That was all right. She missed her colleagues, but many of them had come down here, and this was a far better place for Kara to grow up. In the Strong Leg, where her father came from. She loved visiting Tolivar’s family. They’d have to go up to the Fingers one of these moons, too, so she could meet her other grandparents. If there was time, it might provide an excuse to continue Headward. Or perhaps she would content herself with reports. She did not know if the black mountain was a world she ever wanted to return to.
Graefel had been a reckoner before he lapsed to pursue his personal goals. He would have no easy time of it with Selen n’Mirin or the other former warders. But if he ended up running that holding, fair play to him. In the three moons during which Dabrena had been in Gir Doegre, her menders had begun reporting to her here, of their own volition. She was their head, their nexus, whether she wanted to be or not. She moved, and they found her. It was heartening to know that she had neither clutched the reins nor held them merely by staying put. They were handed to her anew, each day, by the folk in white.
She’d be needing copies of the menders’ codices. She would not send for the originals; those belonged in the Head. She had need only of their information. The master map of Eiden Myr could be copied and transported in sections. Each holding should have copies of it, and everything else up there, and everything that had been on Senana, for that matter—and everything that they found here. Each holding should be able to function in the absence of the others; no holding should function in isolation. She did not yet know why the Triennead had fallen, but like as not it was related to insularity. No more islands. No more closed mountains. Here was a chance to start fresh. To study the mistakes of the past and try not to repeat them.
And embrace the future. Reiligh had entrusted his garden to a prentice and had come down with a cartload of boxes—soil, seeds, bulbs, cuttings, entire plants. When she presented the chest of herbals to him, she thought he’d keel over like the tree he resembled. Each day brought a slew of discoveries, of “I knew it!”s, of beside-himself excitements. But there were times, when he sat quietly with Kara doling on his lap, when she wondered if in truth he had come down here to be with her. Dabrena had known he loved the child, but she had not guessed how deeply, or that his despair at her abduction had been the equal of her own. She was, however, quite tickled to see one of those handsome sandy-haired muscle-legged keepers making excuses to help with Reiligh’s new garden. Reiligh was beginning to [481] look for him every day, the way a tree looks for the sun. There was a great deal for them here that they would never have found in the Black Mountains.
They were fairly certain that there were holding structures under Gir Doegre’s other hills. This one seemed to be the library, with residence accommodations for only two families, the rest given over to reading halls and storage. Whether they would be permitted to excavate was less certain; there were people living on the town side of two of the eight hills, and three of the others were gracing land or tended woods. But if they could find a way to dig without disturbing what lay above, their chances with the alderfolk would increase. Though it was under duress, and though the storm’s damage had rendered it unnecessary, the alderfolk had given permission for Adaon to dig into Woodhill. Woodhill was the hauntwood hill, the one that should have been untouchable. He would find a way to persuade them of the rest.
The miners helping Pelkin’s folk in the Haunch would be helpful. There was a hill by the town of Sauglin—the town Adaon believed drew folk the same way Gir Doegre did, and a town that had always drawn mages—that might well be another buried holding structure. The runners were digging there, carefully and safely, to see if it was. The folk of Sauglin were enthusiastic, seizing on the possibility that they might have their very own holding. The Haunch had been unfriendly to mages in the last years of the light, but what they’d objected to was the Ennead’s Holding taking the brightest of their bright mages and sending them only unresponsive proxies in return. To have a holding of their own would vindicate old grievances and give them their own center of power. In the meantime, the runners continued what they’d started in their quarters by Maur Gowra—a place to train folk in the use of magecraft’s tools. It could all be easily transferred down to Sauglin if the opportunity arose.
Separation, isolation, overspecialization—those were the dangers. With Graefel and the oldest codices in the Head, the Head holding would attract scholars. She attracted menders, here in the Strong Leg. The runners congregated in the Haunch. That was all right. It was a good strong triangle, and they should build on it. Scholars came here, too, to see the newly unearthed codices. They would go to Sauglin if a holding ruin was found there containing records. Seekers visited all three places, and runners went everywhere. It would settle itself out. But if some prompting became necessary—particularly if Graefel required pressure to keep his holding accessible—they must be prepared.
She was aware that all her organising thoughts were based on the [482] paradigm of magecraft. She had been trained a mage and a warder. She thought like a mage and a warder. She knew that. And she knew that she must never forget that magecraft was no longer the only power in Eiden Myr. It never had been, as far as that went, but it was the only power they had tended, watering and pruning and training it the way Reiligh tended his vines and shrubs. They had only a new sprout of it now, and it would take a dozen years of careful work to see it bloom again. Meanwhile, this ruddy-copper light, this shine, had sprung up like an overlooked weed and spread with a weed’s indomitable, glorious persistence. In three moons, Prendra’s daughters had worked wonders, from their little stall in the center of town. What menders could not do with all their draughts and poultices, farmers and farriers, sailors and wranglers, sheepherds and cowherds and goatherds now did with a laying on of hands. Illness had abated since Eiden’s storm, but whatever lingered was as often healed by heartcraft as by healers. Menders themselves were now working to increase their shine.
According to Adaon, the seekers had conjectured such a power, and some had witnessed it; they called it earthcraft. Louarn had begun calling it a heartlight and its powers fleshcraft. The girls simply called it a shine. Whatever nomenclature stuck in the end, it was a raw, new talent, a spreading wildfire. Those girls had struck Eiden Myr like lightning, and now their flame was fanned and fed. In comparison with that, magecraft had been stilted, restricted, stagnating. And dangerously elitist. She was eager, now, to prove that the Triennead had existed in part to prevent such stagnation, and that magecraft’s senseless strictures had come upon them only in the ages since the Triennead fell. And that made her laugh—because it was a seeker’s eagerness. Adaon had made a seeker of her after all.
She did not know how this new heartlight would fit in with the return of magelight. How complementary were they, how competitive? She believed Adaon when he said there must be a third power—Louarn had said the same, and knew more than he was telling—but she could only speculate upon what it was and what role it would play.
She feared it; she feared powers. However marvelous and benign, they carried the potential of conflict. She hoped it would be as simple as some earthcrafter and magecrafter arguing over who was to heal a broken arm.
Earthcraft would win, if it came to that; an earthcrafter could heal a dozen arms in the time it took to prepare and work a casting. And perhaps that was a blessing. To heal flesh, magecraft required the use of flesh—animal vellum and parchment, animal products for brushes [483] and pigment and inks. Could earthcraft spare magecraft its killing aspect?
It could not replace magecraft, though it would compensate for it in the dozen years it took to train up prentices. Earthcraft could not ward against fire, or waterproof a cloak, or dozens of other things that magecraft had been able to do. They would always have need of both. The trick would be seeing to it that they coexisted in peace.
And what of that third power?
She wondered if the Lightbreaker had known the light would return. It was the differe
nce between a spectacular error, unparalleled sacrifice, and the canniest strategy. She had spoken long with Karanthe about it, over several too many wines; as one of Pelkin’s reckoners, Karanthe had been with Torrin Wordsmith and had believed wholeheartedly in him. She’d been quite taken with the notion of sacrifice—the sacrifice all mages had to make to keep the Ennead’s darkcraft from destroying the outer realms. But if the only way to stop the light doing harm was to extinguish the light, then great peril lay in store for them. The potential for darkcraft would always exist. They would have to teach these children with care.
It had been a sacrifice in either event. Her light would never return. Pelkin’s light would never return. Torrin’s own blazing light would never have returned. She and Karanthe, who had based all their expectations and ambitions on their light, would be forever lightless. It was still hard to swallow, even with new hopes and ambitions in their place. Karanthe wanted Torrin Lightbreaker to be Torrin Martyr, a hero, a legend worthy of worship. Karanthe wasn’t sure she liked the idea that he might have known the light would return—that what he had done might have been manipulation on such a vast scale. It wouldn’t surprise Dabrena in the least. Torrin n’Maeryn had been a product of that Ennead and that Holding as much as any of the Nine had been. He had defied them, and fought to destroy them—but he had been one of them. She wasn’t sorry he was gone.
She was startled to hear the next visitors coming up the stone stairs, and even more startled to see who they were.
Pelkin, with Karanthe on his arm, in a capacity Dabrena could not quite define but would certainly rib her about mercilessly the first chance she got. Louarn, at the back, like a reluctant shadow on Adaon’s heels. And between them a slight, pink-eyed albino man she hadn’t seen in years: Jhoss n’Kall l’Sirelyi, formerly of the Isle of Senana, formerly advisor to Torrin Wordsmith, come up from the Heel to have a look at this proposed new holding.
“Sunlight,” Jhoss said to her after they had all exchanged greetings. “It suits you better than lamplight did.”
[484] “He talks about light quite a bit,” Louarn said in an acerbic tone, examining the carvings around the door as though he’d rather go back through it.
Jhoss seated himself at the table in the center of the room, which was the common room of one of the two residences in this library structure. Pelkin complimented Adaon and Dabrena on their work here—still probing at Adaon, she noticed, still not entirely certain of him, like a grandfather unwilling to accept a granddaughter’s sweetheart. Jhoss merely sat, and waited, and after a time conversation faltered in his silence, and they were all just standing there staring at him.
Dontra and Ronim brought a gaggle of Gir Doegrans through, and warned Dabrena that Kara already had the next batch in hand, determined to make herself a guide. Dabrena laughed. Kara would be an excellent guide; Kara knew this holding better than she or Adaon did. It didn’t stop Dabrena’s heart seizing each time she thought the girl had fallen down some hole they didn’t know about, but she told herself they had to find the holes somehow, and she let the girl roam free. So it shortened her life by a nineday each time. She’d get used to it.
When they’d passed, Jhoss was still sitting there. Waiting.
“All right, you inscrutable man,” Dabrena said at last. “Is it a meeting we’re having? Important matters to discuss?”
“If you wish it,” Jhoss said, and gestured to the other chairs around the table, as though they might take them or not and it was of no matter to him.
Dabrena winked at Pelkin and seated herself. “What fun! It will be just like that ill-fated meet we hosted in the Head on Spindle Day. We can call it the Council of Ve Eiden, in grave tones, and scribe interminable accounts in our historical records.”
Adaon was laughing as he sat, and Pelkin was giving him a stern look, clearly of the impression that his bad influence was the source of Dabrena’s cheerful flippancy. In fact it was only her good mood. She was in love, she was sitting in the sunshine in a Triennead holding rediscovered after aeons, the magelight was returning, there were new powers of healing in the world, the storm was over, Kara was happy and as safe as any inquisitive child could be. Adaon was drunk on the past; she was drunk on the present.
“Well, I do have some news to impart,” Pelkin said, also seating himself—across from Adaon, which put Karanthe across from Dabrena. That would be useful for making faces, Dabrena thought. “Here and now serves as well as any other place and time. Shall I go first?”
“So long as someone does,” Louarn said. He still stood by the [485] doorway, though the table would seat six. The remaining chair was at the head of the table, or the foot, depending on how you looked at it and what you thought of Jhoss. Dabrena had a feeling that was important, but found the whole thing impossible to take seriously.
Pelkin put a threaded bamboo codex on the table, opened at the halfway point to reveal a strip inked in curling Celyrian script. “I received this from Evrael te Khine. He messaged that it had been in Lerissa n’Rigael’s possession, and that it might explain the disappearances of children. He offered his help in finding them, should we need it. I messaged back that we would not.”
Pelkin had heard the full tale from Karanthe, who had heard it from Dabrena, but Dabrena threw a questioning look to Jhoss. He nodded. He knew.
“That was the codex stolen from Senana,” Adaon said. His arms twitched as he refrained from reaching for it.
“Take it,” Pelkin said. “Read it. That’s what it’s here for.”
Holding it so that Dabrena could read with him, Adaon did.
“This would have saved a lot of trouble if we’d gotten hold of it sooner,” Dabrena said.
“I believe it was stolen with precisely that in mind,” Jhoss said. “A scholar named Falowen n’Tedra disappeared at the same time this codex did, shortly after my own departure. I believe she intended to bring the codex to me. On the heels of her defection, Bofric n’Roric left the isle. I believe he intercepted it.”
“He was Lerissa’s man,” Karanthe said. “One of her stewards from the Ennead’s Holding.” Old Knobface, she mouthed to Dabrena, and Dabrena made a rude gesture as a reminder of how they’d used to joke about the quickest way to earn the ring.
“Lerissa’s agents Bofric and Loris remain at large,” Louarn said. “With their master gone, we can hope that they will fade into obscurity.” And if Loris knows what’s good for him, Dabrena thought. Louarn added, “I had wondered about the codex. I’m glad it has resurfaced.”
“It’s moot now,” Pelkin said. “We already know what it would have told us. But I thought you might find it interesting. I’ll return it to the collection in the Head, unless you’ve any objection, Jhoss.”
Jhoss said, “I have none. But you have news. Or so you said. This is not news.”
Pelkin nodded, as though he had long ago ceased to be affected by Jhoss’s peremptory quirks. “Evrael te Khine killed Lerissa n’Rigael for her subversion of Khine’s headman and her conspiracy to provoke the battle of the Menalad Plain. I have since heard that he has been relieved of his fleet command for the act, but otherwise vindicated by the consensus judgment of the landholders.”
[486] Dabrena couldn’t help but twist around to look at Louarn. He showed no reaction, lounging with careless impatience against the door, but she had only rarely seen his face betray anything he didn’t want it to. “When?” he asked, and when Pelkin told him a nineday ago, he said, “How?”
“He did not specify, but I gather from his rather poetic mention of grief destroying grief that he used what they call grief’s knife. A ceremonial Khinish blade, worn to symbolize the cutting pain of grief and the severing of mortal bonds. Strelniriol te Khine had been his lover and bonded brother.”
Dabrena was still looking at Louarn. She cocked her head. He looked up at her from under his lashes and his forelock of dark hair, then raised his head. “Indeed,” he said. “And all in the family. Evrael is my uncle. Lerissa was ...” He paused
, and smiled. “Lerissa birthed a child. I was that child.”
Pelkin’s head came up. “You were the babe Evonder gave into Bron’s care?”
Louarn nodded.
Pelkin started to ask something, checked himself, and said, “We thought we’d never know who you fostered to, once Bron was gone.”
“Your counterparts,” Louarn said. “Pirra, Alliol, and Ellerin, The head warders. The Ennead struck at them on Ve Galandra ... nine-and-six years ago. They were casting a warding, I believe, though I was too young to fully understand. Not to kill the Nine, but to save themselves, and me. They failed. I came back into Bron’s care, after that. Do you remember a runner boy named Mellas, Pelkin?”
Pelkin squinted at him; then his face opened and he shook his head in wonder. “The weaves of the past are intricate beyond even my old illuminator’s sense of path. Why did you change your name?”
“Now, that is a tale best left for some long winter’s evening by a tavern fire,” Louarn said. “And I know what Jhoss wants. I’d rather he have out with it, so I can say no and be on my way.”
Jhoss said, “Yes. Good. Let us speak of light.”
What he told them then, in his abrupt, stilted way, was a tale to rival Louarn’s discovery of Prendra’s daughters. Dabrena watched Adaon closely as Jhoss spoke, examining the play of expressions on his dusky face, the light of fascination that grew in his pale eyes. Jhoss’s tale was a seekers’ tale, a tale of seekers. The tale of a quest for the third light, though Jhoss had not known that when he started. He had sought a substitute for magecraft. He had not expected to find any light at all—not the way Dabrena conceived of light. He had sought to replace magecraft with the liberated tools of symbology. Finding insufficient support among the scholars on Senana, he had [487] broken with Graefel and returned to the Heel. He had surrounded himself with seekers and scribes. He had developed a representational system of numbers. He had striven for a power of mind that Dabrena, even trained a wordsmith, could not comprehend. Something of his goals came to her as a shimmer on the horizon of awareness, but she could not have articulated what she sensed.
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