by Jack Massa
In late afternoon, under a clear sky, Amlina arrived at the gates of Ting Ta Roo. She wore her best witch’s robe, the gold and red garment she had been given for the Tournament. She carried a dagger in her belt and wore her moonstone fillet. On a whim, she had plaited her long blond hair in the Iruk fashion. If she was to be reproached for foreign influences, she would own it boldly and without shame.
An attendant conducted her down the long pillared corridors to the chamber of the Inner Council. Presently, the doors swung open and she was called to enter. In a mood of curiosity but little fear, she crossed the alcove and strode over the invisible floor. Its image, like the sky outside, was pale blue with wisps of cloud. Amlina scanned the dais and the faces of the high witches, seated at their podiums with attendants clustered behind. Among the fifteen Councilors, she spotted Shen Tra Lo. Apparently, the Tournament champion had already been installed as Keeper of the Cloak and taken her seat on the Council. Amlina’s twinge of regret over that fact vanished when she spotted Melevarry on the far left. Appearing much recovered, the Mage of Randoon offered Amlina a broad smile.
“Amlina Len Tai,” the Archimage began. “Firstly, the Council wishes to congratulate you on your excellent performance at the Tournament.”
Amlina nodded and said nothing.
“Secondly,” Drusdegarde continued, “we require you to describe exactly what occurred prior to and during the final event. Publicly, we described your condition as due to a fainting spell. We charge you now to provide a full and truthful account.”
Amlina drew in a breath and selected her words with care. “I sensed through the Deepmind that my friends, the Iruk warriors, were in danger. I managed to forge a mind-link with one of them, the woman Glyssa, whom I have trained in the magical arts. I discovered that she had been abducted by the so-called phingarr, and was being held prisoner in an underground tomb. I assisted her in breaking out of a light-cage and then opening the gates to the tomb. The rest of the Iruks were waiting outside, along with several drell warriors in the service of the Drell Ambassador. Later, I assisted them again in defeating elemental guardians that had emerged from murals in the tunnel. The Iruks and drells were then able to enter the tomb and kill the phingarr.”
As she spoke, tensions flowed in the air. The floor streamed with fast-moving clouds. The shadowed faces of the Inner Council stared down from the dais.
“Most interesting,” Drusdegarde said. “And it conforms with what Prince Spegis has reported to the Tuan.”
“Most remarkable,” said Kanshi, Keeper of the Forge. “If this is true, how do you account for the fact that you were able to pierce the concealments around the phingarr, when all the efforts applied by the House of the Deepmind failed?”
Again, Amlina trod with care. “I can only surmise it is because I have a strong affinity with my Iruk friends.”
Crandora, Keeper of the Books, asked: “Can you explain the source of this most potent affinity?”
Amlina sighed—there was no avoiding the question. “The Iruks are barbarians, a wild people, close to nature. They form hunting bands called klarns. These klarns embody a group soul, a binding of their hearts and minds.”
“And you were able to forge a mind-link with the Iruk woman through this group soul?” Crandora asked.
“Yes. Because I am part of it. I am a member of the klarn.”
Soft gasps issued from several spots on the podium.
“I realize this is unorthodox, an alien magic,” Amlina said. “But I have found no evil in it.”
“Indeed,” Melevarry noted, in a voice surprisingly firm. “In this case, the wild magic succeeded in overcoming a great evil—one which all of our orthodox practices failed to penetrate.”
The other Councilors showed varied expressions: neutral, disturbed, curious, or intrigued.
“You might censure me for this,” Amlina declared. “If so, I will accept your judgment. You may even revoke my right to practice as a witch of Larthang or send me back into exile. But I will not deny my friends or renounce our bond.”
“Be not so hasty, Amlina,” Drusdegarde said. “No one has spoken of punishment. Despite the unusual bent of your arts, I find only good in you. And, as Lady Melevarry has observed, in this case you have once again done great service to the Land. One further question though: Do I understand correctly that you deliberately chose to enter this mind-link a few moments before the pure shaping event? You must have known you were probably casting away any chance of victory.”
“It is so. Much as I desired to win the Tournament, I would not risk the lives of my friends—my klarnmates.”
The Archimage peered at her a moment longer. “Sisters. Let us withdraw to private council.”
Around the dais, the witches grew still, their faces changing to blank masks. As they convened in psychic communication, the floor became a clear and empty void.
Amlina waited, glancing around the chamber, peering into the faces of the attendants and assistant witches, wondering what the Council would decide.
After a time, the high witches shifted in their seats. Melevarry smiled. Drusdegarde grunted to clear her throat.
“Amlina Len Tai, the Council has discussed your case and voted. First, as you likely have heard, the witch Clorodice died two days ago, at the very time the ogre was slain. It has been verified that Clorodice was psychically bound to the phingarr, that she created this evil being using forbidden sorcery. Now, as you know, it was intended that the champion of the Tournament would receive the honor of becoming Keeper of the Cloak of the Two Winds and take her seat on this Council. However, our sister Shen Tra Lo has declined that honor. Instead, she has elected to join us in the vacated post of Keeper of the Keys. Therefore, given your performance in the Tournament and history with the Cloak, and in honor of your great service to the Land, the Council has voted to offer you the post of Keeper of the Cloak. Will you accept?”
Stunned, Amlina glanced at Melevarry and then back at the Archimage. A wide grin spread across her face. “I will accept, most gratefully.”
“Very good,” Drusdegarde said. “Your investiture ceremony will take place this afternoon. A climate of danger and disruption still threatens the Land, and we should not leave so important a magical treasure unattended.”
After three days filled with worry, Eben at last gained permission to visit Trippany. Carrying a bouquet of roses, he followed a steward down the corridor on the ground floor of Prince Spegis’ mansion. Arriving in the high central hall, he stepped onto a platform of light bamboo. Two drell servants plied their wings to lift the platform to a gallery far above the floor. The drells’ residence had no stairs.
In a bright and airy apartment, he found Trippany lying in a kind of hammock. Her wings extended below into a porcelain tub filled with some sort of healing liquid. Eben had been told that her torn and frayed wings were expected to regenerate, and the lady should be capable of flying again in two or three small-months.
Her eyes sparkled when she saw him. Noticing the roses, she smiled. “You brought me flowers?”
“Uh, yes. I understand they are an appropriate gift for one recovering from illness.” Awkwardly, Eben looked for a place to set them down.
“They are lovely,” Trippany said.
Eben handed the bouquet to a drell maid who flew forward to accept them. Another servant brought him a chair.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“I am recovering.” She lifted her arm, showed him the white remnants of claw marks. “I have scars now too, though not so bad as the one on your head. Do they make me less attractive?”
Eben laughed. “Not in the least.”
“I am glad.” Her voice thickened. “Oh, Eben. It was so horrible. Only five days, yet it seemed much longer. I thought he would devour me. Toward the end, I wished to die.”
“I am ashamed,” he said, “because I failed to protect you that night.”
She frowned a moment, not understanding. �
�Oh, no! There is no shame. You are my brave warrior, my loving poet. I thought of you often. I knew you would keep searching for me. That thought gave me hope.”
“I am glad. I was so happy when we found you alive.”
They were quiet for a time, gazing into each other’s eyes.
“What will you do, once you are healed?” he asked.
“Oh, I suppose I will return to the House of the Deepmind, continue my studies. What of you? Will you and your crew stay in Larthang?”
“I think so. Amlina is now a high witch. My mates and I will become her retainers … I hope that means we can see each other sometimes?”
Trippany smiled. “I would be happy. When I am fully healed and can fly again, perhaps I might take you to visit my homeland. When the summers come again would be best. Our forests are so beautiful then.”
“I would enjoy that very much.” Eben grinned.
The drell nodded, pleased. “We shall see.”
“Let the winds blow so they will?” Eben quoted.
She gave a faint laugh. “Oh, but I never told you the next line of that song.”
“Is there a next line?”
“Let the winds blow so they will,” she recited. “But fly against them when you must.”
Four days after her investiture, in her first public duty as member of the Inner Council, Amlina attended a conclave in the Castle of the Golden Land. Wearing the Cloak of the Two Winds, she sat with the other high witches in a gallery adjacent to the Dark Bright Throne. The boy Tuan appeared like a small and shiny sun on the massive throne, clothed in gold raiment, flanked by close advisors. An assortment of ministers, magistrates, generals, and admirals filled the other galleries of the hall.
The session had been called to review the matter of the phingarr and the uncovered conspiracy. The witch Arkasha, found in the phingarr’s lair, had been arrested by the Imperial Guard. Under the threat of torture, she had confessed details of the plot, implicating Clorodice and the other witches of her circle. Those women in turn had been arrested and interrogated. The ones who had participated directly in the abduction and murder of innocent civilians were to be tried by the Tuan’s magistrates and likely beheaded. Others, judged of less culpability, would do penance in the House of the Deepmind.
Of course, the faction known as The Thread of Virtue included many who were not witches. Amlina listened as nobles, influential scholars, magistrates, and civil officials were brought before the conclave and interrogated. Naturally, all denied any knowledge of or involvement with the heinous sorcery of the phingarr. These men and women were given leave to depart with their freedom, though Amlina understood that their activities and writings would be monitored going forward. The Thread of Virtue, as a viable power in the Land, might not recover.
Also implicated in the initial confessions were certain military men. Late in the day, Duke Trem-Dou Pheng, Supreme Commander of the Larthangan Forces, marched into the audience hall. Two Imperial Guardsman flanked him. The Duke was a stout, broadly built man of middle age. His hair and beard were perfectly groomed, his gait steady. Yet Amlina sensed the man was weary and unnerved. No doubt, he had already endured a long and pointed interrogation.
In a voice loud enough to be heard across the hall, the examining magistrate informed the Duke of the charges against him. Several witches of Clorodice’s circle had implicated the Duke and his sons in their conspiracy. Arkasha, Elani Vo T’ang, and others had testified that the Duke personally delivered to Clorodice his nephew, Shay-Ni Pheng, as the victim whose body would be transformed into the phingarr.
Duke Pheng answered with unruffled aplomb. “Of course these charges are nonsense. I am Supreme Commander of the Tuan’s Forces. What have I to do with the plots of witches?”
“Can you then account for the whereabouts of Admiral Shay-Ni Pheng?” the magistrate pressed.
The Duke evinced a shade of discomfort. “Sadly, no. My nephew disappeared from the Capital some time ago, without informing either his superior officers or our family. He had been distraught for some time, owing to reverses in his career …”
“Then you did not hand your nephew over to the witch Clorodice?”
“Certainly not.”
“For what reason should these witches, who face likely execution, dream up your involvement in their heinous conspiracy?”
“I cannot imagine the motivations of such deranged individuals,” Duke Pheng replied. “But I say again, I am a military man. Those under my command have always served the Tuan and the Land. There are many high ranking lords in both the army and navy who will swear as to my honor and loyalty. Moreover, these lords command large numbers of troops, and are loyal to me personally.”
The stress he placed on those last words suggested a threat: should Pheng be arrested, a mutiny might result. From the uneasy murmur that crept over the chamber, Amlina realized others had interpreted it that way as well.
“Duke Pheng.” The Tuan spoke up in his clear, high voice. His tone was solemn yet serene. “I am informed of many occasions in our history when ambitious generals have led rebellions against their Tuans. Sometimes these men have succeeded. More often, they failed and paid with their heads.” He let the words settle, then continued, once again using the ritual phrase that cited his mystical authority as avatar of all the Tuans. “I am also informed of the case of one Olam Vo Sing, a general under the 94th Tuan. This lord was implicated, perhaps falsely, in a plot against his monarch. Though he protested innocence, he wisely chose to avoid a trial and accept exile to the mountains of his native province. There he lived in seclusion to a ripe age, fished in the lakes, walked in his orchards, and wrote worthy books. Meanwhile, his sons were able to continue their service and his house to thrive.”
Silence again settled over the hall. The Tuan had offered the Duke a way to save face while preserving both his head and the fortunes of his family. Removed from the affairs of the Capital, he could live out his life, no doubt under guard, at some country estate. His sons and their careers would be spared.
Head bowed, the Duke seemed to struggle over the idea. After a tense passage of time, he lifted his eyes to the throne. “August Ruler, I find General Vo Sing’s story most engaging. Perhaps, with your permission, I will resign my post as Supreme Commander, and leave my noble sons to continue their service to your throne. Retirement to my manor in Tulong Province might prove most beneficial to my health.”
The boy on the throne grinned. “We find your suggestion both wise and agreeable, noble Duke. You have our leave to depart to the country with all haste.”
His face a neutral mask, Duke Pheng marched from the hall in step with the two guardsmen.
“August Ruler,” the examining magistrate said, “I believe this concludes all matters for the conclave.”
Many in the galleries shifted as if to rise. But suddenly the Tuan leaped from his throne. “One thing more,” he cried, appearing less the divine ruler and more the nine-year-old boy.
When everyone was listening, he continued. “My noble councilors and officials of the Land, we would be amiss at this moment if we did not pause to convey our gratitude and respect to persons who have served us most nobly. I speak of Amlina, now Keeper of the Cloak, and her brave Iruk warriors, though they be not present. Months ago, these nobles brought one of our great magical treasures back to Larthang. In these past days, they have kept that treasure’s power from falling into the hands of evil conspirators. I give you Amlina and her noble warriors.”
Across the chamber, the ruling elite of Larthang stood as one, cheering and applauding. Cheeks burning, Amlina rose and bowed.
Epilogue
Before the
Tournament of Warriors
Chill rain and sleet blew in from the north. Less than a small-month from the start of First Summer, yet the weather had turned cold. Standing before the wide crystal window, Eben watched the icy drizzle fall on the front yard and the avenue beyond.
The mansion dee
ded to Amlina as Keeper of the Cloak was located in a prosperous warren of widely spaced houses midway between the Tuan’s palace and Ting Ta Roo. Three stories high, with carpeted halls, tall ceilings, and tapestry-covered walls, it had proven a most pleasant place to live—offering ample room for Amlina, her servants, and the Iruks who remained.
“Is she coming yet?” Karrol called from the staircase in the entry hall.
“You mean is he coming,” Eben answered. “No. Not yet.”
“He, he! Yes, I’ll remember.”
Karrol’s boots thudded as she stamped back up the stairs. For all she tried to hide it, she plainly felt uneasy about today’s gathering.
Just over a year ago the klarnmates had sailed from Fleevanport with Amlina. That year had wrought changes in all of them. Karrol had changed the least, Eben supposed, and so she was finding it hardest to adjust.
Eben wandered over to a chair by the fireplace and picked up his lute. He had started playing the instrument during Second Winter, as an accompaniment to his poetry performances. A beginner, he was far from proficient. Still, plucking out a tune soothed his nerves and made contemplation easy.
Of all the mates, he might have changed the most—well, except of course for Brinda now. Who could have predicted that a drunken Iruk pirate would evolve into a successful Larthangan poet? Over the three winters, his performances had grown popular—some of his work was even printed and sold at bookseller stalls. Also, he was something of a scholar, spending pleasant afternoons in the palace library or in learned conversations with Kizier and other intellectuals. Sometimes he took tea with the Tuan and his coterie of savants—including Buroof the talking book.
Of course Eben remained a fit warrior, one of Amlina’s household guard. He trained daily with Lonn, Draven, Glyssa, and Karrol—although that group would be changing now. Along with spear, sword, and dagger, the Iruks had taken up the crossbow. Lonn and Draven had even decided to compete in the upcoming Tournament of Warriors. That competition, unlike the Witches’ Tournament, allowed large numbers to enter the opening rounds.