Baluka nodded. “I’ll tell you. Though I’m sure you’ll read it from my mind first. I can see that’s a necessary precaution, but it’s going to take some getting used to. My people consider it bad manners to read minds without consent.”
Tyen nodded. “Most people do. So is planning to kill a ruler, if you are the ruler or his supporters.”
“More than bad manners.” Baluka moved over to the covered window. “But to those who suffer under that rule, it is more like a song. One that you can’t get out of your mind. One that speeds your heart and sets your blood on fire.”
“I know the kind of song you mean. It makes death seem glorious and defeat impossible.”
The young Traveller turned to regard Tyen, the side of his face illuminated by the lamplight leaking between the curtains. “Death and the risk of defeat are an unavoidable part of war. I don’t think anyone who joins a rebellion is ignorant of that.”
“But they expect us to keep the risks as low as possible, or at least make their deaths count. If we treat them otherwise we are no better than the tyrants they seek to remove. ‘It is often wiser not to fight at all than attack before victory is sure’,” he quoted.
Baluka nodded. “If defeating the Raen could only be achieved through the sacrifice of most of the rebels, would the death of thousands be worth it for the freedom of countless people in countless worlds?” Would it? Baluka asked himself. Could I give the order to attack, if I knew that was the cost? He wasn’t sure, and that roused in him a little reluctant respect for Tyen.
A chill ran through Tyen. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
Baluka regarded Tyen in silence, thinking that he would have tried to reassure a recruit in this situation. It was obvious that Tyen was not a natural leader. How did he end up in this position? Hapre didn’t tell me that part of the rebels’ story, only that Tyen was the previous leader’s adviser. Perhaps she expected me to read the rest from her mind. Ah, lom’s balls! He’s probably watching me thinking about this. I’ve got to get used to that. There’s a lot to learn.
He was right about that, Tyen mused. He was right about too many things. Here, finally, was a young man of considerable magical strength willing to take on the leadership of the rebels. The temptation to let him was strong, but Tyen knew that the next time he met the Raen the man would know he’d allowed someone potentially competent take charge.
He said I only had to report to him on their decisions, he reminded himself. It was me who decided I had to hold them back, for their own safety. And the sake of his own conscience. If he was going to keep the rebels out of a confrontation they couldn’t win, he would have to prevent this young Traveller usurping his position.
“Contrary to how it appears, I’m not sitting in the dark doing nothing,” Tyen told Baluka, letting a little hardness enter his voice. “I am keeping an eye on the minds about us, watching for the Raen’s allies. It’s much easier to do that when there are no distractions. If you have no more questions for me, please join Hapre–who I’m sure would appreciate help over criticism.”
Baluka’s head bowed and he took a step away. “I’m sorry. I will look for ways to be useful and avoid annoying people–though I suspect I’ll be more successful with the former.” He retreated to the door, where he paused. “And I’ll keep trying to think of a signal we could safely send out to all the worlds to rouse a rebel army without alerting the allies.”
I know you will, Tyen replied silently. He nodded. As the door closed, he turned his mind to more immediate threats, once again searching the minds in the local area for the Raen’s allies. All too soon, his attention was drawn back to the door by a loud and rapid knocking. He sought the source and drew in a breath as he read the news Volk had brought.
“The allies have killed new recruits at two arrival places,” the man said as Tyen stepped out into the corridor.
“Are the fake hiding places ready?”
“Half of them are.”
“They’ll have to do. It’s time to leave.”
CHAPTER 13
The three generals slowly faded from sight, each taking the rebels who worked with them. Tyen took a last look out of the window, and at the minds of the people living and working in the area. He found none watching and, with no other reason to delay, propelled himself into the space between worlds.
Instead of forging new paths through to the neighbouring worlds, as the generals were doing, he began skimming. He travelled fast, putting plenty of distance between him and the canal city. Crossing the sea, he stopped at the far shore to breathe, then began roaming back and forth, seeking signs of recent passage into the world.
At first he found none, and he began to wonder if the message to leave hadn’t reached any of the rebel groups, or that the allies weren’t roaming the world hunting for them as reported. The murdered groups could have been the result of an attempt by the allies to scare the rebels into leaving rather than a coordinated attack.
But new paths leading directly in or out of the world were not as easy to detect as those caused by skimming. It was like trying to find a column while blindfolded compared to locating a road. Skimming was what he expected the allies to be doing as they swept back and forth, looking for places rebels might hide in, then arriving and searching the minds of locals for thoughts about foreigners taking up residence recently.
When he finally detected a fresh path, it led out of the world. He cursed his and the other rebels’ bad luck as he skimmed away, knowing that if an ally followed his trail and detected that he’d paused, they’d stop to see why and notice the other path leading out of the world. They might guess who had made it and chase the rebels rather than Tyen. After all, Tyen was leaving the sort of traces an ally might make.
At last he found the fresh path of someone skimming. They’d skipped over lush farmland from city to city, each time emerging in the shadows of a building then continuing on. The trail ended in a small city of wooden buildings, roofed with bundles of dry leaves that fluttered in the wind. Tyen emerged and stood in an alcove of a wall as he searched the minds around him.
He found some locals who were twitchy and alert. The group of young sorcerers who had rented the room above the warehouse had vanished, some in the middle of repairing the roof in lieu of rent. The landlord was annoyed at the job half finished, but the other workers had seen the fear in the youngsters’ faces before they disappeared, and were smart enough to worry about anything that magic-users found scary.
All this had happened long enough ago that the event had been well discussed and everyone had got back to work. Slipping back into the place between, Tyen searched for paths. He found the ally’s first. The man or woman had returned to the place between a mere twenty paces from their arrival place. Their path led to and joined the path the rebels had forged when leaving. From the information he’d gained from the locals and the freshness of the ally’s path, Tyen reckoned the rebels had enough of a head start to get several worlds away, and hopefully lose their pursuer.
They’re lucky, he thought. They weren’t supposed to draw attention to themselves where they settled, by using magic. Yet I suppose they’d have stood out from the locals and had to pay their way somehow. He considered how the ally had travelled to cities and ignored the country. They know it’s easier to hide among many other minds. Would it be safer, then, for rebels to hide somewhere isolated, where they wouldn’t think we’d hide? Vella, what do you think?
“No safer,” Vella replied. “Once the allies found no rebels in the cities they’d search the country.”
Is there—His attention jolted back to his surrounding as he passed another path. Backtracking, he began to follow it. Once again, the creator had skimmed from city to city, emerging in several parts of each. This one had tracked back and forth, looking for fresh paths as well. Something relentless about their movements chilled Tyen. Every time he emerged in the world he feared what he would find in the local minds.
Then one thought burs
t from the others like a shriek in a crowded room. He sought the mind that had made it.
No! By all the gods, no! Who could do such a thing? What if they return and find me here?
The man he’d found forced his limbs, frozen from shock, to move. He turned to flee, what he’d seen still clear in his mind.
Blood. Parts of bodies scattered about. Faces of the dead, frozen in terror and pain.
Tyen pushed out of the world and travelled towards the man. He found the fresh path of the ally first. It led him to a hallway and an open door. A basket had been dropped on the floor, a broken bottle leaking a dark liquid.
A sweet, fruity scent laced the air, not quite hiding the scent of blood and, oddly, a latrine. Then he turned to look through the open door and realised the latter scent was not odd, when people had been ripped apart. Tyen fought a wave of nausea. He sought faces in the mess. Are they rebels? He could not tell. He didn’t recognise any of them. Hapre, Volk, they’d know.
But they had to be. Why else would an ally have sought them out, and slaughtered them so brutally?
Why? Why kill them like this? He knew why. It was a warning. This was what happened to those who defied the Raen. A stabbing pain in his gut made him double over. The Raen. The butcher who did this serves the same man as me. We are on the same side.
“No.” The word came out as a gasp. “No.”
We are not the same. He slowly straightened. I would not do this. That’s the difference. I am no ally. Like the Travellers, I have an agreement. It does not involve this, nor would I ever agree to this.
He was trying to stop the conflict between the rebels and the Raen. This ally was revelling in it.
This ally was seeking more rebels to slaughter.
His stomach clenched again, but this time with anger and revulsion. I have to stop him. He moved into the place between and immediately found a fresh path. The ally had left directly from the apartment, unconcerned that his trail pointed back to the corpses like an accusing finger. Confident that nobody would demand justice for the victims.
Nobody can… but me.
After all, the Raen had said Tyen should not do anything to compromise his role among the rebels. Tyen was their leader and their most powerful sorcerer. A leader would be expected to do something in this situation.
Fury energised him. The ally had resumed skimming and searching. He raced along the trail, leaving the city, reaching another, weaving to and fro until he’d covered so much of the metropolis it was clear the ally must have been here when he’d arrived.
Tyen stopped to search for the ally’s mind. He found no sign of it. The city was one of the world’s largest. He resumed following the trail, cursing himself for wasting time. He had no idea if he was catching up with the ally, falling behind, or keeping pace. So when the trail ended abruptly, he braced himself for another shock as he searched the minds around him.
Instead of another grisly scene, Tyen found the mind of a man surveying a room. Resca, his name was. The ally took in the scene: a meal remained part prepared, a pot still boiling over a fire, game pieces scattered over a table. They looked like a tile set of the Llimn, the sub-human race that served his people. The thought that someone might have taught a Llimn magic disgusted him. The possibility that some had escaped his world to live freely, probably breeding with other inferior races, appalled him.
The Raen should forbid the teaching of inferior races, he thought. He rubbed a scar on his neck, remembering an old slight. And women. The memory the man then savoured made Tyen recoil, and the rage inside him flare brighter. But when he sought Resca’s mind again in order to locate him, the man was gone.
No! I can’t lose him now. He left the world and sought the ally in the place between. He detected a shadow. It changed course, and sped towards him, resolving into human form: a short, overweight man with sallow skin. It was not what Tyen had been expecting, though the ally’s gleeful expression was.
“Got you,” Resca said, and a little shock went through Tyen as the man grabbed his arm.
In response, Tyen twisted, took hold of Resca’s wrist, then pulled them both back towards the world. The sorcerer’s eyes widened and Tyen felt some resistance, but not enough to prevent him dragging the man back into the room he’d just left.
As they arrived, Resca yanked his arm out of Tyen’s grip. He backed away and stared, fear rising as he discovered he could not read this stranger’s mind, then fading as he realised who this must be.
“You.” His eyes narrowed. “You’re the leader, right? The one the Raen said not to kill.” He raised a hand to his chin and drummed his fingers. “You’re one of us.”
“No,” Tyen replied.
“Yes, you are. You’re a spy. Why else would he not want you dead?”
“I expect he wants to kill me himself.”
Tyen drew magic and watched as Resca tried in vain to find the edge of the darkness. The man’s smile vanished. He took a step back.
“But—”
Tyen’s attack beat down the man’s feeble defence in moments. Resca made an animal-like wail of disbelief and terror. He fell to his knees.
“Please! Don’t kill me! I will leave. I will go far away. I will never harm a rebel again.”
Reaching into the man’s body, Tyen shivered as he located the pulse within. A quick stilling of the heart and it would be over, faster and more merciful than what Resca had done to the rebels he’d slaughtered. Or at least a great deal less messy.
But he hesitated.
The man certainly deserved to die. He had done terrible things, not just to the rebels, but to others. It would take just one small flexing of will and he could harm nobody else.
Yet it was as if Tyen’s will had died instead.
And then he saw it: the memory of Yira clutching her chest, and the agony on her face. It had happened so fast, yet he remembered it so clearly. A moment preserved for ever in his memory.
He couldn’t do that to anyone. Not even this man.
Some other way, then. But the fury had left him now. The man’s fear beat against his thoughts. From Resca’s lips came promises he fiercely intended to keep, if he had the chance to.
Tyen straightened, then blinked as he realised he was standing over the man, who lay whimpering on the floor.
“Swear on the Raen’s name that you will leave this world,” Tyen demanded. “Leave the allies. Never harm anyone, rebel or otherwise, again. Next time we meet be sure that I find no reason to regret letting you go.”
“I will. I will. You won’t. I swear–may the Raen flay my body and break my soul.”
Letting go of a little of the magic he’d gathered, Tyen watched as Resca drew it into himself. As soon as the man had gathered enough to leave, he vanished. As Tyen let the rest of the magic flood out it filled the void he’d created. He pictured sorcerers in the city and far beyond sighing with relief, knowing only that a powerful sorcerer had been preparing to do something terrible, then either changed their mind or found there was no need.
And Resca? His stomach twisted. He means to do what he promised, but for how long? If he encountered the other allies, the man would be as easily bullied into breaking his word. They were recruiting sorcerers to the Raen’s cause as enthusiastically as the rebels were to theirs. And could a man of Resca’s temperament, who was convinced he was a superior form of human, not cause anyone harm again? He had only to reason that “anyone” didn’t include those he considered sub-human or inferiors.
Relief at not killing the man was poisoned with regret and worry. But the decision could not be unmade. Resca was no doubt putting as much distance between himself and Tyen as he could, and Tyen’s regret was not powerful enough to force him to give chase.
Even so, when he pushed away from the world he followed the man’s path. To his relief, Resca’s trail led straight out of the world.
I should have killed him, shouldn’t I, Vella?
“Strategically it would have made greater sense. But stra
tegic thinking too often underestimates and undervalues the emotional impact of decisions. After all, the reason to kill him is to prevent him causing harm, yet killing him would have harmed you in ways that may cause further harm later, to yourself, and depending on how badly you are harmed, others as well as yourself.”
Then it is a matter of the degree of harm. He will cause more harm to others than I’d do to myself by killing him.
“Yet if he never harms another person, the degree of harm avoided is greater.”
What is the chance of that?
“Impossible to say without knowing him better. It would be easier to estimate if we knew what motivated him.”
I doubt it is a sense of right or wrong.
“No. Perhaps instead a fear of those stronger than him.”
The Raen.
“And yourself.”
He was nearing the midpoint between worlds. Where to go next? Enough time had passed now that all of the rebel groups should have received the message to leave. He should make his way to the meeting place, where the other generals would be waiting for him.
So he followed the ally’s path, peeling away just before reaching the next world. When he did enter it, he slowed and stretched his senses in the hope of noticing any allies waiting to ambush arrivals. None emerged from the whiteness, and as soon as he had caught his breath he pushed on to the next world.
Into the space between, out into a world, breathe. It had been impossible to know if it was better for the rebels to flee to somewhere close by, to minimise the amount of travelling between worlds, or far away so rebels had a chance of outrunning pursuers. Volk had reasoned that it was unlikely anyone could outrun an ally, who did not have to stop to breathe. Better to devise methods to confuse the trail.
The first ploy was for the groups to split into smaller ones, so the allies had too many trails to follow. The second was to use methods of transport within worlds that did not involve magic to place some distance between arrival and departure locations. The third was to disappear for a while in a crowded location somewhere, preferably where the rebels’ other-worldliness would not attract notice–such as a market or temple.
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