by Jack Massa
“People of Minhang, I and my ministers have ventured from the palace on this auspicious morning to celebrate with you the restoration of our national treasures. Where is the honored Amlina?”
“She is here, August Ruler.” Clorodice called out.
She tugged Amlina’s sleeve and ushered her forward. While the multitude stood in reverent silence, Amlina, Clorodice, and the Mage marched across the plaza, followed by their respective entourages. The Tuan watched with a serene smile as they drew near. Amlina followed Melevarry’s lead and bowed deeply.
“August Ruler,” Clorodice said. “It is my privilege to present to you Amlina, who has returned to us from afar.”
The Tuan’s smile was warm and genuine. “Honored Amlina, I welcome you to our city. Is that the magical Cloak that you wear?”
Throat tight, Amlina managed: “Yes, August Ruler. Your greeting honors me.”
“On the contrary, it is you who have done me great service. Your restoration of our national treasures marks a most auspicious day in this, the morning time of my reign.” The Tuan craned his neck, then pointed to the space behind her. “And, might I ask if these are your companions—the formidable Iruk warriors I have heard such wondrous stories of?”
Amlina cast a nervous look behind her, and gestured for the Iruks to step forward. As they moved beside her, a calm entered her spirit. The klarn-soul, she thought. Even here, I draw strength from Draven and his mates.
Her voice now was steady and strong. “It is my honor to present them to you, Lord Tuan.” She named each of them and Kizier as well, and called them the bravest and noblest of friends.
The Tuan displayed a boyish grin. “Marvelous! I do so look forward to speaking with all of you and hearing the stories of your adventures. Apartments are being prepared for you at my palace, where I hope you will honor me as my guests.”
Amlina bowed, nervous again. “Of course. We are greatly honored.”
“But it seems I have interrupted your arrival,” the Tuan said. “Pray forgive me. I know you must proceed to the House of the Deepmind to present the magical treasures to the Archimage. My party shall accompany you there. Then, this evening, we shall meet again at the palace, at a feast in your honor.”
With an amiable smile he turned and ascended the steps. All present bowed as he reached the summit and resumed his seat. Gongs sounded and the crowd made way as the palanquin was lifted and turned. The Tuan’s entourage moved off to the stately beat of cymbals and drums.
Clorodice and Melevarry stood beside Amlina as chariots wheeled near, pulled by teams of talicats.
“Come,” Clorodice ordered brusquely. “The Archimage awaits.”
Amlina complied, thinking how her long, stressful day had now grown even longer.
The Tuan’s dining hall was illuminated by paper lanterns—white globes suspended from the high ceiling on tiny threads so they appeared to float in the air. The floor rose in concentric, half-circle tiers to a high dais where the Tuan’s party sat at the royal table. Behind the dais, wall panels were open, revealing a splendid view of gardens, groves, and lawns, ending at the gleaming water of Perfect Light Lake. The gentle splash of fountains sounded as a contrast to the clatter and babbling conviviality of the feast. The soft air of twilight drifted in, carrying the scent of jasmine and orchids to mingle with the delicious smells of roasted meats, soups, and spices.
The royal table was occupied by the Tuan, high officials of his court, and the guests of honor, Melevarry the Mage of Randoon and Amlina, the honored witch on this the day of her triumphant return. Curving tables on the tiers below were crowded with courtiers, magistrates, ambassadors, and their guests—all arranged according to their rank and honors on this evening.
In a state of dreamy weariness, Amlina gazed at the crowded hall and the floating globes of light. Earlier in the day, she had been paraded through streets lined by cheering throngs, riding in a chariot with Clorodice, the Keeper of the Keys. Arriving at last at the huge, shiny black edifice known as Ting Ta Roo, the House of the Deepmind, she had climbed the steps to the obsidian portico and delivered the Cloak of the Two Winds and the scrolls of Eglemarde into the hands of Drusdegarde, the Archimage—thus completing the return of the magical treasures that Beryl had stolen over a century ago. The moment the last scroll left her hands, a sense of enormous relief descended, her heart fluttering. It was all she could do to stand erect and grasp the hands of the Archimage, a gaunt elderly witch, who regarded her with a mixture of admiration and uncertain suspicion. Already informed about Amlina’s wish to seek healing for her affliction, the Archimage had promised to welcome her into the House of the Deepmind in a few days time, after Amlina had had a chance to rest. Then the Inner Council would receive her and hear any petitions she cared to make.
With the Cloak and the scrolls safely within the walls of Ting Ta Roo, Amlina and her friends had been driven east across the city to the Tuan’s Celestial Palace. Conducted to spacious apartments overlooking a garden of floss silk and bougainvillea, they’d been given food and drink, offered baths and fresh clothing, and allowed to rest ahead of the evening’s banquet.
Now, Amlina had to force herself to make polite conversation with Melevarry and the Tuan’s ministers. The relief of delivering the Cloak still comforted her. But already a gnawing fear constricted her stomach. She recalled the malice in the eyes of Duke Pheng, the instinctive recognition of a dangerous enemy. And she remembered the mistrust she had seen in the face of Drusdegarde—understandable, certainly. For although Amlina had defeated Beryl and brought back what she had stolen, Amlina was herself a renegade witch, one damaged by forbidden sorcery. Would the Archimage and the Council take steps to help her, or would they send her back into exile? Even if they did decide to offer her aid, would it be enough to cure her affliction? She had this day achieved her great goal, yet her fate seemed uncertain as ever.
One level below the royal dais, Eben was seated with his mates and Kizier and Melevarry’s apprentice witches. Between bites of roast fowl and fish and sips of chilled wine, his eyes scanned the crowd, which numbered in the hundreds. He had hoped to see Trippany here tonight, but so far she had not appeared. On the far side of the hall he did spot several of the winged people, seated together on a lower tier. Inquiring of one of Melevarry’s group, he learned that this was the party of Prince Spegis Besu Keli, the ambassador from the Drell Forest. Given the distance, Eben had peered closely before satisfying himself that Trippany was not with the party.
“This is what I call a feast,” Karrol said, sticking her knife into a crispy roasted bird to retrieve it from a serving platter.
“Yes, and a beautiful palace,” Lonn opined. “I think we will like being guests here, however long it lasts.”
“Amlina looks tired,” Glyssa said.
Eben followed her eyes to the high dais, where the witch was seated in a place of honor beside the young Tuan.
“Of course she is,” Draven said. “This whole journey has been hard for her.”
Having eaten all he wanted, Eben prodded Kizier who sat beside him. “I wanted to learn more about the Tuan,” he said. “He is a but a boy, and yet the supreme ruler of the land. This is hard for me to understand.”
“Well, as I said, it is complicated.” The scholar set down his goblet. “And I can only speak as a foreigner, so some of the nuances are no doubt lost on me. But firstly, the Tuan’s primary and most important duties are ceremonial—to perform and participate in rituals meant to ensure the prosperity of the realm and the um … continuation of the Sacred Mandate.”
“The Sacred Mandate. What is that?”
“Essentially, it is the blessings of the ancestors, particularly all previous Tuans. The Larthangans place great importance on the unbroken succession of the dynasty. Indeed—and this is difficult for foreigners to grasp—it is believed that every Tuan takes on the consciousness of all their predecessors, that the Tuan, in a kind of trance state,
can confer with any of these ancestors and acquire their knowledge and wisdom.”
“A strange idea, do you think?” A brash, boyish voice spoke behind them.
Eben turned his head to find the Tuan, standing at his elbow, backed by two solemn-faced attendants.
“Ha ha! Forgive me. I did not mean to startle you!”
Everyone at Eben’s table rose and bowed stiffly.
“No, no, my friends,” the Tuan flapped his hands, signaling them down. “Please, no excessive courtesies. This is your festivity. I am an interloper.”
“You speak Tathian,” Eben observed.
The Tuan grinned. “Yes. I have been tutored in the tongue. May I join you?”
“Of course,” Glyssa said. “We would be honored.”
The boy signed to a servant who stepped forward with a high royal chair. Around the table, the Mage’s apprentices looked flustered, rose once more, and bowed. The Iruks, still seated, watched in bemusement. The chair was set down and the Tuan climbed into it, sitting on his heels. His large attendants stood behind him, arms crossed, faces set in sober frowns.
He gestured with a folded fan he carried. “Pray go on with your dining.” Turning to Eben and Kizier, he said: “You were discussing the Sacred Mandate, and how I can speak with my ancestors. It is true. I can call their voices to me—like wandering through a library and selecting a book from the shelves. Most unusual, wouldn’t you say?”
“Quite remarkable,” Kizier answered. “Can you summon these experiences at will, or does it require ritual actions?”
“Ha ha! I can usually just shut my eyes and ask. Sometimes they even come without invitation! I have had this ability ever since I ascended the throne. Do you know my name?”
“No, August Ruler,” Kizier replied. “Only your title.”
“Of course! Only titles are used at ceremonial functions. And my full name is seldom spoken at all. This is because it includes the names of all of my ancestor Tuans, and takes more than an hour to say! Can you imagine? In shortened form, it is Me Lo Lee. I hope you will all address me as Me Lo, and that we shall be friends.” He looked eagerly around the table. Behind him, one of the tall attendants cleared his throat.
Me Lo smiled. “Sometimes my noble elders opine that I am too frivolous and should adopt a more solemn mien on all occasions. But then one or other of my ancestors will speak in my mind and remind me that I am just a boy, and there is no harm if I enjoy myself a little.”
Eben had to laugh. “I agree with your ancestors. One should enjoy oneself as much as possible, especially when a child.”
“So we agree!” the Tuan cried. “I expected it would be so. I long to hear all about your adventures, and to learn about the Iruk people. For, though I have consulted with the vast number of my ancestors, we know very little of your folk.”
“We are at your service, sir,” Lonn said.
“I thank you.” The Tuan smiled. “I tried to speak with the esteemed Amlina about your travels, but she had little to say. I fear she is tired tonight, which of course is understandable. I must say, she surprises me. Given her mighty deeds, I expected a powerful and robust woman, but I find her thin and fragile, almost a child herself.”
“She has been ill,” Glyssa disclosed.
“Oh, I did not know. I am so sorry to hear this. I shall place my royal physicians at her disposal.”
“That is very generous,” Kizier said. “But the illness is … metaphysical. Amlina hopes to find healing at the House of the Deepmind. But she is not certain it will be offered.”
The boy’s face showed puzzlement. “Why should it not be offered? And to so worthy a witch?”
Kizier’s expression was guarded. “I am uncertain, August Ruler, but I believe the matter is complex.”
“Oh, yes?” Me Lo sighed. “The affairs of witches are often abstruse.” After pondering this a moment, his face brightened. “You know, as the avatar of all the Tuans, I have a seat on the Inner Council. Perhaps I can exert some influence …”
Seventeen
The floor of the council chamber was wide, circular, and invisible. Walking over it with Melevarry at her side, Amlina seemed to be treading on air. Below her shoes lay a shifting image—white clouds floating in a deep cerulean sky.
In shade cast by the brilliance of the floor, a semi-circle of figures faced her from a dais, seated behind high podiums, each with two or more attendants. The witches of the Inner Council wore elaborate hats above faces painted with white and red ceremonial makeup. At the center was Drusdegarde, the gaunt Archimage, with her sloping shoulders and flinty eyes. Beside her sat Clorodice, Keeper of the Keys, and on her other side the Tuan, his gold robes and bright, child’s face an incongruous sight. Flanking these sat an array of high witches whose official posts, Amlina knew, included Keeper of the Books, Keeper of the Forge, Mage of the Academy, and four of the nine provincial Mages currently visiting Minhang. Melevarry’s own podium stood empty as she had chosen to stand with Amlina and advocate for her. Amlina was not entirely sure why.
A coach had awaited her at the palace gates and driven her through a gray, rainy morning to the House of the Deepmind. Amlina was grateful, as she had spent a sleepless night, struggling with the angry power inside her, the obsessive hunger and rage that had become almost a creature with a will of its own. For the first time in many days, Amlina had cut herself to quiet the beast, and numbly watched as the blood dripped down her arm.
Awaiting her under the portico of Ting Ta Roo, the Mage of Randoon had remarked on how drawn and haggard Amlina looked and inquired if she was well enough to face the Inner Council. Unwilling to delay the confrontation, Amlina had offered what assurances she could. With Melevarry leading the way, they had passed the main gates and marched through corridors and pillared halls, arriving here at last.
Now they stopped at the center of the floor, the brightest spot in the chamber. The faces of the Councilors, lit from below by the sky image, regarded Amlina with shadowed expressions.
“Honored Amlina,” Drusdegarde began in her wheezing voice. “You have done a great service to the Land. You are invited now to present petitions. What recompense do you seek for your service?”
Coached by Melevarry, Amlina had prepared her words. “I returned the Cloak and the Scrolls to their true owners. I ask no rewards for following this rightful course. But I do seek succor from the House of the Deepmind. First, I am afflicted with an illness of spirit, and I believe my best hope for healing lies within these walls. I request healing rites be performed on my behalf. Second, should this healing prove successful and I am made fit again, I request that I be granted the gray mantle of an adept, which I believe my accomplishments now merit. Third and lastly, assuming I attain these first two gifts, I request that I be considered as candidate for the post of Keeper of the Cloak, which has been vacant since the Cloak was stolen long ago.”
Her last appeal brought an intake of breath from the figures on the dais. Below her feet, the floor shifted, clouds now colliding. Amlina fought down the feeling of vertigo and stared levelly at Drusdegarde.
But it was Clorodice who spoke: “She is certainly not lacking ambition.” Her statement brought nods and grunts of agreement from several of the podiums.
Amlina drew in a breath to reply, but Melevarry touched her arm. “Obviously, ambition is a key element of her character. Else she could never have accomplished what she has in winning back the stolen treasures.”
“That is so,” the Archimage said. “But we have much to consider here. First, Amlina, you must tell us all about your illness, its causes and effects on you. Rumors have circulated on the matter, and I have spoken in private with Lady Melevarry. But the entire Council must hear it, and from your lips.”
Amlina swallowed. She had known this would be necessary. “The illness is the result of forbidden practice, an ancient ensorcellment that I performed.”
“We have heard that the rite involved blood magic,” said the Mage of the Academy, a w
itch named Linskarra.
“It is true,” Amlina replied, as a murmur crept around the dais. “I do not deny it. But I will tell you what led me to take that course.”
Her voice quavering at times, she related her tale. She had left Larthang after studying four years at the Academy of the Deepmind, but failing to advance to the rank of adept. She had gone first to the Tathian lands and lived there for a time, seeking to build her knowledge—especially of trinketing, the art of constructing magical objects. Beryl, the renegade Archimage of the East, was said to be the greatest trinketer of the age and eventually Amlina how decided to go to Tallyba. She had disregarded the stories of Beryl’s pernicious sorcery, and learned too late that those stories were true. First confined to a dungeon, then serving as a kitchen slave, Amlina had eventually been taken on as Beryl’s apprentice. She lived for seven years in the Archimage’s court, and in that time learned some inklings of the powerful, ancient arts that Beryl practiced. But, she swore, she herself had never engaged in either blood magic or Nyssanian sorcery. Eventually, sensing that Beryl was turning against her, Amlina had stolen the Cloak of the Two Winds and fled, intending to restore the Cloak to Larthang. When the prize was stolen from her in turn, she followed its trail to the Tathian port of Kadavel. There, she managed to rescue the Cloak from a serd sorcerer who was bent on destroying it. But Beryl too had followed the trail. She appeared and snatched the Cloak. Amlina would have died then but that her Iruk warriors forced the already-wounded Beryl to retreat.
Amlina and her crew also fled Kadavel, taking refuge in the far northern land of Gwales. They wintered in the Castle of Meghild, queen of one of the Gwales tribes. Amlina pondered her next move. From a magical book she had stolen from the serd’s lair, she learned of an ensorcellment called The Mirror Against All Mishap—which, the book suggested, would provide her the power she needed to defeat Beryl and win back the Cloak. Repelled by the idea of using blood magic, Amlina had invoked the trance ritual known as Bowing to the Sky, vowing to take whatever course the Deepmind chose for her. That rite seemed to indicate that using blood magic was indeed what she ought to do. Still, Amlina had resisted, until a conversation with Queen Meghild. Old and crippled, the queen vowed that she would willingly give her life in exchange for one last voyage of adventure.