by Carol Berg
Were the Lords leaving me the things? Perhaps they were a puzzle, and when I figured out the answer to it, I would be ready for . . . something. I had no time to think about it just then, for I was going to Notole for the rest of the day, so I threw the things in a small box on the table by my bed. When I got back, I would take another look and try to decipher the riddle.
On my way to the Lords’ house that afternoon, I witnessed a fight in the courtyard between two Zhid. One of the warriors watching the fight told me the two had hated each other for hundreds of years and had decided it was time for one of them to die. When I got to Notole’s workroom, I asked her why the Zhid commanders didn’t stop it. In Leire two soldiers were never allowed to fight each other to the death, no matter how long-standing their grievance.
“So you saw them, eh? A useless quarrel. And how useful are warriors who are so caught up in private business?” She knew what was happening—she knew everything that went on—but she didn’t answer my question. “Let me show you something.”
From a purple velvet bag, she pulled a dull brass ring about as big as my hand. She had me hold out my hand with my palm open. Standing the ring on its end, she blew on it and set it spinning.
“Watch the oculus closely,” she said. As it spun faster, she took her hand away and it stood there on its own, beginning to shine bright gold. Faster and faster the ring spun, catching the light of the candles and her emerald eyes, creating an orb of gold and green light right in my hand. “Now probe the orb,” she said. “Pull the light of it apart with your inner eye—and seek out the disharmony. There . . . you see?”
Inside the orb of light I could see the two Zhid, covered with sweat and blood and hatred, grappling in the courtyard.
So much power there, said Notole, whispering in my ear through the jewels in my earring. Hatred is very powerful, as you know. It has made you more than you were, and can do so whenever you find it. Open your mind to it. Here, let me show you. . . .
Through the jewels in my ear, she reached inside of me. As if she were drawing back a curtain, she pulled back a piece of my thoughts, exposing a dark, empty hole. Into the hole poured a stream of green-and gold-streaked darkness from the center of the spinning ring—pure power, an immense wave of it like nothing I’d experienced before. Fire burned in my veins, filling me, swelling my lungs and stretching my skin. My heart drummed against my chest until I felt like I was going to burst.
Notole let go of my mind and took the ring from my hand, while I gulped air. “Now, my young Prince,” she said, “try it. Touch the glass there on the far shelf.”
I pointed my finger at a wine goblet that glittered in the candlelight across the room, and it shattered into a million pieces at my thought. Three more beside it splintered when I looked at them. A candle flame grew to a bonfire, and then I blew a puff of air in its direction and snuffed it out again. I considered the battling warriors. I couldn’t even see them, but I commanded them to be paralyzed and knew it was done because I could hear their angry and fearful thoughts. I quickly set them to breathing again, for their anger had turned into panic. They were suffocating.
I hadn’t known power could be like this. Drawing a huge breath, I lifted a table with my wish and flew it about the room. A book slipped off the table, but I slowed its falling so that I could catch it before it fell to the floor. All of this as I sat on the edge of my stool. Everything that had been difficult or impossible all these months was now easy.
“Well done, my young Prince. Few in the world—perhaps no one save the three of us—can take so much into themselves so quickly. You will do well. Very well, indeed.” All the Lords were with me in my mind, touching me, smiling at me, pleased with how well I had done. I was pleased, too, and could think of nothing but doing more of it.
When I left the Lords’ house that night, I felt strange and excited, but I noticed that the night was exceptionally dark. Even the giant torches that burned over the entrance to the Lords’ house seemed to have little effect.
A slave sat at the top of the stairs waiting for me. When he took my cloak, his eyes met mine for a moment, and I felt such a wave of terror from him that I stepped back. He averted his eyes quickly. I considered reading his thoughts, but decided I would rather take another look at the puzzle that had been set for me. Maybe I could find some enchantment that had been undetectable before. I told the slave to prepare a bath and wait for me there.
Once the slave was gone, I took the things from the wooden box and examined them again. Bits and pieces. Natural objects, except for the mirror. Not chosen idly. The sand arrangement had taken great care to make; too bad I’d had to spill it. The mirror, too, had taken time to create, yet it was not expertly made. No enchantments on any of it.
My mind flicked to the Leiran boy, but dismissed him almost as quickly. He was not one to speak in riddles, even if he could have gained access to my apartments. I turned over the mirror to look for clues, but when I saw my reflection, I couldn’t think of puzzles anymore. I drew closer to the lamp and took another look. My skin crept over my bones.
My eyes weren’t brown any more, but black, so dark that you couldn’t see where the colored part left off and the pupil began. I threw the mirror and the other things back in the box. Cold and sick, I jumped into the hot bath and sat for an hour trying to think only about power and sorcery and what I might be able to do with them. My slaves didn’t look at me. I ignored their terror and the whispering presence of the Lords who hovered in the deeps of my head telling me how well I had done at my lessons.
I didn’t sleep well. When morning came, I pulled out the mirror and took another look. My eyes were brown again. I was very relieved, and decided it had just been exhaustion. Things often got confusing in Notole’s rooms.
Sword training occupied the morning, but I found it difficult to concentrate on anything but sorcery. But Notole didn’t call me that day, and when I spoke to her, she said she was not available for teaching.
I waited almost a week, the hunger for sorcery burning in me like a fever. At last she called, and I ran across the courtyard and down the stairs to her den, hoping she would open the purple velvet bag and pull out the brass ring. She did.
That day we let our minds travel through the Zhid encampment outside the fortress walls. A troop of warriors was being punished by their commander for lax discipline. The warriors’ anger at the punishment and their desire for revenge was eating away at them as they labored in the desert, but they dared not rebel. With Notole’s help, I drank deep of their fear and hatred, and it tasted better than the first sip of water after a desert march. I was bursting with power.
We practiced control that day—holding objects, stacking them, making them move in precise patterns, and controlling the thoughts of others. The Drudges were easy; they were so dull and afraid, I could make them think anything I wanted. The Zhid were more challenging. Their minds were filled with so many things: war and strategy, fighting skills, and scheming about their fellow warriors and their superiors. I had trouble trying to intrude on their minds, but eventually one of the house guards had a fearsome nightmare in the middle of the day, thanks to me.
It was far into the night when I went back to my rooms. I worked on sharpening my sword, ate a meal, and cleaned myself up. Only then did I pull the wooden square out of the box and look into the polished bit of metal. It had happened again. This time the area of black was larger than the normal colored part of the eye. It didn’t hurt. My eyes just looked strange . . . but no one but slaves or Drudges were going to see them.
My eyes were normal again the next day, and I almost brought the question about them to mind, but I decided against it. The Lords might not let me continue with Notole’s lessons if it kept happening.
Another long week went by before Notole called me to her again and set the oculus spinning. On that day, we watched as the Dar’Nethi survivors of a Zhid raiding party were sealed into their slave collars. An immense surge of power filled me as I liste
ned to their screams. I felt like a volcano, huge and rumbling and dangerous.
“This time we will travel beyond the walls of the fortress and see what we can find for entertainment,” Notole said. She put out the candles, so that the only light in the room came from the emeralds in her golden mask and the green-and-gold orb of the oculus that hung over our heads. I was quivering with the power dammed up inside me. When she took my hands in her dry, withered fingers, she had to speak only one word and our minds came free of our bodies.
I could see everything, just as if I were flying. We soared through the vast temple of the Lords where the three giant statues sat under the roof of stars, and we passed through the walls of the Lords’ house and looked down on the courtyards, crawling with slaves and Drudges and warriors. We sailed into the noonday and called up a whirlwind that turned the air red as it picked up sand, blasting the desert encampments and scouring the cliffs. Warriors and slaves looked like ants crawling on the desert. When I was little I had sometimes dropped grasshoppers and beetles into anthills to see what would happen; now I could do the same with people. So I picked up a few slaves in the whirlwind and deposited them behind the Zhid lines, and I sucked Zhid warriors into the wall of sand and dropped them amid the slaves. Notole laughed, but we didn’t stay to watch them sort it out. Instead we soared into the vast emptiness of the Wastes. Notole showed me how to call up lightning, and for hours I practiced blasting rocks to rubble and setting thorn bushes afire.
Enough, young Lord, Notole said at last, still laughing inside my mind. Save some adventures for another day. We’ve only begun.
Still excited, I left the Lords’ house and walked across the barren courtyard to my house. Lightning . . . I had called down lightning! I couldn’t wait to do it again. For the moment, I was so tired . . . I rubbed my eyes and stumbled a bit. The courtyard was very dark. When I stuck out my hand to catch my balance, I realized I was about to crash into the Gray House wall instead of walking through the gate. Squinting, I felt my way along the wall to the gateway. As I went inside, I looked back over my shoulder. The torches over the Lords’ gate were lit, only the fire wasn’t orange and bright. The flames looked like gray veils blowing in the wind.
My skin went cold. And when I thought of some of the things I’d done that day, my stomach felt queasy. I ran into my house, stumbling up the stairs and tripping on a foot-stool in my room, even though the lamps were lit. I screamed at my slaves to stop staring at me and draw me a bath. When I was alone, I held the mirror in the dim circle of light cast by my largest lamp. My hand was shaking so hard, I had to lay the mirror down and bend over it.
Almost my entire eye was black. Only a narrow rim of white surrounded the deep black holes, two bottomless wells boring right down into the depths of my soul.
CHAPTER 39
On the next morning, the sun rose gray and dim. I was going to have to tell the Lords. I wasn’t at all confident that eyesight would heal itself like bruises or twisted knees, and I certainly could not do any training the way I was. Notole, I called, I need to tell—
Good morning, young Lord. Before I could open my thoughts to them, Notole filled my head. Are you tired this morning? We went farther than I had planned in these past days—you are such a delightful student—so eager—and it can be quite wearing when one is starting to develop one’s talent as you are. You mustn’t be concerned about it.
“I was wondering—”
We’ve told your teachers that you need to rest today. Parven took up the conversation. Though his words were pleasant enough, anger rumbled in my belly as he spoke. I will put you to sleep, my young Lord, until such time as you can take up your proper business. My foolish sister has rushed things a bit.
They didn’t let me say anything. Parven laid an enchantment on me, while the three of them talked about other exercises they planned for the next few days. As I drowsed off, it occurred to me that none of them had mentioned anything about my eyes. I had a sense that they knew what was happening, but didn’t want me to know. Why else would they be in such a hurry to send me to sleep? As there were no mirrors anywhere in the Gray House, they wouldn’t think I’d seen it for myself, and no servant would dare speak of it.
At least a day had passed by the time I woke again. I was famished. Once I had eaten, I steeled myself to look in the mirror. Only a trace of gray remained in the brown. I decided that as long as my eyes would turn back right, they weren’t really damaged. I could still go to Notole and learn what she could teach. I needed to know about power and sorcery, so I could be strong enough to do whatever I wanted.
I worked hard at my sword training that day, enjoying moving and fighting after so many days of inactivity. Notole’s lessons were tiring, but as far as I knew my body didn’t move the whole time. Since I had returned from the desert and gotten so preoccupied with sorcery, my fighting skills had shown little improvement. If only I could use a little of my power . . . I tried making the air thick and heavy around my swordmaster’s blade.
You will not! Parven burst into my head. For now, true power and physical training are two separate aspects of your life, young Lord. You must be able to fight to your maximum capability with every weapon you possess.
“All right, all right.” And so I let the air go back to normal, and I slogged on, practicing one move after another. I trained with my swordmaster all day. Notole said she didn’t want me that night. I wasn’t surprised. The pattern said it would be six or seven days until we ventured out again. The thought of sorcery left me hollow inside, hungry, my skin buzzing like it did when you didn’t get enough sleep. To call down lightning . . .
That evening after my riding lesson, I took Firebreather for a gallop to help take my mind off of my craving for sorcery. It was near midnight when we got back to the stable, though this time we made the entire journey together. When I led Firebreather into his stall, I wasn’t too surprised to hear a voice from the corner. “Did he behave?”
“He expects oats.”
“Thought he would. I’ve brought some already.”
We rubbed Firebreather down and made sure he had an extra scoop of oats.
The Leiran boy kicked the straw into a pile in the corner of the stall and flopped onto it. “You’ve not been riding much lately.”
“I’ve had other things to do. Have you stayed out of trouble?”
“It came out all to the good. They think I’m a half-wit. Was it you who told ’em?”
“I might have mentioned it.”
“You’re not the first to notice.” He grinned.
I patted Firebreather’s neck and gathered up my cloak and my pack to go. The Leiran boy glanced at my pack, and then looked away quickly.
“I’ve a packet of field rations in there,” I said. “You wouldn’t want it would you?”
“If you were ever to run this place, I’d be happy to give you a word or two on improving the cooking.” I tossed him the greasy bag, and he laid back on the straw, groaning in pleasure as he chewed on a leathery strip of dried meat. “Blazes! You can promise Firebreather oats, but if you want to get me anywhere, promise me jack.”
“I don’t have any more tonight.” I rummaged through my bag and found a slightly battered darupe. “You can have this. That’s all I’ve got.”
“I’m not choosy.” He dispatched the fruit in half a heartbeat and tossed the pit over the gate of the stall.
I squatted down beside the gate. “You’re not good at riddles, are you?”
He blinked in surprise. “What makes you ask that?” “Just seeing the fruit pit . . . It sounds strange, I know, but it makes me think of a riddle.”
“Never thought I was good at ’em. Never had much call to. But once I helped somebody figure one out. We did pretty good.”
As the stable lamp faded and sputtered, leaving us sitting in the dark, I told him about the things I’d found in my house. “. . . So what do you think? Is it the Lords’ puzzle or not?”
The voice coming from across
the dark stall was more serious than I expected. “I’d say somebody is trying to tell you something. Somebody that maybe can’t come out and say it for fear you wouldn’t allow it to be said. Not the Lords, though.”
“A slave, you mean?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe it’s not important the who, but only the what.”
“I can’t figure it out. I’ve tried all kinds of solutions using the names of the things, the sizes, the substances; I’ve tried to match their names with other words, but they don’t seem to fit together at all.”
“Maybe they’re just to look at. No secret at all.”
“That sounds like a proper half-wit.”
“Bring me another bag of jack, and I’ll take another guess.”
“Don’t count on it.” I stood up, brushed the straw off my legs, and gave Firebreather another pat. “I’d best go or I’ll fall asleep over my sword in the morning.”
“Did you ever get a swordmaster that could teach you proper?”
“No. I’ve not learned anything new in a month. My swordmaster is a fine fighter, and he makes me work hard. I suppose I’m just not the best pupil.”
“But you want the best sword fighter—one who can teach you and show you, not just make you sweat. Maybe the best one isn’t one of them—the warriors.”
“What do you mean?”
“I heard some of ’em talking the other day about a new slave, one that fights with the warriors, you know, to practice.”
“A sparring partner? A practice slave?”
“That’s it. They said he’s the best they’ve ever seen. Stayed alive longer than any slave’s ever done before. They’re making him teach them what he knows and not just fight any more. Maybe he’s the one you need.”
“Maybe he is.”