Crowchanger (Changers of Chandris)

by A. C. Smyth

  “I know,” said Ayriene. “Jesely wondered if that contributed to her death. He was worried for Sylas, in case something happened to him because of it.”

  “Did Jesely have any grounds for believing hearing many kye was dangerous?”

  “I don’t think so. I just think he was making sure Sylas was safe. After all, he was told Shamella died suddenly. No explanation. He was fond of your sister. He never really got over her.”

  “I didn’t know that. She and Jesely would have been a good match, I think. But if I’m right, she didn’t die, but was hidden away somewhere. Long enough to have a son, anyway, and Sylas told me he had a sister too. I need to know why they lied to my family. I don’t believe Sylas knows any more than I do—probably less, from the brief conversation I had with him. But it seems you know a little about what happened to my sister.”

  She rested her hand on his forearm. “I know that the changers were told she died at home, and you were told she died here. I know that Master Respar made me swear silence and that Donmar was appointed to the council shortly after, and to the leadership not long after that, for all that many of us thought he was unsuited to the post. I know that I healed her of burns just after the invasion was repelled, and from the way Donmar looked at her something dreadful had happened. And I know she is alive, and living in a little village called Namopaia, under the name of Zynoa.”

  And then she watched as Master Cowin cried.

  A changer returning to the Aerie thwarted Deygan’s surprise attack. She raised the alarm as soon as she landed, giving the Aerie at least some notice of what was coming.

  The king rode at the head of a column of foot and mounted soldiers, with strange machines carried on huge wagons pulled by cheen. The Irenthi rarely used cheen, the long-legged, flat-hooved beasts used to haul wagons across the desert, but horses could not have pulled those weapons of war up the side of the mountain on which the Aerie perched.

  The island hadn’t seen this many weapons in centuries. The Chesammos were peaceful, the past few months aside, and squabbles between the lord holders were addressed across the council table, or settled by duel. The island had never seen a battle, let alone a war, although the Lorandans had brought them close. The mysterious contraptions on the wagons were ballistas, Master Flain surmised from the witness’s account. He had seen pictures in books in the Aerie library.

  The Aerie was thrown into confusion. Such defences as it had were to protect against wind and weather, not an army bent on destruction. And they had axes and knives, but those were for splitting logs and butchering cattle not splitting heads and butchering people. Anxious parents, changer and human alike, badgered the council for news. What were their plans? Would the women and children be allowed safe passage if Deygan attacked? How would they be evacuated? But the council, Jesely included, had no answers.

  “Master Jesely!” A voice behind him made him turn.

  The speaker was a young changer called Deckhan—untalented, but a hard worker and recently raised to the mastery. A friend of Cowin’s, if Jesely remembered correctly. The man was dark Irmos, almost as dark as Jesely himself. Not much Irenthi in that one.

  “Deckhan?”

  “The council is called, Master Jesely. Master Donmar asks that you attend.”

  Better be a quick meeting. The king was barely an hour away, if the rumours were true. In the streets, the people milled about, exchanging news, indulging in wild speculation, casting fearful glances towards the main gate, which stood open as it always did at this time of the day.

  On his way he heard mutterings, hastily hushed when he was noticed. Speculation was rife that the attack was because they harboured the men and women from Cellondora, and general opinion seemed to be in favour of handing them over to save trouble. Most of the Aerie’s inhabitants were Irmos of one shade or another, and many laid the Aerie’s present problems firmly at the feet of the Cellondorans.

  Twelve of the thirteen council members assembled at the table; Tomas the historian was absent from the Aerie. Fennoc the herbalist had come straight from the garden, if his dirty shirt and fingernails were any guide. He sat miserably brushing at his clothes and picking earth from beneath his nails. Normally smartly turned-out in public, he was clearly ill-at-ease at this hurried call to council without time to change and wash. Caiet looked to have been supervising a flight, and wore only a gown pulled over a hurriedly knotted caigani. Unlike Fennoc, Caiet presented himself as calmly as if he were in his courtliest outfit. Flain had brought a book from the library, and was showing the people on either side of him the picture of the ballista. They did not seem comforted by the image.

  The changers settled to Donmar’s rap on the table, all eyes turning to him and staring intently.

  “The king marches on the Aerie, ladies and gentlemen. In a short time we may be under attack.”

  Murmurs rippled around the table. Elyta, newly raised to the council since the death of Narais, edged closer to Cowin and took his hand in one of hers, the other resting protectively on her stomach. She was pregnant; it did not take an empath to recognise that gesture.

  “Surely it won’t come to that?” Flain protested. “He is angry that we helped the Chesammos. It can be settled around the council table, as we have always settled our differences.”

  “He will destroy us,” Yinaede muttered. She wrung her hands. Sweat beaded on her upper lip and Jesely wondered if she were having a seeing there and then. The seeing talent was unpredictable. Those blessed—or cursed—with the talent could not choose what to see, nor when to see it, and stress seemed frequently to bring them on.

  The other changers debated how to approach Deygan, but Jesely kept a careful eye on Yinaede. Things she saw in her trance might be useful to them later—if any of them survived. He was vaguely aware of raised voices around the table, but only paid full attention when Donmar pounded on the table and bellowed, “Enough!”

  The chamber subsided like a roomful of rowdy children reprimanded by a teacher, gazes furtively scanning their fellow councillors, feet shuffling awkwardly beneath the table.

  “He will save us,” Yinaede whispered, but the councillors seemed oblivious to a seeing going on in their midst. Jesely noticed Ayriene listening to Yinaede. Did she, like Jesely, wonder if she spoke of Sylas? Stupid thought, but he could not shift it from his mind. But ‘he will destroy us’ followed by ‘he will save us’ was cryptic, to say the least. Who would destroy? Deygan?

  “We must shut the gates, Donmar. We must stop him entering.” That was Stretham. The fair Irmos twisted his hand into the front of his shirt, unmindful of the buttons that threatened to pop as he wrenched his fist through the fabric.

  “No!” said Jesely, palms flat on the table before him. “If we shut the gates he will destroy the walls with those machines of his.”

  “What are they, Jesely?” asked Donmar. “Do we know?”

  “Flain has a book,” said Jesely, and Flain pushed the volume across the table to the head of the council.

  “This is an old book of warfare, Master. I believe these are the machines. They are called ballistas and are for flinging projectiles—like slingshots, but much larger. Capable of hurling heavy objects—rocks and so on—over long distances.”

  “No shortage of rocks on the mountainside,” said Donmar, looking in the direction of the mountain road as if he could see through the walls to the twisting road beyond.

  “Shall I order an evacuation?” Hollin had a gift for organisation and logistics and had played a key part in getting supplies out to the Chesammos villages over the past months. “There are many changers who could fly to safety before Deygan has a chance to attack.”

  Donmar chewed on the end of his thumb and Jesely eyed him carefully. Once Donmar had made a decision he rarely backed down from it, but he preferred time to fully consider all options. Making
decisions under pressure was not his strength. Jesely could see the stress in his shoulders.

  “I don’t think that’s wise. If we evacuate the changers we leave the humans behind, and that says to them that we are abandoning them to their fate. We could have widespread panic, even have the human servants and tradesmen turn on us in their fear. The trust between the changers and the people necessary to our functioning would be lost. No, we stay, for as long as possible. If Deygan breaches the walls, then we may have to reconsider.”

  Jesely nodded. No sense in making hasty moves while there was a chance of negotiation. If the Aerie let down the people who formed their support system, it might take years to repair the damage.

  “Might I make a suggestion, Donmar?”

  Donmar seemed relieved that another was prepared to offer ideas.

  “Speak, Jesely.”

  “If the worst happens and the Aerie falls…” he hesitated, aware of another wave of mutterings and nervous shiftings around the table, “we would need a place to gather—to regroup. I think this should be off the island. If Deygan launches a full attack, he might order a complete purge of the changers on the island.”

  “Where do you propose?”

  “Maldahur. When Tomas travelled there, he said the potentate of Maldahur was keen to align himself with the Aerie. The people of the area are not of Irenthi origin and have no allegiance or particular sympathy to the Irenthi. In fact I think if origins were studied, the people of Maldahur are probably more closely related to the Chesammos. We may find sanctuary there for a time.”

  “Very well,” Donmar said. “If things go so badly for us that we have to leave the Aerie, you are to make for Maldahur. Some few may be capable of flying all the way, although it is beyond the range of most. But it may be possible to buy passage from Adamantara or to fly out to sea and roost on a ship until it is impossible to maintain bird form any longer. How you then appease the captain of the ship is up to you, but the Aerie has always recompensed help more than generously. A captain may be prepared to accept a letter of credit.”

  A letter of credit issued by an establishment that may not exist by the time they try to redeem it. Still, it was their best chance, if things went that wrong. Jesely hoped this contingency would not be needed, but it was best to be prepared.

  “There is another thing,” said Jesely. “Many of the Aerie, changers and non-changers alike, are blaming this current state of affairs on the Chesammos from Cellondora. It might be an idea to keep them safe somewhere for now, in case any attempt is made to hand them over to Deygan. For similar reasons, they should perhaps be among the first to fly if we leave the Aerie.”

  Donmar nodded. In stressful circumstances even changers and their employees could resort to violence, and it was perfectly possibly that the survivors might become victims.

  “See to it, Hollin. The Cellondorans must be protected.”

  “And the humans, if we fly? What is to happen to them?”

  “See if Deygan will give them safe passage,” said Donmar. “They have done him no harm—his quarrel is with the changers. But if he will not listen to reason, have them use the gate beyond the lake. It is a steep path and treacherous, and Deygan and his men may harry them, if they are seen trying to escape that way, but it is their best hope if all other avenues have failed.”

  “So do we go to meet him?” Jesely asked.

  “I go to meet him,” Donmar said grimly. “If one of us cannot convince him then twelve will not, and it may be that he receives a single ambassador more readily than a group.”

  The council erupted in a storm of protest. He must not go alone, they said. Deygan might be more inclined to listen to a single person, but he was also more likely to kill or capture one alone, where a group might command more respect.

  None of them expressed what Jesely was thinking: that however many of them went out, the Aerie had no soldiers, no one able to bear arms to protect themselves. If Deygan chose to wipe them out, he could do it with little resistance.

  They compromised. Three would walk out to meet the king: Donmar, Jesely, and Ayriene. Jesely spoke against Ayriene’s presence. They should not risk their only healer talent, he said. Ayriene countered him, saying that there should be at least one woman in the group, and she knew Deygan better than most. She exchanged significant glances with Donmar, and again, Jesely realised there were undercurrents he was missing. He wondered what hold Ayriene had over the council leader.

  If it all went wrong, Donmar told Hollin, he was to get people to safety by whatever means were at his disposal. Jesely found that he had small hope of a peaceful conclusion. The Aerie and its people faced their greatest peril yet.

  Chapter 29

  The three changers walked in silence down the mountain road. It was one of the few paved roads on Chandris—evidence, if needed, of the Aerie’s former affluence. Ahead of them, Deygan raised a hand and the troops and horsemen came to a halt. Deygan and another rider continued on a few yards before also reining in.

  The other rider bore the device of Lucranne on his breastplate. Ayriene was struck by how quickly Casian had risen through the ranks of Deygan’s advisors. Even for the heir of Lucranne, his ascension had been dizzyingly fast. Once more it occurred to her to wonder about his apparent charisma—Jesely seemed immune to it, but so many others had fallen under Casian’s influence that it hardly seemed natural. Sylas too, although that didn’t explain the evident attraction in the other direction.

  They stopped a few paces from the king, who dismounted. Casian did so too, holding both sets of reins and positioning himself a respectful few steps behind.

  “Your Majesty,” said Donmar, inclining his head. A full bow was not required from the leader of the changers—the difference in rank did not warrant it—but both Jesely and Ayriene gave deeper bows, as was proper.

  “Donmar.” Deygan’s acknowledgement was barely there—a dip of the head that could have been a gesture of irritation at a buzzing insect. “Master Jesely. Mistress Ayriene.” She might have imagined it, but she thought he sneered slightly saying her name. His animosity was unconcealed, and she flashed a glance at Casian. Was Sylas safe? Surely if anything had happened to him Casian would not be standing there so calmly, beside the man who meant him harm. She should not have left him. Creator! The boy was her responsibility.

  “I have not seen such an array of force since we faced the Lorandans together, Sire.”

  Ayriene knew what Donmar was doing, and admired his approach. He reminded Deygan of their shared past—the time they had stood shoulder to shoulder against a common enemy.

  A flash of light in the distance. A young changer with burned hands. The Lorandan army repelled.

  “Do you have another such among your number? Would you send her against me, if you did? I don’t believe you do, Donmar. I see fear in your eyes. She was unique, that girl of yours, was she not?”

  That girl. Shamella. The only changer who could hear multiple kye until Sylas… her son. Ayriene risked a glance at Jesely—wondered how much of this he had put together.

  A changer able to hear multiple kye. A weapon? A weapon so fearsome it had wiped out the Lorandan invasion force and which Deygan feared being turned against him. A girl given out to be dead and hidden deep in the desert under a name that was not her own.

  “Send him away.” Donmar’s voice was rough as he nodded towards Casian. “I have things to say to you that are for your ears only.”

  Deygan raised an eyebrow. “And Jesely and Ayriene are to remain?”

  Donmar eyed them. “I can send them back, if you would prefer.”

  Deygan’s laugh boomed out across the mountainside. “It is the changers that have been secretive. I have no secrets from your colleagues, but maybe you do.”

  “Ayriene was there. She may have guessed by now. And if Jesely does
not know, he deserves to be told. I will earn his hate, I expect, but this has gone on too long.”

  More than ever, Ayriene was sure this was about Shamella. Did Donmar know Sylas was her son? If he did, would he have allowed him into the Aerie? That increased the risk of exposure of—whatever had happened. Cowin had been admitted, but that was because of his exceptional ability. Had Donmar expected Sylas to be in some way exceptional too? Did that explain Donmar’s impatience with the lad, especially when he admitted to multiple kye like his mother?

  “My apprentice,” she said, the words leaving her lips before she could stop herself. “Is he well?”

  Deygan turned his gaze on her, his lips and mouth twisted with hate. “Your apprentice,” he almost spat the words, “has done something to my son. Jaevan is almost an imbecile—mute, unresponsive. Hour by hour he draws in on himself more, while your apprentice protests his innocence and hides away with his books in a pretence of seeking a cure.” Deygan glared at her, green eyes cold as polished linandra. “He failed at his first attempt to kill Jaevan, but my son is as good as dead now, as far as the succession is concerned. Your Chesammos has done what the rebels tasked him with.”

  Shamella saving the island from the Lorandans. Yinaede in the meeting gasping ‘he will save us’. Sylas and Shamella, both hearing more kye than they should.

  “No,” she whispered.

  “I should have my men seize you now, healer,” said Deygan. “Have you taken back to Banunis to stand trial. But we meet under parley, and I will not break my bond.” He turned back to Donmar. “I would not have it end this way,” he said in a soft voice, so that only the four of them would hear. “I thought that when Respar sent you and the girl to me to repel the Lorandans that this could mean a new understanding between Banunis and the Aerie.”