by Jack Massa
At the base of the steps, Amlina bowed. “August Ruler, I am of course at your service.”
He gestured for her to approach.
Amlina climbed the seven steps of the dais. The attendants watched her with grim expressions, perhaps with suspicion. Amlina recognized a few of them: Wu Tong the Primary Minister, Lord Han Sim, the palace steward, other high magistrates and city officials. One woman wore the red robe of a seer. To her surprise, Amlina also spied a podium holding a large volume with shimmering pages—Buroof the talking book.
The Tuan read her glance. “We sit in the presence of our most trusted advisors, as well as of Buroof, who has given us much useful knowledge.”
Amlina bowed her head. “How may I assist?”
The Tuan’s gaze was wide and unfocused. “Signs and omens are inauspicious. We had hoped, Amlina, that your arrival in the Land and the return of our lost treasures might mark the beginning of new, good fortune for our reign. But the opposite has occurred.”
He spoke as if channeling an oracle. Amlina listened with parted lips.
“The military campaign against Gon Fu has failed. Perhaps a Tuan who was older, not a child, could have been more forceful in averting this disaster.”
The statement was questionable, from what Amlina knew. The Iron Bloc was powerful and determined. They had started the war even before the young Tuan was crowned.
“Following on the military debacle, the summer harvest has been poor. There will likely be shortages and rationing. Granaries must be guarded to avoid riots … These are our concerns not yours, Amlina. But another evil portend has lately appeared, within the confines of Minhang itself. In the past month, five murders have occurred in the northwest warrens. Both adults and children have been killed, seized on the streets or abducted from their homes. Worse, remains that were found were partially eaten. Have you heard anything of these atrocities?”
“Nothing, August Ruler.” Absorbed in preparing for the Tournament, she had deliberately avoided news from beyond the walls of Ting Ta Roo.
“Of course, you have been sequestered.” After a moment, the boy continued. “In regard to these murders, witnesses have been scarce—indicating the likely use of magical concealments. The two accounts that have surfaced are most bizarre: a shambling beast was seen, accompanied by figures dressed in black, hooded capes. The latter might be sorcerers or even renegade witches from some hidden cabal in Ting Ta Roo. As for the creature, we have consulted our ancestor Tuans and antique books, as well as the tortoise shell oracle. Buroof has been a welcome source of additional information. From all of the evidence, we are led to suspect that this monstrous being is a phingarr or anti-self. Accounts of such a creature date back to the centuries of dangerous magic that precipitated the Age of the World’s Madness. In those times, Larthangan witchery, the alchemy of the Tathians, and the sorceries of Nyssan were often mixed—sometimes with disastrous results. One reason we have asked you here, Amlina, is that you have familiarity with foreign practices. Do you know anything of formulations that might produce such a creature?”
Amlina swallowed, scanning the faces of the Tuan’s advisors. Did they suspect her of creating this abomination? Had some enemy contrived to cast the blame on her?
“I learned small bits of alchemy in the Tathian lands, and I have studied some threads of Nyssanian sorcery. Beryl, the former queen of Tallyba, cast ensorcellments that transformed humans into sometimes hideous shapes. But she kept this knowledge to herself. In any case, on my honor, I would never have pursued such abhorrent magic.”
The Tuan peered at her intently. Suddenly, in Amlina’s mind, the chamber seemed to fracture. She found herself standing in another hall—like this, but enormously long. From an endless series of redwood pillars, faces peered down at her, reading her depths.
Next instant, she was back on the dais. The boy Tuan watched her with a half-smile.
“The second reason we summoned you, Amlina, is because certain signs and prognostications indicated that you were connected to these murders. By the wisdom of my ancestors, I perceive that you are certainly not the author of the evil. And yet, I still discern a link. The nature of that link is hidden by powerful agencies. One may guess that, since you are not the source, you might somehow be the target. We are aware there has already been one attempt to assassinate you. We counsel you to be careful, and to examine all forces that come into your ken for any sign of malevolence.”
“Thank you, August Ruler. I will certainly stay on my guard.”
“Thank you for attending me here. The chariot will return you to Ting Ta Roo.”
Amlina bowed to the Tuan and then to the courtiers. She backed cautiously down the steps.
“Oh, one thing more.” The Tuan had slid from his seat. His manner was once again that of the amiable boy. “I wish you all success in the Tournament!”
As she arrived back at the House of the Deepmind, Amlina’s spirit was in turmoil. Intuition told her the Tuan was correct—somehow she was a target of this heinous sorcery loose in the city. Further, these designs somehow connected to her fearful dreams and the forces that seemed intent on sapping her confidence for the Tournament.
Night had fallen as she climbed the steps of Ting Ta Roo. Only three more days till the Tournament’s first event. Amlina had missed her scheduled time to work on the formulation. She wondered if she should apply herself to that task before bedtime, in lieu of pure shaping practice. Either way, she decided she would skip supper. She had lost all appetite for food.
Passing through the tall bronze doors, she met with a new interruption. The porter informed her that Drusdegarde, the Archimage, had left word that she wished to see Amlina immediately on her return from the palace.
A neophyte witch was summoned and conducted Amlina down long corridors and through spacious high-vaulted chambers. At the far end of the complex, Amlina trudged up a seemingly-endless spiral stair inside a slender minaret. At the very top, she entered a bare, round chamber walled in gleaming onyx. Drusdegarde sat in the center on a cushion, her body still in meditation.
Without opening her eyes, the Archimage ordered Amlina to shut the door and sit down on the cushion in front of her. Drusdegarde was a slim, vibrant woman, with loose white hair and wrinkled complexion. Her age was unknown, but she had been Archimage for over forty years—meaning she was at least in her nineties.
Eyes still shut, she spoke as soon as Amlina was seated. “Why did the Tuan wish to see you?”
Frowning with annoyance, Amlina launched into an abbreviated account of her meeting.
“Yes, we are deeply concerned by these cannibalistic murders,” Drusdegarde interrupted. “Sorcery, no doubt. There are even hints that the origins of this evil lie within Ting Ta Roo itself. As to whom is responsible: we have not yet identified the culprits. But rest assured, we shall. And the Tuan’s information suggests a phingarr? I shall have to consult the old books on that …”
“May I go now?” Amlina asked.
“No. You may not. Did the Tuan suggest at all that you yourself might be suspected?”
“He did,” Amlina answered, thrusting our her chin. “He examined me and found me blameless. ‘By the wisdom of my ancestors’ were his exact words.”
“Were they indeed? I am happy that he shows such confidence in you. I, myself, must reserve judgment. Like the Tuan, I perceive the influence of barbaric magic. And of all the witches currently residing in Ting Ta Roo, you alone are known to be schooled in foreign arts. It has even been suggested that the assassination attempted on your person was actually a blind to divert suspicion.”
Amlina was losing patience. “Is that what you believe?”
The elder witch pursed her lips. “I am not certain. You are favored by the Tuan, and he enjoys the Mandate of the Ancestors. I must respect his judgment—up to a point. My main concern is this: Should you win the Tournament and earn the right to wield the Cloak of the Two Winds, that you will use that great power honorab
ly, in service to the Land, and according to the age-old traditions of this House.”
“Had I not wished it so, I would never have delivered the Cloak here.”
“Indeed, that too argues in your favor. You have my blessing to compete in the Tournament. But be assured, I and my Councilors will be watching you for any sign of treachery or malign magic.”
Amlina thrust herself to her feet. The movement caused Drusdegarde to at last open her eyes.
“You will also be watching the other competitors, I hope,” Amlina said.
The Archimage regarded her levelly. “You can rely on it.”
Part Four
At the
Tournament
of Witches
Twenty-Eight
The Tournament of Witches was held each year in Minhang as part of the harvest celebration known as First Winter Festival. In the days prior to the festival, flotillas of paddle boats streamed up the river loaded with grain, swine, and fowl. From north and south came barges bearing cargoes of apples, plums, and pears. From the vineyards of the southwest, casks of new wine arrived at the city docks. The fact that the grain harvest had been poor did little to dampen enthusiasm for the festival—at least in Minhang. From all over Larthang, and as far away as Gon Fu and Zindu, officials, nobles, and wealthy commoners arrived in the city riding in trains of carriages or on pleasure boats.
The walls of the city were decked in flowers. The streets and plazas swarmed with an endless, colorful parade of festival-goers both rich and poor. Scents of smoke and incense flowed on warm breezes from the temples, mixed with the savory aromas of countless cook stalls and the smells of the human crowd and their beasts of burden.
On the first day of First Winter, throngs gathered to watch the Pageant of Witches. To the music of pipes and gongs, the women of the House of the Deepmind paraded to the Celestial Palace. High witches of the Council rode in tali-drawn chariots. Behind them, acolytes and apprentices marched along in their colored robes and hats. Many made signs of benediction to the crowd, or tossed them flakes of glitter or beaded trinkets with magical properties.
The seven competitors in the Tournament of Witches rode in chariots, each standing beside their sponsor. First came Shen Tra Lo, a proficient trinket-maker and apprentice to Kanshi, Keeper of the Forge. Next followed Von Lui-Tong and her sponsor, the Mage of Long Mountain; Tolanga of Gon Fu, famed warrior witch accompanied by Wicksa, Keeper of Swords; Elani Vo T’ang, apprentice to Clorodice, Keeper of the Keys. In the next chariot stood Liska Quenn of Hanjapore, sponsored by the Mage of that City, and behind her came Ulleena Tuvari, a scholar witch sponsored by Crandora, Keeper of the Books.
Last in the procession, and drawing the loudest acclamation, came Amlina, the returned exile who had slain the Archimage of the West and brought the Cloak of the Two Winds home to Larthang. She was accompanied by her sponsor, Melevarry the Mage of Randoon. To many of the crowd, this was their first sighting of the famous Amlina. Although she stood still and straight and deported herself like a trained deepshaper, spectators remarked how small and frail she appeared—not at all the redoubtable warrior witch they had expected.
Many in the crowd had thought Amlina would be favored to win the Tournament. Instead, the gambling houses in the pleasure district favored Ulleena Tuvari, the scholar, and also Tolanga, the redoubtable warrior of Gon Fu. Amlina’s capabilities were too uncertain. The oddsmakers considered her a sleeper and ranked her with the secondary favorites Elani Vo T’ang and Shen Tra Lo the trinket-maker. The other two contestants, unknown witches from the provinces, drew the longest odds.
Staring at the crowd, Amlina herself was contemplating her chances of success. The Mage of Randoon read her thoughts.
“I counseled you before against analyzing the skills of your rivals.”
“I know.” Amlina showed a wan smile.
Her confidence, already dwindling as the Tournament approached, had suffered twin blows the night she was summoned first by the Tuan then by the Archimage. Those interviews had confirmed her impression of potent, malevolent forces converging on the Tournament and, it seemed, aimed at destroying her chances.
“Do not lose focus, Amlina,” Melevarry told her. “All this pomp and fanfare mean nothing. The capabilities of your opponents, the rival factions lending them power—these are beyond your control. All that matters is that you bring your best effort to every event.”
Amlina shook her head. “I fear my best may be inadequate.”
“Then listen to me,” Melevarry replied sternly. “I said in Randoon that I sensed a wildness in you. What I did not express then is my belief that this wildness instills in you extraordinary potential. In these past months, I have seen you work very hard to bring your power under control and align it with rightful principles. I have known many deepshapers in my time Amlina. If you show your best these next five days, I not only believe that you can win but that you will win.”
Amlina stared straight ahead, affected by the Mage’s words and the power in her voice. “My Lady, I am humbled by your confidence in me.”
“Don’t be humbled,” the Mage of Randoon answered. “Be bold!”
That evening the Tuan and the Archimage together presided over the Witches’ Ball. The seven contestants for the Tournament were formally introduced at a banquet in an airy feast hall of the Celestial Palace. The contestants and their sponsors dined on the dais with the Tuan, the Archimage, and the highest-ranking witches and officials of the Land.
As soon as courtesy allowed, Amlina excused herself from the high table. She crossed to the far end of the circular hall, where the Iruks and Kizier were seated among other guests. The mates jumped up and embraced her. They had not seen her for nearly two months.
“You feel wonderfully strong,” Glyssa told her. “I think you will win!”
Amlina only smiled, wishing she felt remotely so confident of her chances as others seemed.
“We were sizing up your opponents,” Eben said. “We hear there’s a lot of wagering.”
“Indeed.” Amlina sat on the bench between Draven and Kizier. “I hope you have not been so foolish as to adopt that Larthangan custom.”
“Certainly not,” Lonn declared. “Iruks are too wise to risk hard-won wealth on matters of chance.”
“No,” Karrol laughed, “we only squander it on too much feasting and drinking.”
“Why do look you at me when you say that?” Eben cried, setting down an empty wine cup.
Amlina joined in the klarnmates’ laughter.
“Oh, but he has an excuse tonight,” Draven said. “He’s performing later, on the poetry stage. He must be a little nervous.”
“Not in the least,” Eben asserted, reaching again for the pitcher.
“You are reading one of your poems?” Amlina asked with surprise. “In Larthangan?”
“It’s not the first time,” Eben said.
“Indeed,” Kizier confirmed. “Eben has become quite adept with the language. His recitals have drawn some acclaim in literary circles.”
“I had no idea,” Amlina said. “My congratulations.”
“Will you come and listen to the reading?” Glyssa asked.
Amlina hesitated. “Not this time. I’m sorry. I really must return to the House of the Deepmind and prepare for tomorrow.”
“We understand.” Eben smiled. “You also must perform.”
Amlina nodded absently.
“We were talking about how the Tournament works,” Brinda said. “I mean, how the winner is decided. Kizier has explained it, and Eben has his own version, but some of us are still confused.”
“It can seem rather involved,” Amlina admitted. She described how, over the next four days, the seven witches would compete in contests based on four of the Revered Arts: deepseeing, formulation, trinketing, and magical combat. The witch placing first in an event would receive seven points, the second-place finisher six points, and so on down to one point for the witch who finished las
t.
“Exactly,” Eben said. “Imagine seven hunting boats racing each other during ice-fishing season. The first boat to arrive at the first hole gets seven fish, the next boat to arrive, six fish, and so it goes. Then everyone gets back in their boats and they race to the next hole. At the seventh hole, everyone counts their take. The crews with the most fish fight it out, and the winner goes home with all the fish.”
Amlina laughed. “That is not at all a bad analogy. After the first four days, the three competitors with the highest scores meet in the final event, pure shaping. The winner of that contest wins the Tournament.
“But what happens if there are more than three?” Brinda asked. “If the scores end up tied?”
“That is why the fourth event is magical combat,” Amlina explained. “If two or more witches tie for third place, they duel until only one is left.”
The mates looked at one another and nodded.
“As Iruks, we find that a sensible way to settle things,” Lonn declared.
Amlina stayed a while longer, enjoying the companionship, feeling how sorely she had missed these friends, their warmth and humor, their brave and loving spirits. But when the banquet was ending and the guests wandering off to other festivities, she decided she had best retire. Draven volunteered to escort her to the outer gates where carriages waited to convey the witches back to Ting Ta Roo.
As they walked together down a long, pillared corridor, Amlina hesitantly reached out and gripped his hand. He had declared that after the Tournament he would decide whether he would stay with her, or leave Larthang. She desperately hoped he would stay.
Suddenly, Draven pulled her aside and hugged her fiercely.
“Oh, my dear one,” she whispered. “How I have missed you.”
“Yes.” His voice was thick.
Amlina leaned back, peered into his eyes. “You have given me so much, and I have returned so little.”