“That’s very kind of you,” Terian called. “You know, for a disloyalist.”
J’anda did not reply in kind; he began to move his staff, the purple tip glowing brighter before it began to release the first flashes of spell-light. It belched forth flaring pulses that disappeared over the edge to the deck below where Cyrus could not see if they landed. The purple light was flashing quickly now, strobing like the lightning that rolled through the clouds.
“Here it comes!” Cyrus shouted as the wave ran toward them, the flat sea losing its calm the closer the white-capped wash came to the ship. Zarnn began to turn the wheel and Cyrus felt himself jerked in the direction of the troll’s efforts. He gathered his feet beneath him, Praelior still tight in hand, and started to push in aid. The wheel moved slowly, ratcheting with a squeak of wood.
The purple light flashed hard and constant, J’anda’s staff bobbing up and down as he cast his spells. He thrust it upward, and half a hundred blasts issued forth at once. Cora gasped so loudly that Cyrus could hear her over the storm, even as the creaking of the wheel’s protests grew louder in his ears.
“Not … wanting … to … turn!” Zarnn shouted, his eyes closed and all his sharp teeth bared.
“I don’t give a damn what the wheel wants!” Cyrus shouted back, putting his shoulder into it and digging in against the imaginary ground with all his strength. “Let’s turn this thing over!”
He glanced back to see the wave approaching hard. They had turned so that they were roughly parallel with it, and it was coming fast, ready to raise them up. When it reaches the crest, that’s the moment we need to—“J’anda!” Cyrus called. “When you feel the ship started to lift, have any of those things under your control run to the right side of the vessel!”
J’anda did not move, did not stir, but Cyrus saw his mouth move as he turned so that Cyrus could see him in profile. His visible eye was tightly shut, and the lightning illuminated the heavy wrinkles on the his face. More purple flashes flew out and down, out of sight, as Cora stood next to him, letting out a few spells of her own—many, many fewer than J’anda.
“What is this?!” bellowed a voice from below. Cyrus could not see the speaker, but he had no doubt who it was.
“Tempestus has arrived at the party,” Cyrus muttered, slamming his shoulder against the wheel over and over, trying to get it to move even a little more.
The wave was lifting them up now, and Cyrus could see it rising like a wall above them. The ship was tilting to the left, the bottom of the ship threatening to rise above them, to capsize completely before it even crested. “J’anda! Changed my mind! Have your minions run to the left side of the ship!”
If the enchanter heard Cyrus, he gave no sign. He stood at the edge of the deck, his back turned to Cyrus and his staff held high. He moved it back and forth as the world started to tilt around them, then thrust it to the left. A sound of heavy footsteps moving quickly below could be heard, along with the noise of hard objects shifting and slamming into wood.
The wave rose and rose above them, and the world turned sideways, Cyrus keeping his footing only through the Falcon’s Essence spell. The wheel started to twist more easily now, then suddenly it spun freely, without resistance—
“Uh oh,” Cyrus said, and he looked behind him to see the wave rolling over the side now, the sky behind it flashing. “Brace yourselves—” he barely got out before the wave grabbed the ship in its grasp and dragged it down hard, water surrounding them, flooding the deck, and the sound of the world ending in a booming crash filled Cyrus’s ears just before the water flooded his helmet completely.
38.
Alaric
I listened to the arguments as the meeting raged for an hour before it broke. The words started to make a little sense here and there as I heard them over and over again, but by and large it was utter gibberish, thrown across the table like a ball being passed back and forth between the two sides. And there were most definitely two sides; that much was obvious.
“I think that is enough for today,” Chavoron said, speaking for the first time since he’d gone quiet before the speeches began. My head felt full, dizzyingly full, again, and I was sure that by now nothing else was sticking within it.
The light of day shone in from behind me as I lurked behind Chavoron’s shoulder, Rin standing tightly at attention at the other; he had taken everything in with a careful focus, watching, listening, a sponge at the edge of the meeting. He’d shared very little with me other than to translate a few words here and there.
The men and women around the table shifted their chairs back a few at a time. The Vidara, the fellow in green robes, headed for the door immediately, his strange, stooped posture belying his spry movement. Others broke off into small groups—I saw the Eruditia and the Nessalima, the ministers of education and magic, link arms and walk off to the side, where the two women bent their heads close together and spoke quietly.
“Terribly sorry about how that all happened,” Timmas, the Drettanden, said. I could see the note of genuine apology in the furrowed line down the middle of his brow, broken by his whorl of raven hair. He worked his way around Rin to offer me his hand. “I imagine you felt like an unwelcome intruder in the midst of all that.”
“I was just trying to learn as much as I could,” I said. He wore armor that was steely grey and smooth, hinting at but not showing if there was muscle beneath it all. He smiled warmly, as I took his hand and he shook mine in a fair imitation of how we did things in Luukessia.
“Did you get it all?” he asked, plainly jesting.
“Well, I learned your … titles, I guess,” I said, watching Rin just over the Drettanden’s shoulder, eyeing me.
“That’s good,” Timmas said. “Title is incredibly important in the Protanian Empire. More important in many cases than name. Your name is given to you by your parents. You get your House either by being raised in one or adopted into one. But your title—even the least among us have one, and that defines who you are.”
“What would my title be?” I asked.
Timmas shifted uncomfortably. “Depends on who you ask. I would say—”
“Pardwan,” Rin threw out, neatly cutting over Timmas before he could speak. A flash of irritation passed over the Drettanden’s face. “He should be ready for it,” Rin said. “You know it will be said.”
“What does ‘pardwan’ mean?” I asked.
Timmas pressed his lips together for a moment before answering. “It means ‘slave.’”
I stared at him, perplexed why he would think that such a terrible thing to my ears. “I was a slave,” I said. “I … perhaps I still am.”
“You are not,” Chavoron said, standing up, appearing from behind the high back of the chair to join our conversation. “But neither are you a citizen of the empire, either, which makes your title something of a muddy issue.”
“I’m sure you will find something suitable,” Timmas said warmly. “Something that defines you.”
“Until then, pardwan will be heard, and heard often, I think,” Rin said, his eyes flitting over the few Protanians remaining on the left side of the table. I followed his gaze and saw the Yartraak, Jena’s father and head of the mines, standing there, looking at us suspiciously while speaking in hushed tones with the Mortus, head of the prisons. I watched them both, with an emphasis on Jena’s father. His head down, that same perpetually angry look on his face, until surprise flashed in his eyes and he raised them to look to the door.
“Ah, excellent,” Chavoron said. “She is here.”
I looked to the door, where the Nessalima was leaving, ensconced in conversation with a man whose title I hadn’t caught. He had a full, dark beard and long hair, and he walked with a slight limp. Beyond them, I saw a girl in a simple tunic, her eyes fixed on me, the smallest hint of a smile upon her lips. I was expecting it to be Caraleen, Chavoron’s daughter, and it took me a moment to realize it was not.
It was Jena.
The Yartraak stalke
d away from the Mortus and over to her, and I noticed for the first time that he walked with his head down slightly, as though he were craning his neck and sticking out his face. He walked up to her and whispered something urgently, something which she replied to under her breath, and which caused him to hiss like a snake.
Jena pointed at Chavoron, and the Yartraak sent a terrible, angry look down the table to where we all stood behind Chavoron before stalking out the door, the Mortus gliding along behind him like a spider.
“I am pleased to see you, my dear,” Chavoron said to Jena, urging her forward with his warm words. She slid into the room, apparently unaffected by her father’s behavior. “Thank you for coming.”
“It would have been impolite to refuse the First Citizen without cause,” Jena said. Chavoron took both of her hands in his in greeting, and he bowed his head to her in what looked like a show of respect.
“But it would have been the easier course for a woman whose father is who yours is,” Chavoron said. “And I appreciate that you were willing to come in spite of all that. You show courage.”
“She shows some foolishness, Chavoron,” came a somewhat imperious voice, speaking in my language. The Eruditia walked with a certain predatory grace, her gaze sliding across each of us in turn until they came to rest upon me. Somehow I got the feeling, when they lingered on me just a little too long, that I had been her intended target all along. “And you showed more than a little indiscretion yourself this day.”
“I’m not sure what you’re referring to,” Chavoron said, a little impishly. “I am indiscreet so much of the time, you see.”
“You brought your new house member here with the full intention of causing discord,” the Eruditia said, speaking slowly and pronouncing every syllable with excess care. “And discord you sowed.”
“As though there was not already discord waiting,” Timmas said, standing stiffly next to Rin. “Why, we can hardly have a meeting anymore without dissolving into rancor. This one seemed more civil than the last.”
“Not a particularly high measure, that,” Chavoron said with a glint in his eye. “Are you not one of the most ardent voices for freeing the humans?” He directed his question to the Eruditia.
She narrowed her hawkish eyes at him. “There is a difference between freeing the slaves, which we have become far too reliant on, and according them a place in our councils.”
“What would you suggest we do with them?” Timmas asked, taking the lead for himself. “Toss them back to their own land?”
“I can think of worse ideas,” the Eruditia said coolly. “They did not ask to come here; we should return them to their place of origin. To do otherwise is a sin of its own kind.”
“We need them,” Timmas said firmly, as though this were obvious fact, but he did not elaborate. “And some of them were born here and know no other life but within the empire.”
“And what of the small peoples of the north?” Jena asked, her voice shaking slightly at the end, as though she realized who she was talking to when the Eruditia locked that hawkish gaze upon her. “And the goblin people of the southeast mountains? The greenskins of the swamps—”
“The greenskins would not be our problem if we withdrew to this side of the river,” the Eruditia said, almost icily. “As to the others, we should set up their boundaries and stringently enforce them. I have suggested this over and over again. Our fate should not be tied to them, and theirs should be neither to serve us nor to rely on us. They need to carve out their own destiny, as we did. The last thing we need is for any of them to become like the elves.” At this she looked at me again, and understanding dawned through me. She may have wanted my people free, but it was not out of benevolence, and she clearly took no joy in thinking of any of us with Protanian-derived magic at our fingertips.
“Once again, we carry our arguments past the end of the meeting,” Chavoron said mildly.
“Perhaps because they go so much deeper than those of days past,” the Eruditia said. She looked at Jena again, who stood down the table a little bit. “Even a child can see the truth of this matter.” Jena held her peace and did not respond.
“Often the young see the truth of things better than older, fading eyes,” Chavoron said, his hands crossed in front of him this time. “I expect we will discuss this further next time. And then next time. And … well, you know.”
The Eruditia’s lips remained pursed in a near-straight line, with only a quiver at one end. “Sooner or later, Chavoron, we will have to come to a decision.”
“I am sure,” Chavoron said, with his usual, noncommittal calmness. The Eruditia chose not to respond. Instead, she walked away with calm grace, though I saw her look sideways at me as she crossed through the doors on her way up the stairs above. Her glance was subtle, but I caught it.
Jena seemed to linger at her place along the table, hovering, unsure, until Chavoron addressed her, now that the air was clear. “Come,” he said, expansively, beckoning her forward. It was a mark of his nature that he could do that to a young woman like Jena and it seemed innocent and fatherly, bereft of the implications the gesture would have had in Luukessia. I had seen such things a thousand times, young maidens and old earls, and it always made my stomach uneasy.
There was none of that here, and Jena came forward without the reticence one might see on a cup-bearer being summoned forth by a baron. Chavoron was a different sort than I’d met before.
“You two,” Chavoron said, gesturing to me as well, “are to go and learn.”
I looked at Jena, who was now standing in the small knot with Chavoron, Rin and the Drettanden. “This is why you brought her here?” When he nodded, I looked at Jena. “You’re here to teach me?”
“I could have gotten you a more traditional instructor, I suppose,” Chavoron said slyly, “but they have all told me the same thing until very recently—humans cannot use magic. So.” He nodded at Jena. “It would seem to me that she is the foremost expert in this arena.” I got the feeling he was jesting, at least a little. “Go forth,” he said, shooing us, “learn. Become more useful.”
“As you will it,” I said, and caught a pained look from Chavoron. “What?”
“You have a will of your own,” Chavoron said. “Every man does. I would rather you did this thing out of your own desire to learn—as a man would—rather than simply because I want it.” He stared straight into my eyes. “Do not sublimate your will to that of others unless it fits with your own purpose, for that makes you a slave to their desires. Following another is a fine thing, if you are attuned to their cause. Following them for baser reasons … makes you little more than a beast.”
“Very well,” I said, not entirely sure what he was talking about. “I … I want to learn for myself, my own reasons.”
“Good,” he said simply, but a little more coolly, as though he might have guessed at the motives swirling deep inside me. “Go forth, then.”
“Go well,” the Drettanden said, causing me to look at him in curiosity. He frowned. “That … that’s not the saying, is it?”
“Not exactly,” I said. “Be well, perhaps?”
“Be well,” he said, with that air of handsome assurance once more. He nodded at Jena, and called her something in Protanian that I didn’t quite catch. “And you, also.” He nodded to me.
“You may use my quarters at the top of the tower,” Chavoron called to us as I started to leave with Jena. Now he looked sly once more as I cast a glance back. “Make sure to direct any spells off the balcony … thank you.”
When we were out of the meeting room, I heard Jena let out a long, slow breath as we headed toward the staircase that circled up. “How are you doing?” I asked, acutely aware that I had not seen her since she’d visited me while I was ailing.
“I am fine,” she said, looking at me sidelong as we climbed. She took the steps effortlessly, as though climbing were a thing she did daily. “You look better.” She said this with just a note of playfulness, and without looki
ng at me.
“I feel better,” I said. “Though I imagine standing in a room with all the rulers of your empire has probably diminished me somewhat compared to what I was an hour or so ago.”
“I can imagine,” she said, keeping her eyes fixed straight ahead as we climbed. “I know I feel smaller after being in a room with just my father for a little while.” Her voice matched her statement, shrinking as she spoke.
“Rin tried to teach me their titles,” I said, shifting the subject somewhere less awkward.
“Oh?” she asked as we passed the hallway with a dozen doors that I suspected contained the cabinet members’ quarters. “How did that go?”
“I learned them well enough to earn something that was almost a compliment from him.”
“Indeed,” she said. “Title is important in the empire. More important than name.”
“That’s what the Drettanden said.” I stroked my chin, suddenly aware that I was wearing a very bland tunic compared to the attire of everyone else. I hadn’t cared when I was in the cabinet meeting, but now that I was walking at Jena’s side, it suddenly seemed very important.
Jena looked at me, just for a second, then away again. “I have a title, too, you know,” she said little impishly.
“I heard the Drettanden call you something,” I said, trying to marshal my memory. “It was …” I squinted as we approached Chavoron’s door.
“Don’t strain your mind,” she said. “I want you in top form for this lesson.”
We paused outside the door as she went to open it. “Ah!” I said, remembering. She pushed it open and then looked at me, her bright blue irises meeting mine. I felt the strangest connection between us, as though a spell had been cast in the space between our eyes, something powerful, churning, coruscating and unfolding in the distance between.
“Well?” she asked, coolly expectant, with just a little playfulness.
“Thank you for teaching me,” I said, and bowed my head respectfully, receiving one in turn, “Marei.”
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