate with her own folk in the early days, and won. “Quite the contrary,” she said. “On the Isle of Senana they analyze the past. We analyze the present. I cannot speak for them, and their head scholar declined my invitation. But I assure you that what we do here we do actively. We accumulate knowledge. We believe that we can compensate for the loss of magecraft by cooperating in the application of knowledge.”