Tap-tap. Quiet.
Oh, very well Anasharal s voice took on a slightly singsong cadence. The Ilwrack Changeling was born of a noble house whose name is now lost. As a child, he probably spent are you getting this, Ringil Eskiath? he probably spent as much of his time in the Aldrain realm as on Earth, and from this he derived his powers. Changeling is technically a misnomer, a misappropriated marsh dweller myth applied to those among the human ruling classes who were chosen for their great beauty and strength of intellect by the Aldrain overlords, and borne away at an early age to learn the culture of the Ageless Realm. It was, in its way, not much different from the military training noble males receive in the Empire or the League today. Then as now, their mothers must bid them farewell, give them up into the arms of terrible strangers, and mourn their long absences.
Many Aldrain clans peopled the Earth in those times. The Aldrain walked among humans, and it was no more remarked upon than the Kiriath walking among humans these last centuries. Marriage unions between the races were not uncommon, though they rarely bore issue. Friendships and family ties sprang up. Such issue as there was, was honored. Many clans took changelings into the Ageless Realm, and many human noble houses gave away their offspring to such honor with joy. But no name among those clans stood in such high regard as that of Ilwrack the royal house, the instigators and leaders of the Repossession. And to be chosen by the clan Ilwrack was the highest of honors. Its scions took only the very best and the brightest, opened to them every secret of the Aldrain race, and then flung them back into the world as their most powerful and faithful servants. For this has ever been the way of the Aldrain not to rule subject races by their own hand, but to find those among the subject race who can be groomed and fit to rule on their behalf.
Ringil grunted. Been ever the way of anyone with half a brain and a limited purse to pay the levy.
Yes well. A disapproving pause, then Anasharal resumed, in lofty, lecturing tones. The Changeling, then, was singled out by a young Ilwrack scion more or less from the cradle. They say the child was so beautiful that the Aldrain lord was bewitched despite himself. That he fell in love with all the impulsive passion of his people, and would not be denied. Bided his time for the brief cycles of human youth, taught and shepherded the boy through what he would need to see and know, took the resulting young man and ushered him through the Dark Gate younger than any the Aldrain had ever taken before. Gifted him early, you see, wrapped the first of his own cold legion about him while he was still in his teens. He must, just as the legend says, have been very smitten to bestow such power. But then the Changeling s eyes, they say, were the green of sunlight through tree canopies, his smile, even as a child, could turn your heart over. When he grew to manhood, he was tall and long-limbed, and
This Aldrain lord. Ringil kept his voice neutral.
He have a name?
It is lost, said Anasharal succinctly.
Like so much of the detail in this story, it seems. Ringil rubbed idly at a scuff on the leather of his boot. Tell me something, Helmsman. Are you sure there s a phantom island up there beyond Hironish? Are you sure there s a city in the ocean keeping guard? You wouldn t be making this whole thing up, would you?
Is the Ghost Isle not plotted on the maps of your own city s shipmasters?
On some of them, yeah. So is the site of a floating star that crashed into the western ocean a hundred thousand years ago, when the gods fought for mastery of the heavens.
Well, maybe that s there as well.
Archeth says you claim to have seen the Ghost Isle before you fell to Earth. That you have been watching the surface of the world for thousands of years. That suggests to me you would have seen this floating star as well.
Brief hesitation. Perhaps.
Ringil nodded. Went on rubbing at the scuff mark on his boot.
So is it there or not?
The hesitation ran longer this time. Tap-tap went one of the thing s angled limbs.
No, Anasharal said finally. It s not.
Ringil nodded again. Was it ever there?
It may have been. That was before my time. But if it existed outside of myth, then it sank. Fallen stars do not float.
Islands do not come and go like pirate vessels, either.
This one does.
I don t know, he told Archeth the next morning. It's lying about something. I d put money on it. Maybe not the Ghost Isle, maybe not even An-Kirilnar. But there s something going on, something more than we re being told.
Like what?
I don t know. He nodded at the ceiling, up to the room where the Helmsman was kept. Like I keep telling you, Archeth, we re out of our depth. You think this thing is on your side just because Manathan and the rest did what your father s people told them to. But you aren t your father, and this Helmsman wasn t around back then. It s come from somewhere else, and there s no reason to suppose it plays by the same rules as the others.
Manathan commended Anasharal to me, Gil. Manathan sent us out there to collect the damn thing in the first place.
Ringil shrugged. Then maybe the rules have changed for Manathan, too.
Archeth brooded on that for a while.
I ll talk to Angfal, she decided finally.
I don t believe there s some evil conspiracy of Helmsmen all of a sudden. If something is going on, Angfal will have something to say on the subject.
Yeah, something cryptic and snide. Ringil yawned into his fist. He d been up all night arguing with Shendanak and Tand about escort logistics. Any news on Eg?
She shook her head. Gone like smoke. The Guard Provost is making a big thing about turning the city upside down, but so far it s all noise.
What I thought. They don t have the
A diffident knock. The door eased open and Kefanin poked his head through the gap.
My lord Ringil?
Yeah? If Shendanak was back with more fucking names of cousins you could trust with your life, seriously, he was going to
Captain Rakan of the Throne Eternal to see you, my lord.
Oh. He looked at Archeth, who just shrugged.
All right, then. Show him in.
He said he would wait for you in the courtyard.
The courtyard?
Not that it was an unpleasant venue. Archeth s house was built, like most of the properties on this side of the boulevard, in traditional Yhelteth corral fortress fashion. High walls and two-story construction around a broad open airspace that in antiquity would have served to shelter livestock from rustlers and wolves alike. In its urban incarnation, the space was cobbled and studded with a trio of ornamental fountains. On the stables side, in faint echo of tradition, there were hitching rails and a drinking trough, but elsewhere the inward-facing walls of the courtyard boasted stone benches set under awnings and trellis ceilings tricked out with crimson-flowering creeper.
Beneath one of which latter he found Noyal Rakan, waiting. The young captain was resplendent in full Throne Eternal dress uniform, rigged with a sword that owed more to soldiering than display, and cutting, truth be told, a rather fetching figure all around. But, Gil noticed as he and Kefanin approached, the young man s demeanor was no match for his imperial finery. Instead, Rakan stood irresolute and staring at the sun-dappled ground, as if hemmed in by the beams of light that spilled through the foliage overhead. He turned awkwardly at the sound of their footfalls on the cobbles, and he stuck out his hand with a heartiness that Gil made for counterfeit.
Captain Rakan. Ringil made the clasp, and tried to read the younger man s sun-striped face for clues. To what do I owe this honor?
The honor is mine. Rakan produced a smile that had most of the characteristics of a wince. To serve under such a commander is
The words trailed off.
Difficult? Ringil hazarded. Irritating? Don t worry about it. Been upstaged the same way myself a couple of times, and once by a real king-sized asshole. Stings a bit at first, but after a while you ll see I m doing you a favor.
The Throne Eter
nal s eyes widened. No, my lord, I have only respect for your record and reputation.
The words lay drying in the sunlit air. Ringil blinked. Groped for his composure.
Well, that suggests, Captain he licked the lips of a smile he found he d suddenly grown that you ve heard very little about me.
I ll bring lemonade, said Kefanin hastily, and left.
I have heard of Gallows Gap, said Rakan with an odd, quiet fervor. And I have heard of Beksanara, too. I know and have spoken with men who were in my brother s command, who saw what you did there.
Gallows Gap. Beksanara. The siege of Trelayne. You gather the names like dirt under your fingernails, no way to scrub it out.
And all the young men line up, to admire the fucking manicure.
Ringil mastered his smile. He cleared his throat, gestured at the nearest bench. Shall we, uh, sit down?
Yes. Gladly.
They took station at opposite ends of the bench. Rakan stretched out long, slim legs in cavalry boots and leaned back. Gil felt a suddenly risen pulse tripping in his throat. He d missed the cues before, registered them, if at all, for that mannered laxness that the Yhelteth upper class were wont to deploy as proof of their better-than-peasant standing. But now, belatedly, it was dawning on him that Throne Eternal captain Noyal Rakan was, in at least one fashion, very different from his elder sibling.
I m very sorry about your brother, he said awkwardly. He was a fine soldier.
And you led him to a the younger Rakan swallowed. A fine and honorable death. Defending the Empire against a great evil. He would not have had it any other way.
Actually, I more or less embarrassed him into it, Ringil recalled silently. I dared him to stand and die at Beksanara, and he did it because there was no way he could let a degenerate northerner make him look bad in front of his men.
So, he said, for something to say. They have given you his command.
Rakan shook his head quickly. His rank only. Throne Eternal service is in our family, we have provided the Khimrans with three generations of bodyguards and retainers. On my father s death, Faileh rose to the post. Now I A brief, fluttered gesture. Well, it is traditional.
Tradition, eh. How s that working out for you?
The young captain met his eyes for a moment, then looked away.
I, well it s difficult. You are measured against the other man, always.
Yeah, that can be tough.
I wanted, Rakan blurted, to thank you. For your intervention the other day. I am accustomed to dealing with soldiers. I have little experience of this kind of thing merchants and entrepreneurs, men with power and wealth but no ethic of service to either Holy Revelation or Empire. It is not That is, I would not have believed it could be so
My pleasure. Ringil lifted a languid, dismissive arm. We re a whole city of merchants up in Trelayne, even those who work hard at pretending otherwise. The League is built on trade these days, not conquest. I m used to it.
The Throne Eternal captain blushed. I did not mean to
Insult me? Gil grinned. Didn t you hear the Lady kir-Archeth at dinner the other night? I m of noble imperial stock on my mother s side. Besides. He slouched a little, dropped that languid hand to his thigh and left it there. I don t exactly fit in, back in Trelayne. I am not what you d call a pillar of mainstream society there. If you catch my meaning.
I yes. Hurriedly: My lord Ringil, I have been considering some of the logistical issues for the coming expedition. Now, with plague and slave rebellion rumored around Hinerion, we will most likely need to avoid the northern march coast. Which means, of course, a lengthier initial voyage, and landfall in Gergis may be much farther west.
Yes, quite. He fought for a detached curiosity of tone. Slave rebellion, you say?
So it appears. Reports from the Tlanmar garrison are garbled, but the garrison commander seems certain that at least one slave caravan has risen up against its chains and slaughtered its masters. There may be others. And with the plague rampant, the Tlanmar commander is not prepared to risk sending a force into Hinerion, so we really have very little idea what s happening. Of course, we have until next spring, but everything seems to indicate we should bypass Hinerion if we can.
Ringil put together a fresh smile. Well, it s not much of a town, Hinerion. No loss there.
Uh, yes. I ve heard that.
Though, of course, every town has its less conventional side. Every city is possessed of streets that its more mannered citizens might not like to talk about. Even Yhelteth, unless it s much changed since my last visit.
Rakan held his eye this time.
It is not much changed, he said.
CHAPTER 34
There was a wolf out there in the dark, he knew, and it was watching him. It was waiting for him to move.
Oddly, the thought didn t bother him at all.
He stood alone, head tipped exhilaratingly back, on the tilting, turning surface of the Earth, felt the massy weight of its whirl behind his eyes. The steppe sky spun by overhead, darkened purplish masses of cloud fracturing apart on the wind and letting in a golden orange light. He heard the hurrying of the breeze, felt the deep chill on his face that seemed to distance him from his own flesh
Campfire smoke, drifting across his eyes, fragrant with
No, wait
Somewhere distant, someone coughed. He blinked at the sound, and it was as if the world turned slowly, majestically upside down and let him fall. The steppe washed away, the smoke remained. It hung in the air, thick and sweet, the unmistakable catch of flandrijn at the back of his throat. The cough came again, from somewhere behind him, and this time he joined in. He propped himself up on one elbow and rubbed at his eyes.
Drapes of muslin, the hue of dirty honey in the low flickering lamplight. A dimly seen jumble of reclining figures beyond, and the odd upright form, bending to minister to them. He felt a body at his back, felt someone mutter grumpily at his sudden movement. Memory swam up into view, like a big ugly fish on a line.
I m in the pipe house.
He was indeed. The long, smooth barrel of the flandrijn pipe was cupped loosely in his left hand, but the ember was long out. He set it aside and sat up fully. No pain in his leg, though he could feel the tug of the stitches the doctor had put in. And his clothes smelled faintly of liniment. He had no idea what time of day or night it was. He had no idea how long he d been here. On closer examination, along with the whiff of liniment, he detected less pleasant odors. Then again, his clothes hadn t been exactly clean when he stumbled in here, however long ago that was. Blood, sweat, drenching with river water, and, he now remembered, somewhere in the long run of pipes they d brought him, he d lain there and pissed himself with the gentle disregard of a baby.
He gathered up his bundled cloak and lurched stiffly to his feet. Stumbled through the carpet of drowsing bodies, trailing a wake of curses and complaints. An attendant came running, fresh pipe in hand, but he waved her away.
Enough, he said gruffly. Had enough.
His immediate instinct was to seek some coffee and a good long soak in a hot bath. But on reflection, he supposed the way he smelled now would go a good way to completing his beggar s disguise. Best keep it that way.
He grimaced at the thought.
Life in the big city, Eg.
Yeah, and life in the big city is making you soft as the next fucking courtier, Dragonbane. How often did you bathe in hot water out on the steppe? Come to that, how often did you bathe at all on deployment during the war?
True enough he spent most of the war smelling far worse than he did now. At Gallows Gap, Ringil had joked with him, handkerchief held affectedly to mouth, that just the way they stank ought to turn the reptile advance.
Urann s balls, he missed that faggot.
He got himself outside, squinting at the blast of the sun overhead. He estimated time of day, reckoned early afternoon. He d been piped up for at least a full day, then, maybe two.
Yeah, maybe three, said something autho
ritative, through the fumes in his head.
Vaguely, he recalled the doctor muttering, as he finished up his ministrations, something about cheap pain relief from our coastal brethren downstairs. The disdain in his voice would have been hilarious if Egar hadn t felt quite so much like boiled shit. Well, you re the one renting a coffin-sized room above them, he d felt like growling. You re the one doesn t look like he s been on a fucking horse in his life.
He d dripped coins into the doctor s hand in silence instead, watched with thin satisfaction at the little fish-mouth gape the man made with each clink. Then he lurched shakily away downstairs to talk to the coastal brethren.
They d sorted him out. Quite politely, too, the good doctor s disdain notwithstanding.
Doesn t matter where you go, Ringil told him once, as they sat horses on the cliffs at Demlarashan, overlooking the beach, that shit never changes. Men need someone to hate. It makes them feel strong, it makes them feel good about themselves. Binds them together. Yhelteth against the League, coastlanders against the horse tribes, marsh dwellers against the city
Skaranak against Ishlinak, Egar offered companionably.
Just so. Same shit everywhere, Eg. Only way you stop them squabbling is show them someone else they can all hate together.
Egar grinned in his beard, and gestured down to the beach below. Better hope we don t beat these fuckers too easily then.
The fury of the previous week s storms had shoved the dragondrift up almost to the base of the cliffs, and it was beginning to bubble up in a way they d seen before, farther north. Just a matter of time, they both knew, before the hatching began. There was a queasy kind of excitement building around the camp with the waiting. Previous experience had shown you could never be sure what exactly would come tearing its way out of the sticky, purplish-black mess when the time came. Might be eight-foot-tall high-caste reptiles, might be swarms of the weaker, smaller peons. Might be something else entirely.
Of course, on this occasion, something else entirely turned out to be exactly right.
A something else entirely that would send men many of them seasoned levy troops screaming for their lives in retreat. A something else entirely it would cost over a hundred lives to defeat, and earn Egar the title that would catapult him into the upper ranks of the alliance overnight.
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