Crowchanger (Changers of Chandris)

by A. C. Smyth

  A forbidden love?

  Sylas felt sick. Could she have been sent away for loving someone her family deemed unsuitable? He had often thought there must be something secretive about her marriage. Why would she accept Craie, much less travel far from her home to take him? Could Cowin have been the reason?

  “She is well, Master. Thank you.”

  No, it couldn’t be. He studied the master more closely than he had had opportunity to do before. His mother was approaching her fortieth year, and had been married at nineteen or twenty. Cowin did not look more than twenty-eight, thirty at the outside. That would have made him a child when Zynoa married. Even if Sylas had underestimated by a year or two, Cowin still would have been too young for his mother to look at in that way.

  Master Cowin rose to go. Sylas got to his feet too, grateful that the master was leaving, aware of the curious faces wondering what they had been speaking about.

  “If you see your mother…” Cowin caught himself, bit back the words he had been about to say. “Work hard, young Erden-sylassan. Work hard and achieve your potential.”

  As Master Cowin left the dining hall, Sylas stared after him, once more running through the numbers in his head. Could Cowin be so much older than he appeared? He had waited longer than most men to marry. Maybe he had held onto the last crumbs of hope that long. The son of his lost love appearing in the halls of the Aerie as a novice might well have been enough to make him accept that what was past was gone. Had he married Elyta, finally accepting that Zynoa was beyond his grasp? The idea made Sylas feel ill.

  Conversation resumed once the master was gone. Casian would hear of this; he would want to know what Master Cowin had asked Sylas. Ambition and pride drove Casian. Whatever information he could glean would be stored away for future use—assuming Sylas even saw him again. The thought of leaving without saying goodbye to Casian filled him with sadness, but right now that took second place to his anxiety about Master Cowin and his strange questions. Sylas’s departure could not come a moment too soon.

  Casian did not fly to Lucranne often, but when he did it was usually at night, as his owl kye preferred. He could fly by day—the majority of his training at the Aerie had been in daylight, since owl changers were rare—but it drained him more than a night flight. His father’s staff hardly batted an eyelid when he emerged from his rooms in the morning, not having been there the night before. He asked a servant to enquire of his father if it would be convenient to speak with him, then broke his fast with his younger brother.

  Yoran, at nearly seventeen, had been raised with the hope, if not the expectation, that Lucranne would come to him, and that became clearer to Casian with each visit. Even before Casian’s changing, and the possibility that he might choose life at the Aerie over a political future as a lord holder, Garvan had preferred Yoran. It was by no means strange that Garvan gave Yoran the same training as Casian; a lord holder needed more than one heir. The Creator might strike any man at any time, and even Deygan, with his three sons, would be hoping for more from his current wife. But it was more than that. Casian had realised since he had gone to the Aerie that Garvan subtly encouraged Yoran’s belief that he would be the next lord holder of Lucranne.

  The brothers had never been close, and Garvan’s actions had removed any chance of them becoming so. Casian treated Yoran with caution, not knowing what promises their father had made to him, and Yoran treated Casian with a coolness bordering on contempt. Being a changer among the Irenthi was a stain on a house’s honour, and Yoran clearly thought that Casian’s hated ability rendered him unfit for the title. He must have had a few uncomfortable years, Casian thought with bleak humour, wondering if one day he would wake up with the pains in his limbs and the cramping in his stomach that signalled the onset of the change. Yet Yoran had come through those years unscathed. Most boys changed in their fourteenth or fifteenth years, although there were a few exceptions. Now nearing his eighteenth, Yoran was safe.

  Over a light breakfast, Yoran probed gently for hints of the purpose for Casian’s visit. He must hope that I’ve come to tell Father I intend to stand aside as Lucranne’s heir, Casian thought ruefully. According to the laws of Chandris, an heir, once acknowledged, could not be set aside. He could abdicate his position of his own volition, but family squabbles or preference for a younger child would not be allowed to cause an heir to be supplanted. Fortunate for Casian, in the circumstances.

  Garvan did not appear surprised to see Casian, but then not much surprised the lord holder. He was a man of even temper, his anger slow to rise although fierce once provoked. Not even Garvan could entirely hide his surprise, though, when Casian announced he had left the Aerie.

  “Did none of the masters try to persuade you otherwise? I would have thought they would be keen to keep their only Irenthi.”

  “None of them pay me much attention, least of all the one who should nurture me most. But I left without seeing anyone. Why should I be accountable to them?”

  The only person he would have wanted to see before leaving he was too proud to apologise to. For most of the flight home he had struggled to understand Sylas’s decision. Why destine himself to months, if not years, of trekking around Chandris at Ayriene’s beck and call, rather than the luxury of Casian’s mother’s house? But he would come, eventually. Once he realised that his life would be more comfortable as a valued servant than spending his time knee-deep in blood and vomit as a healer. Casian shuddered. Even the smell of the infirmary when he had visited Sylas had made his stomach roll over. The miasma of sickness and decay and death had hung in the air. And Miralee had seen them together, a few years from now, Casian wearing the crown of Chandris. Sylas’s future was set, however much he squirmed on the hook in the meantime.

  Garvan’s face hardened. “Common courtesy, for one thing. Respect. Realising that there may come a time when as lord holder of Lucranne I may need the goodwill of those at the Aerie.”

  No mention of Casian as lord holder. Strange. His father was normally all too keen to tell him how a lord holder should behave when Casian’s own deeds did not live up to his exacting standards. Would his father make him go back?

  “I tell you, Father, Jesely wants to keep me down because I am an Irenthi. It does his Chesammos heart good, I think, to lord it over one of our race.”

  “I think you do Master Jesely a disservice.” Garvan put a slight emphasis on the title, as if to show his son that he was prepared to give the master his correct respect, if Casian was not. “He has never been anything but courteous and attentive when I have spoken to him.”

  “So why is he not letting me study for the mastery?” Casian felt as he had as a small boy, being reprimanded by his father over some misdemeanour.

  “Have you met all the requirements?”

  “I believe so, yes.”

  Garvan studied his son carefully, and Casian felt himself wither under his stare. He had an aura about him that made people take him seriously. Casian had done his best to watch and emulate, but despite his efforts had not cultivated a fraction of the lord holder’s presence.

  “It is not something he would do from spite, and if he did, there are other masters at the Aerie who would ensure that your best interests were met. There must be a good reason. And now you run away, like a sulky boy who is not allowed to win at every game. Will you discredit our house by giving up when you fail?”

  Casian certainly felt sulky, with his hands balled into fists and his mouth fixed into a petulant pout. He forced himself to relax, performing the first stages of calling the kye, letting himself float. His kye stirred, ready to evoke his owl form.

  We fly, changer?

  In irritation, he pushed the kye to the back of his mind. Not now, he thought. Damn me, why did I ever think being a changer could give me an advantage? But it did. He could travel alone and without fuss; could observe events from
the sky with no one giving him a second glance; could access that strange and wonderful talent that made people do his will.

  “I have hardly failed. I am a changer, and I can resist the call and transform at will. There is one in the Aerie now who cannot even master those simple steps.” He felt a brief pang of guilt in his chest at using Sylas for such an unfavourable comparison.

  To his surprise, his father frowned more deeply. “Do you compare yourself against the weakest now, Casian? There was a time when you would measure yourself against the best and work to improve if you found yourself wanting.”

  Casian realised he had clenched his jaw again. He should have known his father would not approve of his sudden reappearance. How disappointing to have his true heir back with him, preparing to assume his position, rather than the favoured younger brother.

  “Maybe if you spoke to them? Pointed out to them that I am more than ready for mastery. You might have more influence than I.”

  “And if I try to bring my position to bear on them it goes against the independence of the Aerie from the nobility. It also makes you look like a petulant child, running home to get his father to intercede for him. You need to stand on your own feet, Casian. Prove yourself to them. Make them respect you, if they do not. Show you are worthy of your blood.”

  “So you want me to stay? Keep working for the mastery?”

  His father poured a cup of water and sipped at it thoughtfully. “I had hoped you might rise high within the changers, make a place for yourself there.”

  “But I am heir of Lucranne.”

  “And I may not displace you; it is our law. But you can stand down. Yoran stands ready to replace you. He would make a worthy lord holder, and you would make a fine master changer. Maybe even a councillor in due course. An Irenthi on the changer council would be of great benefit to us. It would give us an influence we have lacked since the last time Lucranne produced a changer.”

  But that had been centuries ago, when Lucranne had been the ruling house. The first two sons of Lucranne had changed and the holder council had overthrown the lord high holder, putting Banunis’s holder in his place. Their fully human younger brother had been allowed to become holder, but Lucranne was reduced to the second house. Of course the holder of Banunis had voted for Lucranne’s removal, and he had plenty of support. Once Banunis was installed as the new high holder the law regarding abdication had been passed, since all the holders were now nervous about an unfortunate outbreak of changers in their own families.

  “So you want me to renounce my claim on the title?”

  Garvan avoided Casian’s eyes for a while, staring fixedly into the bottom of his cup, then sighed.

  “That would be the ideal situation, as I see it. Chandris passed the law allowing an heir to stand aside for a reason. We have never had a changer head of house in all the centuries the Irenthi have ruled in Chandris. I would not have Lucranne be the first, if I can help it.”

  Casian felt as if he had walked off a cliff. To lose Lucranne was inconceivable. It was undeniable that being a changer had made his position difficult for a while, but he had received no challenge. It seemed that the passage of centuries had led to a more enlightened nobility. Or, more likely, the other holders could not see any benefit in causing trouble for his house. Most of Lucranne’s lands were desert, with the responsibility for linandra production and managing the Chesammos that entailed, and Garvan had handled both duties with extreme efficiency.

  It was in the other holders’ best interests to leave things in Lucranne as they were.

  Garvan was a wily man: an astute politician who had raised his sons to be like him. He would not be swayed by emotion, or be persuaded into revealing anything he did not want known. Casian knew that he would learn exactly what his father intended and not one whit more. Casian’s understanding of his talent was a recent thing, and he had never had the opportunity to use it on his father, had it even crossed his mind. But now he reached for the aiea-dera, extending the streams of it towards Garvan. Tiny tendrils of energy, cautiously used, for fear his father would realise what he did. He pictured them creeping towards Garvan, like vines twining around his head, exerting their control.

  “Why do you want me to stand down, Father? Why do you prefer Yoran for your heir over me?”

  Garvan’s eyes widened and Casian withdrew a little. Could he feel it? Did he know what Casian intended? His father laid a hand on his forehead as if massaging away a headache. He shook his head; he could feel something. Casian had noticed this when he tried his talent on other people. If they were in any way inclined towards his way of thinking, extending his influence went smoothly. If the person was against him, or resistant to his ideas, the compulsion generally failed.

  “Is there some reason you think me unsuitable to be Lucranne’s heir? Is it the changing?”

  The aiea snapped, like a too-taut bowstring, Garvan slamming the door closed on Casian’s talent. But for a moment, Casian had had him. Each time he used his talent he learned a little more, both about the talent itself and about those on whom he tried to use it.

  “Go back to the Aerie before you are missed. You are a promising young man. You could rise far. Go back and accept their discipline and work hard. If you are still dissatisfied, come back in three months and we can talk again. But you must leave with Master Jesely’s permission and all proprieties observed. No sneaking off in the night like a thief.”

  “But—”

  “Deygan visits the Aerie soon, with Jaevan accompanying him. He has always been uncomfortable dealing with Irmos and Chesammos, although he met with Master Donmar many a time during the Lorandan invasion. Having an Irenthi there will make the visit go more smoothly. The council may see what an asset you could be and overrule Master Jesely. And you may make an impression on Deygan. No harm in making connections with the king, eh?”

  Garvan’s voice made it quite clear there would be no discussion. Casian could tolerate another three months, he supposed, but if Jesely still dragged his heels he would insist his father either take him back or give him a good reason why he would not. And an opportunity to make himself known to Deygan and Jaevan—maybe to see how responsive to his talent the pair of them were—that would be worth something.

  Three months. No more. He would be master changer or heir to Lucranne.

  He was not prepared to give up both his ambitions.

  Chapter 13

  Any visit to the Aerie by King Deygan was noteworthy. Great political importance always accompanied the meeting of Irenthi rulers with the undoubtedly influential changers. But this visit was even more remarkable. Not only was Chandris uneasy—the first hints of dissent among the Chesammos were spreading—but Prince Jaevan accompanied his father for the first time, and everyone was keen to make a good impression on the young heir. He was widely rumoured to be a supporter of both the changers and the Chesammos, and many laid their hopes for the Aerie’s survival on the boy’s slender shoulders. It was an open secret that his father barely tolerated the Aerie, his decision to have his son tutored by some of its finest minds notwithstanding. And Deygan’s intolerance of the Chesammos was well-known.

  When the royal party arrived, the courtyard was four deep with changers, apprentices, and novices, to say nothing of cooks, maids, and the like. The procession came through the main gate, Deygan looking straight ahead. He made a point of not showing emotion in front of the common folk. In particular, to display any pleasure at being here would be both false and politically unwise. He had been at odds with the Aerie for some time, and Deygan tolerated his annual visits rather than enjoying them. He scarcely acknowledged the crowd, who sensing his mood hushed into an uncomfortable silence. Jaevan rode by his side, his head twisting this way and that, attempting to take in every detail. Deygan tolerated the boy’s enthusiasm. His intention for the rest of his reign was to reduce the Aerie’s po
wer, if not disband it completely. Let his son rule an island where full control was with the Irenthi, not shared with some hocus-pocus band of magic-doers.

  Formalities bored Deygan. Master Donmar greeted the king, and Deygan spouted some equally bland and meaningless words back. Donmar had aged. So had he, Deygan supposed, but grey showed in dark Chesammos hair where it did not in Irenthi white-blond. They had known each other many years. Donmar’s knowledge of Chesammos lore had given Deygan a deadly edge when the Lorandans invaded the island the year Deygan succeeded his father. Jaevan also greeted the master changer, in a clear voice which as yet showed little sign of breaking. Deygan noticed his son scanning the crowds, and for the first time appreciated that Jaevan was not the youngest here, as Deygan had expected.

  Most boys began the change at thirteen, though it varied. Girls did not begin their change until fifteen, or even later, so most novice classes were a strange mixture of young women and boys barely into adolescence. There were younger children too, offspring of the Aerie’s inhabitants, only some of whom would prove to be changers themselves.

  After Master Donmar, the king was greeted by Master Jesely, and Deygan noted his son’s beam of pleasure at the sight of the Chesammos master. At least the boy had some familiar faces here. As did he, Deygan realised, recognising the young man at Jesely’s shoulder.