A Flame in Hali (39 page)

“A fair day to you,” Earnan said, nodding. He was the youngest of the three Cedestri workers, sweet-faced and eager to try new things.

She smiled at him, and also at Niall and Bianca, although she didn’t like either of them personally. Niall hated authority and had to be flattered into his best efforts, and Bianca, although sobered by the Aillard attack, was no better, being fonder of resentment than patience. They nodded back at Dyannis, reserved but impeccably polite.

Today they were going to raise the largest stones to complete a chamber suitable for a matrix laboratory. It would be a long, exhausting session, with little energy to spare for petty irritations.

Cedestri Tower had long had a tradition of joining hands when forming a circle. Dyannis found the physical contact a little distracting at first, but accommodated herself to it. These people had been traumatized enough; it was a simple enough thing for the comfort of familiarity. Varzil, as the circle’s Keeper, didn’t seem to mind, one way or another.

Dyannis closed her eyes, focusing inwardly upon an image of an open sky. She knew from long experience that this was the best way to set aside petty irritations that might form a barrier to the circle. Instead, she imaged herself a falcon, wings spread wide to catch the faintest air currents.

The wind caught her, sustained her, carried her upward . . .

Her heart leaped in her throat at the sheer pleasure of soaring. From one pulse beat to the next, she felt herself drop into rapport with the rest of the circle under Varzil’s infallible mental control.

A sense of rightness and order suffused her. If she became a Keeper, this is how it would be.

She felt Varzil gather the combined
laran
power of the circle, shaping it subtly, deftly, felt the rough granularity of the first stone, the lingering hum and chisel of its fashioning, the intrinsic taste and weight.

Air . . . stone . . . breathe . . . in and out and up . . .
It was as natural as the rhythm of her own body. She poured her strength into the psychic linkage.

Slowly, the stone rose. Her mind sensed it as a series of overlapping images, of tiny motes of substance spinning through emptiness, of spheres of shimmering power forming and reforming within the larger field of
laran.
She held the stone and guided it to rest in its precise position. It took no effort at all. Weight and size no longer mattered, only the power streaming through her mind. In that moment, she felt as strong as a Hellers peak, her touch as steady, and yet as fluid as clear water.

Air . . . stone . . . fire . . . water . . .
Each element complemented and balanced the rest, parts of a perfect whole. Air and stone might change places, like dancers moving through a complex figure, but it was all the same. Nothing was added or taken away, nothing burdened or strained. Everything was as it should be.

The next stone rose at her unvoiced command. She lost all sense of the passage of time, floating between sky and earth, shaping the link between them. An hour might have passed, or an eon. There seemed no end to the joyous energy.

There came a time, however, when she felt the final stone slip into place. The entire building hummed like a
rryl
coming to life in the hands of an expert musician. The Tower had originally been built by
laran,
and its energy imprint remained. The physical and the psychic resonated in harmony.

The words echoed through her mind in a voice not her own. She shivered, suddenly aware of her individual separateness, the shell of fragile, human flesh. Around her, the unity of the circle dissolved.

Dyannis caught her breath, blinking her eyes open. Her fingers felt stiff from holding Varzil’s hand on one side and Earnan’s on the other. When she lifted her gaze, she saw the completed roof of the Tower, the soaring arch of her vision.

Earnan let out a whoop of joy. Varzil turned to Dyannis, a smile lighting his gray eyes. The world blurred around the edges. She bent over, fearing she might disgrace herself by fainting. Someone hurried up with a plate of food, a confection of nuts, dried peaches, and honey. She stuffed a piece into her mouth and let the concentrated sweetness dissolve on her tongue. Her vision steadied and nausea receded.

“We all need food and rest,” Varzil said, “for today we have accomplished a great feat. Soon we will begin moving the Cedestri folk back into their home.”

Dyannis emerged from sleep to a sound like pebbles cascading over the roof. She shared the second-story room in the headman’s village house with two of the Cedestri
leroni,
the three sleeping together in the master’s own bed, for there was little room to bring in even a pallet; the house was roofed with fired-clay tiles instead of thatch. Pale light sifted in through the single window across the room. She shivered, drawing the bedcovers around her shoulders as she sat up.

Bianca pushed the door open with one elbow and sidled in, carrying a tray. She wore a thick shawl crossed over her chest and then tucked under her belt. She set the tray down on the bed, rummaged in the pile of clothing on the single straight-backed chair, and handed another shawl to Dyannis.

“It’s hailing outside, can you believe? The storm came out of nowhere last night.” From her tone, she thought some vengeful Tower had sent it expressly to annoy her.

“It’s late in the season for hail,” Dyannis said. She looked at the tray, a little puzzled that it seemed to be intended for her. Bianca had always acted as if her
laran
Gifts placed her above the work of a servant.

“That is as it may be,” the other woman replied. “If you don’t eat your breakfast, it’ll get cold, that much is certain.”

Dyannis took a piece of honey-smeared nutbread and wished
laran
work did not require so many sweet foods. Just yesterday she’d eaten more than she would in a month. One bite led to another, as if her body still craved the concentrated energy. She finished off three pieces before she turned to the pots of cheese curds and preserved fruit.

Dyannis had never been one to lie abed once she was awake, although for a fleeting second, she understood the allure of indolence. As soon as her appetite was satisfied, she pulled on a thick wool underdress and began her stretching exercises. Her body felt as stiff as if she’d slept for a tenday. Eventually, the rhythmic movements loosened her muscles. She finished dressing and went out to see what the day had to bring.

She found Varzil in conference with Francisco, sitting together in the single chamber of the Tower that had been largely untouched by the fire-bombing. It was on the ground floor, a small snug room once used for teaching but now the heart of the Tower community. Maps and diagrams covered the central table.

Varzil smiled as she entered. “You have anticipated our summoning you.”

“Good morning to you, brother,” she answered, feeling a bit impish. “
Dom
Francisco, I am glad to see you well.”

“It is some hours into the afternoon, and you have slept for two days,” Varzil said. “We have already inspected the repairs and laid out plans for the interior restoration.”

“Two days! No wonder I was so hungry.” Dyannis sat down. “I will have to step merrily to catch up with you. What’s the work for today?”

Francisco paused for a moment before replying. The sunlight streaming through the windows accentuated the deep lines in his face, the jutting projection of jaw and cheekbone. The near destruction of his Tower and his own injuries had weathered him beyond his years. When he spoke, however, his voice was firm.

“It is said that what the gods grant, they also take away,” he said, “and I believe the reverse must be true. Before this catastrophe, we at Cedestri and our masters in Isoldir lived in a constant state of desperation. How could we defend ourselves against the might of Valeron, which seemed to threaten our very existence? Not by force of ordinary arms, that much was sure.

“As you know,” he went on with a slight inclination of his head toward Varzil, “we have never accepted the imposition of any outside restrictions upon our actions. In recent years, we were approached by disaffected workers from other Towers, who could not in conscience abide by King Carolin’s Compact. They saw us as an honorable and legitimate alternative and we welcomed their skills, although perhaps we were overhasty in several cases. Sometimes there were other reasons why a
laranzu
found himself unwelcome in his former community.

“Be that as it may,” Francisco continued, “when we discovered a previously unknown, untapped power source of immense magnitude, we rejoiced. By ourselves, we had insufficient
laran
to produce the kinds of weapons Isoldir needed to balance its lesser force against Valeron. By harnessing this power stream, our single circle became the equivalent of three or four.”

Dyannis sensed his memory of that discovery, the surge of triumph. It frightened her as much as the idea of a novice loose in a laboratory of twelfth-order matrices. Given Isoldir’s desperation, all considerations of safety, all fear of consequences would be swept aside in the passion of hope. She knew where it had led. She had seen the mill Cedestri had constructed in the Overworld, had stood beneath the Isoldir aircars on their way to rain poison upon Aillard lands. She had watched Cedestri burn.

Beside Francisco, Varzil sat quietly, letting the other man find his way through the story.

“When Aillard retaliated, I saw how vain our pride had been.” Francisco’s voice dropped a tone. “I cursed them, and I cursed you, too, Varzil, for having interfered with our attack. I thought—” and here he gave a bark of laughter, “—that if only we had succeeded, there would have been an end to it. There would have been no retaliation, no fire raining from the Aillard aircars. Valeron would have been a wasteland until our children’s children’s time. Instead, we would have achieved enduring security for Isoldir, for who else would dare to menace us, when we were thus armed?

“How wrong I was! I think I must have had a brain fever to make me think that way. Now I see there could have been only one result of our actions. Even if by some miracle we had triumphed, it would have brought us only a temporary peace. Sooner or later, some other kingdom, driven by that same desperate fear, would have launched an attack against us, or we would have found a new enemy. This time, our enemy might not be as merciful as Valeron. Yes, I call this merciful.”

He gestured to the partly-restored Tower around them. “Merciful because they used ordinary fire instead of
clingfire;
we had something left to rebuild, and some few precious lives spared. And . . .” his voice cracked, “. . . and we had help beyond any right or expectation.”

“We did only what any people of good will would have done,” Varzil said mildly.

Now who is being overly modest?
Dyannis shot at him.

“If you had come to us earlier with fine speeches and asked us to sign your Compact, I would have sent you away and then laughed at you behind your back,” Francisco said. “I would have thought you fools and cowards.”

Varzil gave a wry smile. “It has happened before, and will again. That is not a reason to stop trying.”

“Ah, but in this case, your deeds preceded your words and gave them substance. You put into practice your doctrine of fellowship and compassion. I know perfectly well that King Carolin Hastur has nothing to gain from my gratitude. I, on the other hand, have seen the price of continuing as we are. My masters of Isoldir agree, though it can be said they have little choice, without a single functioning Tower to defend them. They would not even have what little we can offer, were it not for your assistance.” His gaze took in Dyannis as well as Varzil.

She started to say that there had been no question of refusing aid. What did allegiances matter, when her fellow
leronyn
were suffering? The loss of one Tower diminished them all. The words that sprang to her mind seemed but pale echoes of her brother’s. She held her tongue.

“Therefore, at our urging, Isoldir has agreed to abide by the Compact. A messenger brought formal word this morning, and Varzil is to carry the signed oath back to Thendara.” Francisco’s joy radiated like an aureole of light around his weary features.

Caught up in Varzil’s own jubilation, Dyannis felt her heart give a little lurch.
So you see,
she could almost hear Varzil say,
what seemed like a disaster has in the end brought good not only to this poor land but to all Darkover.

“This is all very well,” Dyannis said, her thoughts spinning in a more practical direction, “but if you are to return to Thendara, Varzil, how will we continue our work here?”

“The physical rebuilding of the Tower is largely complete,” Francisco answered her. “Isoldir will send masons and carpenters to help with the interior. Thanks to your efforts, I am strong enough now to resume limited duties.”