“What do you think that was about?” he asked.
Mendi shook her head. “Some people never move past old conflicts.”
Allay looked at her, and then started laughing. “Says the slave who serves the prince.”
Mendi shrugged. “That one is one to watch. If there is anyone who shouldn't have been brought to the city, it's him.”
Allay frown. “The delegate?”
“Not the delegate. His brother. Well, maybe Thomasen also.” She stared down the hall, shaking her head. “I don't know what it is about him, but he makes me uncomfortable.”
Allay had rarely known anything to make Mendi uncomfortable. She was strong—in many ways, stronger than he was—and had been through more than he could imagine. The fact that she kept a sense of humor in spite of that was even more impressive to him. And if someone made Mendi uncomfortable, he should pay attention.
“I’ll watch the delegates, if you will watch the others.”
Mendi nodded curtly. “I intended to. Just figure out what we’re here for.”
“Why are you so anxious? Why do you want to get back to Gom Aaldia?”
“This isn't where I belong.”
“And you belong in Gomald?”
Mendi shrugged. “Gomald, or someplace else near there. Once you free me…”
He had promised to free her, and still intended to, but it would take his brother assuming the throne. His father wouldn’t do it, but Theodror?
Before that, he first needed to ensure that she would be safe if she were freed. He wasn't willing to risk her safety until he knew that she would.
Mendi watched him, seeming to know the troubled thoughts rolling through his head.
Allay looked away, unable to give her what she so deserved. And he hated it that he couldn't.
The inside of the home was well lit. A massive chandelier hung overhead, candles glowing softly. Their light reflected off the crystals within the chandelier, more expensive than most in his home province of Saeline would be able to afford, and more decorative. Shutters were thrown open, letting the evening breeze in, carrying a hint of the salt on the air this close to the coast. Locken, regional king of the Saeline province of Gomald, waited on his sister.
Bryana made her way to the table, carrying two glasses of wine. She offered one to him and he took it, sniffing it before taking a sip.
“Coamdon wine?”
His sister nodded. “This vintage is particularly difficult to obtain. I thought you would appreciate something to celebrate your first visit to the capital in several years.”
Locken smiled and took another sip. It really was a smooth vintage. Wine wasn't his preferred drink, but his sister was well known for having one of the best palettes for it. And living in the capital, she had access to fineries that others in the more distant provinces did not. “I thought I owed you a visit since I came to Gomald.”
“If you hadn't visited, I would've sent Terrence’s men after you.”
Locken smiled. His sister had married a minor Gom Aaldian noble. Together, they had moved to the capital, and her husband had become more a merchant than a noble. He traded, moving in wines, his palette as refined as his wife’s, and together, they had built a bit of an empire within Gomald. He rarely saw his sister, and as much as he cared for her and wished they had more time together, finding time to get together with everything he had to do and everything she had to do was oftentimes difficult.
“When the king summons, I have little choice.”
Her mouth twisted in something of a frown. Had Locken not known her as well as he did—or had—he might have missed it. “You are also the king.”
He took another sip of wine. It warmed his throat, a not unpleasant sensation, one that felt thick and full. Interesting that any drink could take on such unique characteristics. He could almost taste the earth in this one, and it mixed with a woody sort of flavor, as if the barrel it had been aged in had given up much of itself for him to drink.
“I am simply the Saeline king. We are nothing more than—”
“Father educated me as well as he did you,” she reminded.
Locken sighed. Sometimes, sitting in her house as infrequently as he did, it was easy to forget that they had been raised together in Saeline.
Locken set his wine glass down. “What should I say? Should I tell you that I don't love what I've been asked to do? I need to serve my king. That is how I best protect our people.”
His sister snorted. She took a long drink of wine before setting her now-empty glass down next to his. “At least you admit that. They are our people.”
“Bryana—”
“When do you plan to leave?”
Locken shook his head. “I'll have to get back right after I visit with Richard.”
“And when is that?”
Locken frowned. “Soon. I thought to stop here first, wanting to ask if I can stay with you while I'm in the city.”
“Of course you can stay with me. What of the rest of your entourage?” She asked while refilling her glass.
“They will be staying in the palace. We need to keep up appearances. It wouldn't do for Richard to know that I'm not staying with him.”
“He'd surely understand that you stayed with your sister, wouldn't he?”
“I don't know any longer what is considered acceptable. But I would rather stay with you.”
“Good. This way, we can speak more freely. The timing of your visit is interesting.”
“Why interesting?” It seemed an unusual choice of words from her.
“I've heard the king has a new advisor, and he's not all that interested in hearing opposing points of view.”
That was the first that Locken had heard of Richard having another advisor, and it surprised him. Since he had dismissed his Mage advisor, Richard had not allowed anyone into the throne room other than the regional kings. What did it mean that he now did?
Probably nothing, but given all the upheaval in the south, it was possible that there was more to this advisor than his sister knew. Locken would have to be careful.
“You heard the prince went with the Magi?” Bryana asked.
Locken nodded.
“I doubt Richard appreciated the Magi claiming one of his.”
“Allay is second in line. Besides, there is little harm in having him learn from the Magi. I spent some time in Vasha myself.”
Bryana sipped her wine. “Yes. Learning from the Denraen. This is different. Richard is different. You should be careful. Things have changed since you last were here. Saeline is much closer to Thealon, geographically and ideologically, though we are almost in the south.”
He started to laugh, but realized she didn’t share it. “What does that mean?”
“It means that you must be careful.”
“I have men with me.”
“This is a different kind of caution. After you meet with Richard, you will see.”
Locken didn’t care for the ominous note to her comment, but Bryana didn’t elaborate. Instead, she took another long sip of wine.
Chapter Nine
Allay made his way down the wide ramp leading to the first terrace of the city. Far above him stretched both the level of the Denraen, the soldiers occupying the second terrace within the city, and the palace on the first terrace that stretched impossibly high, nearly touching the clouds. Almost at the same height, he noted snow on the nearby mountaintops. The city itself was relatively comfortable. Not cold, certainly not as he would expect, but not snowcapped like the others around it. Another Magi trick.
He walked next to a compact man, muscular, with pale white skin and deep brown hair. Dougray Collinsworth was from Liispal, and had been friendly with Allay since arriving in Vasha. Dougray had convinced him and the Coamdon delegate, Danvayn, to venture down to the first terrace, where they could explore more of the city.
Dougray glanced over at him. “I can't believe they gave us time to leave their sessions,” he said. “Gods, I thought
they were going to keep us locked up in that palace the entire time we’re here in the city. All I want is a chance to explore and see the amazing city of the gods.” There was a note of sarcasm in his voice, and Allay didn’t know how to interpret that.
Danvayn smirked. She was tall, nearly as tall as a Mage, and had deep red hair and skin that was nearly the color of Dougray’s. She had a good-natured humor about her, one that had appealed to Allay. She and Dougray had traveled to Vasha together and had grown friendly. Allay had traveled part of the way with Thomasen Comity and still barely knew the man, though partly that had to do with the Deshmahne attack on the caravan.
At least Dougray and Danvayn were friendly. The Magi wanted all the delegates to get along, and he suspected the reason they encouraged them to leave the palace was to build rapport, but most went in separate directions. Did the Magi know how the delegates split off?
The last few days had been spent in classrooms, each day basically learning about geography or history or studying the Urmahne faith. After the first day, Allay had thought perhaps the next would be better, and then the next day, he thought the next would better, but he began to think this was the entirety of their lessons. If this was all there was, why had he come all this way?
He wasn't the only one to feel that way. He'd overheard Danvayn and Dougray talking about that as well. Both had a certain homesickness.
They reached the bottom of the ramp where it opened into the city. The street was enormous, and the entire face of the mountain had seemingly been hacked away, leaving a wide shelf for the city. He couldn't imagine how it had been created, but there was no doubting that it was created. It was almost enough to believe the Magi truly had asked the gods for help, and they had given it to them, gifting them the beauty of their city.
Shops and inns and taverns all lined the street. Merchant wagons rolled through, a surprising amount of trade, given how difficult it was to reach the city, though he suspected some of them traveled to the university that hugged the flat face of the mountain. The longer he watched, the more he realized that all the merchants were accompanied by Denraen soldiers. Even here, they restricted access, granting it only to those who had been screened by the soldiers.
“Daydreaming again?” Dougray asked.
Allay shook himself free from the thoughts and glanced over to the other man. Dougray grinned at him. “Not daydreaming, but trying to come to grips with this city. I could never have imagined something quite like this.”
“Only because the Denraen make it so damn difficult to reach,” Danvayn said.
Dougray nudged her. “Careful. The men in the north are a little touchy about the Magi.”
“You're not concerned about offending the Magi?” Allay asked.
“Oh, we've been desensitized to such things. I think that's why they have us here, don't you?”
“What you mean desensitized?” Allay asked.
Dougray looked to Danvayn. She shrugged and motioned up to the second terrace where Allay could almost hear the soldiers practicing. When he’d passed through the second terrace, on the descent to the first terrace, he could see the Denraen moving in formation, could hear the steady clacking of their swords as they practiced, and had been impressed. They were exquisite soldiers. The best trained, and the best equipped, and they claimed to only be interested in maintaining the peace. What would happen if his father’s soldiers encountered the Denraen?
That question hadn't been asked in many years. The peace had been maintained for long enough that none had been forced to question what it would be like if it failed.
“You mean by the Deshmahne?” Allay asked.
Dougray answered. “The warrior priests have a certain sort of logic. Even if you don't necessarily agree with everything they teach.”
Danvayn started to grin, but her smile faded.
Allay wondered what they had witnessed. The Deshmahne had a presence in Gom Aaldia, but he didn't know much about them, other than the fact that they unsettled him. He had seen a few of their priests, and had found their preaching distasteful. They called for fighting, for war, and he valued the peace that Gom Aaldia had known for the last several decades. If that disappeared, many of his people would die.
“I'll admit when they first came to Lakeliis, I wasn't sure what to think. But they've demonstrated that they have something.”
“Something? Didn't you tell me your father witnessed one of their dedication ceremonies?” Danvayn said.
“What's a dedication ceremony?” Allay asked. They continued down the street, and Allay was tempted to peek inside the bakery they passed. The smells were amazing. Would the bakery be as amazing as the Denraen soldiers? Perhaps all the merchants along the street were the most amazing of the entire world. The idea of only the best existing in the Magi city seemed almost fitting in a way.
“It's a ceremony where they show how they honor the gods. In Coamdon, they used a small cat for the ceremony.”
“How did they use a cat?” Allay asked.
Dougray and Danvayn glanced at each other. “It doesn't go so well for the cat, at least it didn’t in Lakeliis,” Dougray said.
Danvayn grinned. “No, not in Coamdon either. They sacrifice it to the gods.”
“How does that impress the gods?” People from Gom Aaldia weren’t as religious as those from Thealon, but they lived close enough to the place of power that Allay had been raised in the Urmahne faith.
“It's not the actual sacrifice that impresses the gods, it's how they use the sacrifice.” Dougray shook his head. “You would have to see one of their ceremonies. What they do, their dedication to the gods, it's real. I've seen how it grants them strength.”
Allay looked at the terraces above him. On the third terrace, where the Magi palace loomed, with the same smooth stone that surrounded the city itself, he had no difficulty believing in the Magi strength, or their claim to speak to the gods.
Donovan tapped his arm. “Get your head out of the clouds. We’re not saying the Magi don't also have a connection to the gods. All we’re saying is that the Deshmahne have a way of demonstrating power as well. It's compelling.”
“Why?”
“Why?” Dougray asked. “Because anyone can reach it. They've shown how anyone can have the power of the gods, not just the Magi.”
Danvayn laughed. “Come on. Let's go get a pint of ale and forget about the Magi harassing us for the day.”
Allay let himself be led along. He was willing to work with these others, but they made a good point—and it troubled him.
How could the Magi compete with a religion that offered anyone a path to the gods?
The inside of the library was dark, and there was a musty quality to the air. There was something almost soothing about that heaviness, the weight, as if the knowledge of all the years stored here pressed upon him.
Alriyn scanned the shelves stretching from the floor to nearly five feet over his head. There was row upon row of shelves, each filled with books from the generations since the founding of Vasha, each written by a scholar or historian or Magi. Alriyn had studied these through much of his youth, and had absorbed the knowledge of the past, hoping to guide his people into the future.
He ignored these shelves. It was not where he needed to go.
Pulling on one of the shelves, it came away effortlessly, revealing a flat, blank section of wall. Here, the stone looked no different from anywhere else. Alriyn pressed his hand upon the wall, feeling the smoothness of the stone. Much like the rest of the palace and the walls around the city, the stone was seamless, as if the palace, and the city itself, had simply been drawn out of the rock. Magi who attempted similar creations had not been able to reproduce what the Founders had done.
Alriyn opened his mind, allowing himself to reach deep within to the place that connected him to the manehlin. As he reached it, he drew forth that power, letting it fill him. He pulled until the emptiness within him was no longer empty. He drew manehlin out of the air surrounding
him, filling himself with the energy, and then released it through his hand and into the wall.
As he did, the section of wall opened, a crack appearing along its surface, forming a massive door that slid away.
There were few Magi capable of performing this trick. Those among the Council all could, and perhaps a few others, though they lacked the knowledge of the location within the library. It was in this way that the mahne was protected.
Alriyn stepped through the doorway and triggered it to close on the other side.
The room here was different from the library outside. There, rows and rows of massive shelves filled the library, towering from floor to ceiling, crowded with collections of books that only the librarians knew how to find easily. There was an organization to it all, but it was one that Alriyn only vaguely knew.
Within this space, there was a different feeling. The room was small, his head almost reaching the ceiling, the stone walls curving slowly upward until they reached a point a foot above his head in the center of the room. Much like the rest of the palace, the stone here was completely smooth, but it was not the same pure white as elsewhere. Here, it was streaked with veins of black that he knew to be teralin like was found deep within the mountain. Elsewhere throughout the palace—and the city, really—the teralin had been cleared, leaving the stone completely white.
This room was the only one where the ore had not been mined away. It gave the room a sense of warmth, one that was fitting, but that also made it feel somewhat oppressive. The closeness of the walls and the low height to the ceiling added to that.
The only piece of furniture was in the center of the room. It was a simple pedestal, constructed of finely crafted metal, with decorative shapes depicting the gods worked into each leg, until they reached the slightly curved surface. The ancient tome of the mahne rested on the surface. The book was closed, as it always was, and Alriyn could feel the power radiating around it. It was a protective barrier placed by Magi over the years, one that preserved the text.
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