There was not a great deal in the way of entertainment in Shonar, in spite of the presence of the King here; every time the one and only Bard in the town composed a new song, the tavern where he played was crowded to capacity for days, and the soldiers did their best to enliven otherwise dull days and nights with mixed results. One of the highest-priced items to be had among the soldiery was a deck of cards. But now there was a new and novel source of spectacle in their midst, one with all the finest attributes of a fair, a race, and a real contest. Since Tashiketh never participated except to practice alone, the outcome of any given competition was always subject to the whims of chance, which made it perfect for wagering. That in turn made it more attractive yet, if that was possible.
"Would it harm me in your esteem if I confessed that this was a deliberate choice, making our contests public affairs?" Tashiketh asked Elspeth, gravely.
"Hardly. I would simply congratulate you on your intelligence," she replied promptly. "The only question I have is why stage these obstacle things at all? There are other ways of keeping you all in fighting trim."
"Because we must. Our hierarchy changes as the results of the contests change, and as our own ranking changes, so will the rankings of our various counties. And that, at year's end, will decree where discretionary tax funds are spent." Just as he made that surprising assertion, Tremane joined them, relatively anonymous in a plain brown soldier's cloak with the hood pulled up against the bite of the cold wind. Tashiketh did not turn his head or appear to notice, but a few moments later, he addressed the King directly.
"So, King of Hardorn, I am given to understand that you are exceedingly curious about my people. I finally have leave to answer your questions, for you have proven yourself to be an honorable ally and worthy to hear the full tale of our land." Now Tashiketh moved his head to gaze into Tremane's astonished face with mild eyes. "Ask," he said. "The time for secrets is past."
Whatever Tremane's faults, an inability to think quickly was not one of them. "Darkwind k'Sheyna believes that your people were descended from one part of the armies of the mage his people served, specifically the one called Urtho," he said. "Are you?"
Tashiketh laughed, a deep rumble that came from somewhere down in the bottom of his chest, and he roused his fathers with a shake. "Yes. The shortest version of the tale is this. Our several Peoples were all serving the Third Army. Urtho made it his policy to group all the folk of a particular land into one Army, rather than dividing all of them amongst his Armies. However, the humans of the Third, serving a God who decreed that those who had magic power should be His priests, had no mages of their own. They had no prejudice against working with those of other faiths, and so had a group of mages assigned to them, mages who had nothing whatsoever m common with them, not even nationality. Also attached to the Third were a wing of gryphons with their trondi'irn, a pack of kyree, a surge of ratha, a knot of tyrill, and a charge of dyheli."
What am I hearing? Tyrill? Ratha? How did they get into this story?
"And these are your Peoples of Iftel?" Tremane asked.
"What is a ratha?" Darkwind asked, at the same moment.
Tashiketh wasn't the least perturbed by being bombarded with questions. "These are our Peoples, yes. Ratha are from the far north, and are to the mountain cats what kyree are to wolves. Tyrill I think you know already. Brother-To-Hawks."
"Only by legend," Darkwind replied, feeling a bit dazed. "'They were one of Urtho's last creations. a larger race of hertasi, and there weren't many of them."
"But, oh, they breed with such enthusiasm!" Tashiketh laughed, tossing his head so that the freshening wind ruffled his feathers. Behind him, another cheer rose (together with some groans) as one of the other gryphons did something clever. "They learned it from us gryphons. There are plenty of them now! Well, to make this as brief as possible, the Third, whose emblem I wear, was cut off from Ka'venusho at the time of retreat. They chose to Gate to the remotest place the mages could think of, hoping they would be beyond the reach of Ma'ar and the destruction that would ensue when Urtho's Tower was destroyed by its master. But there was a problem."
"Not enough power," Tremane guessed shrewdly.
"Nowhere safe to go?" asked Elspeth.
"No Adepts," hazarded Darkwind.
"A little of all three. the Ambassador explained. "Their Priests—the humans—had remained behind in their own land to protect their people. The only Adept with them strong enough to raise a far-away Gate was someone who, at the time, was thought to be a barbarian shaman from the far north. They had to go to the remotest place he knew of—his home, not the gryphons' home, nor that of their human charges, not anywhere near it. There wasn't much choice; they took the escape that was offered, ending in the north of what is now Iftel. They thought to wait out the destruction, then be reunited with the others. But no sooner had they all gotten across, then something terrible happened, worse by far than anything they had expected."
"The Cataclysm," Darkwind said aloud. "The Tower and Ma'ar's stronghold destroyed, and the interaction of the double release of terrible forces."
"And needless to say, they did not know the cause for many years. They only knew that things were impossible, that there would be no way to find their friends and fellows, that there would be no way for the humans of the Third to find their way home. And almost as bad, it soon became obvious that they had not gone far enough; they ran into a fresh Army of Ma'ar's." Tashiketh shook his head. "It must have seemed as if they had come to the end of the world, that everything evil had won against them, and was about to annihilate them. Battered by the mage-storms that followed, on the verge of attack by superior forces, and unable because of the high number of wounded to travel to someplace where they might escape the worst of the effects, they did the only thing they had left to do. The humans prayed to their god, Vykaendys—"
That name struck Darkwind like a blow to the head. "Who?" Darkwind blurted, as Elspeth's eyes widened.
"Vykaendys," the Ambassador repeated. "The Holy Sun, from whom all life—"
Elspeth interrupted. "Ambassador Tashiketh, do the humans of your land use a different language from the gryphons?" The huge gryphon nodded. "The sacred language is different," he replied. "The shared language is a combination of several tongues, and Old Gryphon is very like that tongue you spoke to me when first we met. Do I take it you wish to hear something of the Sacred Tongue of Vykaendys?"
"Please," said Elspeth and Darkwind together.
Tashiketh rattled off a few sentences, and Darkwind looked to Elspeth, who had a better command of languages than he did.
She listened very closely, as her eyes widened further until the whites showed all around. "I'm not a linguist," she said when he has finished, "But I would say that this is to Karsite what the Iftel gryphon tongue is to Kaled'a'in."
Darkwind whistled. :No wonder Altra kept insisting that the Border would only recognize himself, Karal, Ulrich, or Solaris! The God of Iftel and the God of Karse are one and the same! Isn't that going to put a Firecat among the pigeons!:
Gwena chose that moment to add her own observation. :Oh, this is interesting indeed. Solaris doesn't know this, but Altra does. I wonder why and why he hadn't told her?:
"They prayed for protection, right?" Elspeth asked the Ambassador." And the god established the Border to keep their enemies out?"
"Precisely," Tashiketh agreed. "And of course Vykaendys did exactly that, answering their prayers. He is the one who ordained that we send our representatives beyond the Border to help as we could with the current crisis. He sent us to Hardorn once He knew that Hardorn again had a King who had been bound to the land. Otherwise, given the gravity of the current situation, we would, of course, have been sent into Valdemar. All creatures must work together to survive the last Storms, but Vykaendys is pleased to welcome the land that lies between the two that He governs, as a brother-country rather than an enemy-state."
Elspeth shook her head. "Of course," she replied.
<
br /> :I can't help wondering what Solaris is going to make of this when she finds out about it,: Elspeth added to Darkwind. :Although, in retrospect, it's fascinating, the ways in which gods answered the prayers of their followers—the Star-Eyed creating the Dhorisha Plains for the Shin'a'in who had renounced magic, and granting the Tayledras the power to protect themselves with their magic while they healed the land a bit at a time. And now the Sun Lord, creating a barrier around Iftel—:
Darkwind wondered if He had done something similar for Karse just to hold through the Cataclysm itself. The Karsites were certainly close enough to the source of the Cataclysm to have needed such protection. But wait; the Sun-priests are mages. Maybe the Sun-priests are their equivalents of the Tayledras, and Vkandis gave them access to great power to protect themselves the way the Tayledras did. The greatest dangers after the Cataclysm lay in the monsters that had been created. Could that be where and why the Sun-priests got the ability to summon and control demons so effectively? Now that was an intriguing thought!
There was no way of knowing without having Karal to ask, and even then it might not be canonical information. But Altra was obviously privy to noncanonical truths, and if he was inclined to share them with nonbelievers—
If he is, we might learn more than we ever wanted to know.
But Elspeth had been thinking further ahead than he. As Tremane asked more detailed questions of Tashiketh, she drew Darkwind and Gwena into a close mind-link.
:What are the odds that we can involve gods in all of this?: she wanted to know. :Vkandis, Kal'enel, either or both? The power of a god might save us.:
:Or it might cause a whole lot more trouble than any mage storm, however powerful,: Darkwind warned. :We can't know.:
:But I can ask Florian to ask Altra,: Gwena said. :And perhaps he can ask An'desha as well.:
Darkwind shook his head doubtfully :Don't count on any real help,: he told them :The Star-Eyed is disinclined to interfere, Vkandis may be fundamentally the same. They may be able to help us only after the disaster strikes, and be unable to do anything to prevent it from coming—because we have that power, if only we make the correct choices, and They will not take that right to choose from us.:
Gwena nodded mentally, but Elspeth's mind-voice seethed with frustration. :But how can we make the right choices if we don't know what they are?: she fumed.
:If we knew what to do, then they wouldn't be choices, they would be plans,: Darkwind chided gently.
He didn't blame her, and he didn't have the heart to tell her that the "right" choice, from the point of view of a god, might not be the one that prevented a second Cataclysm. Gods tended to take a much longer view of things than mere mortals, and what they considered to be good in the long run might be pretty horrible for those who had to live through it.
I'm sure that Baron Valdemar's people heartily wished him to the bottom of the Salten Sea during that first winter in the wilderness, he thought soberly. And certainly it was terrible for the last Herald-Mages of Vanyel's time to be the last of their kind. But in the long run, those were good things for most of the people of Valdemar.
This was probably not the time to point this out to her, however.
:All we can do is what we've always done,: he told her with utmost sincerity. :We must do our best. Then, even if things turn out badly, we will know it was not from any lack of trying on our part.:
She sighed. :I do wish you weren't right so often,: she said forlornly. :I rather enjoyed being able to rail against Fate and the Unfairness Of It All.: But she pulled herself a bit straighter and nodded. :Whatever happens, we'll survive it, and we'll build on what's left.: She glanced around, and her mouth twisted wryly. :All our peoples do seem to be rather good at that.:
He squeezed her hand in agreement. :And we will do it together, ashke.: He could not help thinking about the group at center of Dhorisha, picking through the remains of the Tower, without experiencing a feeling of chill. Whatever happened—yes, he, Elspeth, and the others here would probably survive it.
But what of his friends in the Tower? Would they?
As he turned his attention back to the conversation at hand, his stomach gave a sudden lurch, his eyes unfocused for a moment, and he felt very much as if the ground had dropped out from underneath him. Then the world steadied again, but as he looked from Tremane to Elspeth and back, and saw the same startled look in both their eyes turn to sick recognition, he knew what had just hit him.
The mage-storms had begun again. Hints of their building power were beginning to overcome the Counter-Storm. They were not strong enough yet to cause any problems, but it was only a matter of time.
Darkwind understood.
This was the first sign of the coming Final Storm, and their respite before it struck would be measured in, at best, weeks. Their survival was in doubt, and even if they did survive, whether they would prosper afterward was in deep question. There were hundreds of variables, and just as many major decisions. There were key uses of power and defense, solving of mysteries and understanding of connections. Like each segment in a spiderweb, the failure of any of those elements could collapse it all, and cost every one involved—everything.
Nine
"What is wrong with your friend Firesong?" Lyam asked Karal in a whisper, as Firesong went off to a remote corner of the Tower to brood—or as he called it, "meditate"—for the second time that day. "The others are all working together over the notes for the cube-maze, but he keeps going off by himself, he says to think. Is that usual for him? Is he ill, do you think? Or have the frustrations begun to weigh upon his soul?"
"I'm not sure," Karal replied, although this behavior of Firesong's wasn't particularly news to him. Living together as closely as they all were, it, wasn't possible for any of them to deviate from normal behavior without the others noticing. And Firesong was certainly acting oddly—though not with that selfish oddness that made him so dangerous before.
There were several signs that this bout of solitary brooding was far different than the last. For one thing, Aya kept cuddling close to him, tucking his head up under Firesong's chin while Firesong held him and scratched gently under his wings, and it had been Aya's avoidance of his bondmate that had been one sign that his temper and thoughts were tending in dangerous directions. He wasn't tinkering with odd magics either; he was sitting in out-of-the-way corners, staring into space, as if Firesong sought the privacy in his mind that he could not get in the Tower. But those bursts of "meditation" always seemed to end in a sharp and thoughtful glance at Karal, and given some of the past difficulties between them, that didn't make Karal feel entirely easy about his possible thoughts.
"Huh," Lyam said, and scratched the top of his head with a stubby, ink-stained talon. "Well, he doesn't seem to be getting much done, an he's giving me collywobbles with the way he just sits and stares. If he's gotten into a blue funk, maybe one of you ought to shake him out of it."
Karal made a face. "I'm not sure any of us want to shake Firesong out of anything, but I suppose it can't hurt if I talk to him. If there's a problem, maybe Silverfox could help him with it. or something. Or maybe it's a problem he doesn't want to get Silverfox involved with, and maybe I could help him." He made a face. "After all, I'm supposed to be a priest, and that's the sort of thing that priests are supposed to do, right?"
Having said that, he knew he had talked himself into the position where he was going to have to do something about the situation. Lyam nodded encouragingly to him at that last statement, so before he could find a reason to put it off, he got to his feet and trailed off after Firesong.
Altra invited himself along, sauntering casually at Karal's heels. As Karal glanced inquisitively down at him, Altra blinked guileless blue eyes at him. :I thought I'd come along, too, just in case you needed me,: the Firecat said idly. Karal did not ask "for what?" since he knew the answer already. There wasn't a great deal that Altra couldn't shield him against, if Firesong turned angry or dangerous, or both.
Karal approached him gingerly, but there was nothing in Firesong's slight smile to indicate anything other than welcome. As he edged around the wire-sculpture weapon, Karal tried to think of a lateral approach to the subject, and failed to come up with a good one. So he decided to go straight to the heart of the matter, and make no attempt at being clever.
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