“If that was all, why would the Coven ban it?”
“A good question. You tell me.” Levannue’s voice was quietly triumphant.
The two sorcerers stared at each other. For the first time, Jemeryl looked unsure.
Tevi broke the silence. “Perhaps they thought the Protectorate couldn’t sustain the rise in population. How could the farmers feed us if nobody died?”
Levannue replied condescendingly. “You couldn’t give the drug to everyone. It would be limited to certain people.”
“Oh, of course. People like sorcerers.” Scorn dripped from Tevi’s voice.
“Of course.”
“Anyone else you’d include in your elite band of deserving cases?”
“You can’t be expected to understand the issues, but you should know when it’s your place to keep silent.” Levannue spoke as if addressing a naughty child.
“I think I understand you very well.”
Levannue turned away. “You see, Jemeryl, what happens when you favour the ungifted? They get inflated ideas of their own importance.”
“At least I keep my word.”
“I’m sure that’s a very desirable trait for someone of your calling.”
The patronising tone no longer drew a response from Jemeryl. Tevi’s eyes darted angrily between the two sorcerers before she jumped up and marched into the darkness. When Jemeryl caught up with her, she was standing by the horses and staring out across the darkening plain.
“Tevi?”
“Wouldn’t you rather talk to a fellow sorcerer?”
“Tevi!”
“I’m sorry.” Tevi was instantly contrite. She clasped her hands behind her neck. “What do you see in me?” she asked at last.
“I love you.”
“You’re a Coven sorcerer, and I’m just a junior mercenary. Levannue is being spiteful but honest. I’m not in your class.”
“No. You’re a far rarer thing than me.” Jemeryl pulled Tevi around so their eyes met. “There are too many who think like Levannue, including most of the ungifted. You don’t know what it’s like being a sorcerer. Most people could accept me more easily if I were green and had three heads. It’s hard making real friends, let alone anything deeper. Even other sorcerers have their own ideas they expect me to match.” Jemeryl’s voice dropped. “But not you, because you don’t see sorcerers as different to anyone else. Forget Levannue winding you up just now. You’ve got no expectations of me as a sorcerer. You don’t see me as a sorcerer; you see me as me. I need that. I need you.”
“I can’t see that I’m so rare.”
“There can’t be more than a couple dozen like you in the entire Protectorate, and I probably wouldn’t get on with most of them if we met. I like you. If nothing else, I’d want to be your friend.” Jemeryl’s arms slipped around Tevi’s waist. “On top of that, even after knowing you nine months, you can still smile at me and turn my knees to water. Don’t let Levannue bother you.”
Tevi let herself be drawn back to the fire, but she knew, no matter what Jemeryl might say, that as far as the rest of the world was concerned, Jemeryl’s name and hers did not fit together in the same breath.
*
By the following afternoon, Levannue’s mood had softened to dejected resignation. She even made an effort to be pleasant to Jemeryl, although she ignored Tevi. When they stopped to rest the horses, she deliberately sat close by Jemeryl. Tevi stood to one side, arms folded, certain that the elderly sorcerer was planning something.
Levannue addressed Jemeryl with a studied nonchalance. “Have you thought about what I said last night?”
“Of course.”
“And?”
“If you think I’m going to say the Coven is wrong and let you go, I’m afraid you’re in for a disappointment.”
From the way Levannue’s face fell, Tevi guessed that had indeed been her hope.
“What purpose does banning the spell serve? Who benefits?”
“I’m not sure if ‘benefit’ is the right word, but I think this spell could destroy everything good about the Protectorate.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Not if you think it through.”
“I have!” Levannue’s composure was unravelling.
“So what about Tevi’s point that the Protectorate couldn’t support an unceasing rise in population?”
“I agreed. Which means Lorimal’s potion must be strictly limited.”
“How would those who didn’t get the potion react?”
“They’d be no worse off than before.”
“Would they see it like that?”
“Exceptions could be made, if you’re worried about your mercenary, sweetheart, though I doubt your affection for her will last all eternity.” Levannue’s smile did nothing to remove the barb from her words.
Jemeryl was undeterred. “It’s not the particular cases that are the problem. It’s the effect on all citizens.”
“I don’t see your point.”
“That’s because you don’t put yourself in their shoes.” Jemeryl ran her hand through her hair. “It’s hard to think of anything that could cause more resentment. In most people’s eyes, there’s a very thin line between allowing someone to die and murdering them, particularly when it’s their own life in question. Try to imagine being an ordinary citizen, getting old and watching the people you loved die. Imagine there were immortal sorcerers selfishly denying you the potion. How would you feel?”
“What could they do about it?”
“Get angry and resentful. At the moment, most ordinary folk see the Coven as a necessary evil. They don’t like sorcerers, but we provide stability and protection. The Protectorate exists in this balance. Lorimal’s potion would shift everything.”
“Bykoda on her own holds the north in thrall. I’m sure the Coven could contain the disquiet.”
“Yes, and that’s the problem. At the moment, the Coven governs by consent when it bothers to govern at all. Mostly, we let the guilds sort out their own business. If we withheld the potion, we’d lose people’s trust, and in turn, we’d be unable to trust them. The Coven would have to govern by decree. No matter how well intentioned we might start out, in time, we’d become corrupt. When you run other people’s lives for them, you begin by treating them as children and end up treating them as slaves. The Protectorate would become a tyranny, run solely for the benefit of the Coven.”
“You’d see sorcerers die just to keep the ungifted happy?”
“Yes. And that’s exactly what you swore to do. To give your life, if need be, to protect the citizens of the Protectorate.”
“I don’t see the oath as referring to something like this.”
“Neither did I at the time. I was thinking more about something like fighting a horde of dragons. Agreeing to submit to old age is no different, just less heroic sounding. You don’t end up any deader.”
Levannue got to her feet and said vehemently, “One sorcerer is worth ten thousand ungifted.”
“Why?” Tevi entered the debate for the first time. Levannue ignored her, so she asked again, “Can a sorcerer be happier or suffer more than a potter?”
“No, but they can achieve greater things.” Levannue condescended to snap an answer.
“What do their achievements count for? You obviously don’t value people in general, or what they think, so how do you measure worth? All you’ve got is your personal opinion. And I’m sure a potter is as pleased with a well-thrown pot as you are with a spell.”
“Some things are more important.”
“I’d say a useful pot is better than a useless spell.”
“And we’re taking about a spell that could inflict misery on millions.” Jemeryl added her weight.
“I see your mind’s made up.” Levannue got to her feet angrily.
“Don’t go far.”
“I’m hardly likely to run away on foot, and I see you have the horses tightly mind-locked,” Levannue threw over her shoulder as she ma
rched away.
“So you’ve tried?” Tevi asked, amused, although Levannue was no longer close enough to hear.
Jemeryl stood by Tevi’s shoulder. “Am I being brave or stupid?”
“In doing what?”
“Refusing Levannue’s offer to share the spell. That’s what this discussion was about, you realise.”
“You sounded totally against using the potion,” Tevi said, surprised.
“I was arguing generally. It’s harder when it gets to specifics, like you and me. Will I remember this day when I’m on my deathbed and curse myself as a fool? No wonder the Coven leaders were desperate to keep Lorimal’s work secret. Levannue setting herself up as an immortal empress is less of a threat than the truth becoming common knowledge. It presents an utterly appalling temptation.” Jemeryl’s face twisted in a grimace. “Say something helpful. What do you think?”
“I think I’d take a very simple view.”
“Which is?”
“I’m oath-bound to the guild. I’ve never broken my word in my life.”
“If I broke my own oath to the Coven, would you follow me?”
“I...” Tevi’s voice died in confusion. She realised that she did not know the answer. “Maybe. But if it helps, I’ll still love you when you’re old and wrinkly.” Of that much, she was quite sure.
*
On the following day, their path joined another road running straight across the open plains—unnaturally so. It travelled from one horizon to the other, unbending, as if drawn by a giant craftsman with a ruler. Paving slabs were revealed where the wheel ruts dug deep or weather had scoured the topsoil away. At one spot, a meandering stream had undercut the road. Crumbling slabs of stone jutted from the sides of the gully. Tevi dismounted to examine the ancient workmanship.
“Who made this?”
“I’d guess slave labour did the actual stone-laying. A sorcerer must have commanded it. Don’t ask me their name. They were long gone before the Coven was founded,” Jemeryl answered.
“Where does it lead?”
“Ahead, it goes over the pass at Denbury and down to the sea. There’s still a port where it ends. Behind us, it probably goes to the ruins of a city, out beyond Uzhenek. Whoever the sorcerer was, nothing remains of their empire except this road. The trade route has followed its path for centuries. It’s known as the Old West Road.”
Tevi hopped back into her saddle and looked up and down the road. No one else was in sight. “It doesn’t seem very well used.”
“Too late in the year. We’ll be all right as long as we don’t hang about, but this isn’t the season that most people choose to set out.”
The truth of Jemeryl’s words was self-evident. Autumn was well advanced, with shortening days. They woke most mornings to glistening frost on the long grass, making it crunch underfoot. Probably little more than a month of safe travel remained before the harsh northern winter swept over the plains.
*
Over the following days, they met only one caravan hastening back to Tirakhalod after its summer trade cycle. They overtook no one going in the same direction as themselves. The few villages they passed were merely huddles of temporary shelters for the nomadic plainsmen.
The interaction of the three women improved. Levannue seemed resigned to accepting her capture with as much grace as possible, although she sometimes gave way to bitterness and was best left alone, fidgeting irritably with the collar. Her relationship with Tevi could never be called warm, but with Jemeryl, mutual regard lightened at times into camaraderie. Lorimal’s spell continued to work, and Levannue became gradually but unmistakably more youthful. Tevi guessed that by the time they reached Lyremouth, they would all look about the same age.
The landscape changed. The plains gave way to undulating slopes. To the south, the high Barrodens marched into view. Vegetation became more profuse: first stubby bushes, followed by isolated trees and then clumps of thicket. By the twelfth day from Uzhenek, they were riding through what might pass as woodland. Still the road continued its remorseless advance over the folded ridges and off into the distance, although now trees encroached, narrowing the highway. Roots ploughed through old paving, littering the ground with rubble.
The unbending road held a hypnotic quality, so Tevi received a jolt when she saw the road ahead turn sharply aside. She reined in her horse at the bend. Despite a thick covering of bramble, it was possible to pick out the original line of the road on its old, unwavering course. The new route curved over the hillside, its camber lurching up and down with the contours.
“Do we leave the old road? I thought you said it went all the way to Denbury.”
“It’s just a detour. We’ll join up with the road again soon,” Jemeryl answered.
“Why? You’re not going to tell me this is a shortcut.”
“No. There’s an obstruction in the way.”
“Can’t it be moved?”
“No one’s found the courage to try. It’s the town of Graka, or by now the ruins of it.” Jemeryl guided her horse onto the new track. “Ghouls have taken it. Lots of them, which is unusual. Normally you don’t get more than one or two. Graka is notorious. It’s the result of a sorcerer’s experiment that went very seriously wrong.”
“What are ghouls?”
“No one knows for sure. It’s hard to get close enough to study them.” Jemeryl paused. “Actually, that’s not quite true. It’s easy to get close. It’s getting away afterwards that’s the problem.”
“They’re dangerous?”
“Oh, highly.” Despite her words, Jemeryl sounded unconcerned. “They scare people to death. Literally. There’s no physical violence, but if they touch people, the lucky ones get heart attacks from sheer terror. The unlucky ones go through stages of madness before hitting catatonic shock. But ghouls have no effect on animals. Most nonhumans can’t even see them.”
“It’s assumed that they directly stimulate the compound fields of the human aura and need to interact with complex reasoning. Even their appearance is purely a mental projection,” Levannue added.
Tevi nodded to be polite, although she had only a vague idea what Levannue meant. She stared over the treetops, trying to spot the cursed town. At first, there was only the forest. Then her eyes picked out the crumbling finger of a ruined tower, maybe half a mile distant. Slightly closer, a broken wall peeked between the trees. To one side was a roof with half its tiles missing.
Tevi inched closer to Jemeryl. “You don’t sound worried. You’re sure you can handle them?”
“I’d have no problems with one. The whole town would be a different matter, but ghouls are tied to one place. People used to think it was their graves, but ghouls aren’t human or the remains of anything that used to be human. They merely base their shape on people, although they have a poor grasp of biology and appalling taste in colours.”
“We’re outside their range?” Tevi guessed, hoping.
“A bit close to be absolutely safe, but they only come out at night. We’ll be miles away by sunset. The new road has been cut because the traders get nervous, but as long as it’s daylight, you could walk through the centre of town. Do you want to see?”
Tevi realised that she was being teased. Just as she relaxed, a trio of crows erupted from their nests. Tevi’s heartbeat leapt. However, there was no sign of danger. The crows flapped in untidy excitement and then, equally abruptly, sank back to their roost. The midday sun bathed the scene, defying any threat. Still, Tevi felt a cold shiver run through her. She fixed her eyes on the road.
*
By evening, they had rejoined the Old West Road and put several miles between themselves and Graka. They camped under the spreading arms of an ancient oak. Klara took a sentry post high in the branches among clumps of acorns. The ferns of summer had died back, leaving the ground clear of undergrowth. To the south, a swath of grass provided grazing for the horses and a view of the high Barrodens.
While they ate, Jemeryl chatted with Tevi and watched
the sunset fade behind the mountains. Levannue kept to one side, eating in silence. Her mood was withdrawn, as it had been since the ghoul town. At last, she put down her bowl and shifted closer.
“Is there nothing I can say to make you reconsider your views on Lorimal’s spell?”
It was not the first time Levannue had returned to the subject. Jemeryl was finding it tedious. “No. We’ve been over it enough.”
“You think the Protectorate depends on keeping this spell secret?”
“Yes.”
“Because of some vague idea of how the ungifted would react?”
“There’s more to it.”
“Such as?”
“The Coven. At the moment, we toe the line largely in the hope of advancement. Take Alendy. He’s been deputy for a few years. He must have his eye on becoming Guardian. And he won’t if Gilliart never dies. Not that he wishes her harm, but how many centuries would he be content playing second fiddle? If we were immortal, it couldn’t be long before the Coven fell apart.”
“You don’t think knowledge and the freedom to learn count for anything?”
“I wouldn’t say that, but I’m suspicious of disembodied ideals. The ideals themselves are fine, but when they’re needed to excuse actions, they’re usually a blanket to hide a feeble justification. If there’s a genuine problem, people point it out. They only resort to words like ‘freedom’ when they need a smokescreen.”
Levannue leant forward, impatient. “You want a genuine problem? How about dying? It’s easy for you. You’re young, and death must seem a long way off. It’s getting much closer for me. Each year passes quicker than the last. Surely you understand that I don’t want to die if it isn’t necessary.”
“It depends how you define what’s necessary. I think the Coven is worth dying for.”
“Because you value the freedom of the ungifted.”
“No, their happiness. The Coven allows millions to live out their mundane little lives with adequate food and shelter for today and the reasonable hope of the same for tomorrow. It may be uninspiring to say we should be willing to die so that lots of people can have a tolerably nice time, but that’s what it comes down to.” Jemeryl gave an ironic smile. “I just hope they appreciate it.”
The Traitor and the Chalice Page 27