Lords of the Sky (71 page)

“Which is?” asked Rwyan.

Urt said simply, “War. Allanyn and her followers would ally with the Sky Lords to destroy you Dhar Truemen, or make of you what you made of us—servants.”

“And the Sky Lords?” I asked. “Are they not Truemen? Shall they be only your allies and nothing more?”

He answered me, “The Sky Lords would take back Kellambek
for their own, no more. They’ve dreamed of that for centuries—a holy quest to regain their homeland—and the agreement made is that they shall have Kellambek, we Changed the rest.”

“And you?” I asked him.

“I’d see my fellow Changed shed their bonds,” he said. “I’d see them equal to you Truemen. Was that not once your thought, Daviot?”

I looked into his dark eyes and could only nod. “But not through bloodshed,” I said. “Not by war.”

He said, “Perhaps there’s no other way. I think there are not many Truemen think as you do.”

I said slowly, “No. But even so … war? Do the Sky Lords mount the Great Coming, the Changed rise—Dharbek should run red, and Changed and Truemen bleed and die alike.”

Soberly, he said, “Yes. And so I’d find some other way—if there is another way. I and a few like me, who’ve little love for Allanyn’s path. Does Allanyn prevail, I think the world shall not be better; only turned on its head. Where Changed now are, there’d be Truemen. And no doubt they’d plot to overturn it all again. I think that way should be only bloodshed, unending.”

I said, “War should be a great undertaking, Urt. Could the Changed hope to win?”

“Allanyn believes we should,” he said, “and she’s command of our army. Does she have her way, the Sky Lords will attack across both the Fend and the Slammerkin. Do they overcome the Border Cities, then we Changed shall march south whilst our kin in Dharbek rise. The slaughter would be terrible, I think.”

I asked, “How should your kin know when to rise?”

He smiled. “You know we communicate?” And when I nodded: “There’s more to it than you suspect, Daviot; and you’re likely the only Trueman to have understood so much. I’ve not the time to explain it all now, but …”

He paused, hesitant again, looking a moment at the pool where the trout rose hungry. Then: “Do you trust me?”

It was a blunt question, demanding a blunt answer. I said, “I don’t know, Urt.”

Hurt showed in his eyes, but then he shrugged. “Why
should you? Perhaps, though, I might convince you. I think I cannot now, with words, but perhaps with another way.”

I frowned, waiting. I scarce dared allow the little spark of hope his words kindled.

He said, “Tonight I’ll come to you with all the proof I can give; I can do no more.”

This puzzled me. “And am I convinced?” I asked. “What then?”

He laughed: a short, sad bark. “I know not. I can see no way to thwart Allanyn, to avoid war. Perhaps when you’ve all the knowledge I can give you … perhaps you’ll see some way.”

Rwyan said, “You speak for peace, Urt?”

He thought awhile, then ducked his head and said, “I’d free my kind, but not at cost of their lives. Neither do I believe all Truemen are evil. This world of ours must change, but I cannot believe Allanyn’s is the way. Even though I see no other.”

Rwyan surprised me then, for she asked what seemed to me a very strange question in these circumstances. She said, “Urt, do you dream?”

He looked no less startled than I. His eyes narrowed, framing a question of his own even as he nodded.

Rwyan said, “Of what?”

He paused before he answered, as if the recollection were not altogether pleasant. I thought he braced himself before he said, “Of dragons, sometimes; of riding the skies with those creatures. You and Daviot with me. I feel, sometimes, they call me. I see their eyes, as if they sat in judgment.”

Rwyan laughed and clapped her hands. “The pattern! By the God, it’s the same dream.”

Urt stared at her as if he thought her mad. Some lesser version of that doubt crossed my mind, too—I’d looked only to comfort her with those musings, not taken them so serious myself. But now … now I began to wonder. Slowly, I said, “We share that dream. I’ve known it, and Rwyan; Tezdal, too.”

“But there are no dragons left,” he said. It sounded somehow like a catechism. “I remember in Durbrecht, Daviot, that you spoke of them.”

“And was laughed at,” I said. “But even so, those dreams
return, time and time again. And even when we were parted, Rwyan shared them; then Tezdal. Now you.”

His expression was blank, empty of understanding. “Do you explain?”

I said, “I cannot.”

Rwyan said, “I believe there’s a pattern, Urt. Some weaving of destiny joins us, perhaps sends us these dreams.”

“To what end?” he asked. Warily, I thought.

And now Rwyan must frown and shrug and tell him, “That I cannot say. But I feel it a good omen.”

Urt nodded without much conviction. Then his head turned, cocked in attitude of attention. Urgently, he said, “Are you questioned, say only that I sought to persuade you; naught of anything else.”

His hearing was far more acute than mine: he caught the approaching footsteps long before Allanyn stalked into the clearing. She wore a gown of emerald green that emphasized the feline grace of her movements. Her hair was gathered up, the golden band bright on her brow. Her eyes shone spiteful.

“So,” she demanded, “are they persuaded?”

“I put our case,” said Urt. “They consider it.”

Allanyn studied him a moment. Then, lazy as a cat toying with a trapped mouse, turned to us. For long moments she only eyed us, her lips parting to expose sharp white teeth.

“They
consider
it?” Her tone was mocking, oily with malice. I was uncertain whether her spite was meant for us or Urt. “They’ve not so much time they should dwell overlong on a matter foregone. Before this winter’s out our Sky Lord allies shall have all their ships and all their warriors in place. By summer’s advent—by Ennas Day—we’ll be ready—our battle shall commence then, Urt. In Dharbek, our people will rise; and from across the seas and over the Slammerkin will come the skyboats. Ere then, I’ll have this mage’s knowledge, willing or not.”

Her voice rose triumphant as the sentence ended; I felt Rwyan’s hand find mine. Brave, she said, “Not willing, Allanyn.”

The feline Changed smiled at that, horridly. Her eyes returned to Urt. “Perhaps the mage should be better persuaded by other methods. Perhaps we should put her lover to torture and let his pain deliver our arguments.”

Her tone was casual: I felt a chill. I was prepared to die, but I’d not thought to be tortured. I saw Urt frown his distaste and shake his head. In a voice so calm it was an insult, he said, “Would you soil us with such methods, Allanyn?”

Her ocher eyes blazed. She stiffened. She said, “I’d have those answers we require; and soon.”

“The Raethe has agreed,” he gave her back, “that they’ve until the Lord Tezdal wakes. Do you now assume to command us all?”

I thought she might fling her magic at him for that. I could not doubt but that these two
were
enemies. I watched as Allanyn spun round; striding back the way she’d come. Over her shoulder she hurled a parting sally heavy with threat: “Not yet, Urt. But when that day comes, beware.”

B
Y ENNAS Day! By summer’s beginning: it seemed to me time ran faster now. Those days on board the
Sprite,
the slow trek to Trebizar—they seemed an idyll, a leisurely journey for which we now paid the price. I thought it could not be long before Tezdal woke and I must strike that blow I dreaded. And after—Allanyn’s threat vivid in my memory—I thought I should likely face not clean death but slow torture. I saw no escape. How could there be? Even was Urt still truly a friend, still there seemed to me nothing he could do. He had admitted he saw no answers; neither had he suggested any means by which we might evade Allanyn’s wrath. Indeed, likely the wrath of all the Changed did we attempt escape. Which seemed to me impossible….

My thoughts ran around and around in circles….

The Sky Lords prepared the Great Coming…. The Changed prepared for war…. The fylie of the Kho’rabi should soon descend on Dharbek from both east and north…. The wild Changed go bellicose across the Slammerkin…. The Changed of Dharbek rise like some invisible army…. The land would run red.

I’d not be there to witness that carnage; nor Rwyan. I wondered if time’s clock might have run different had I spoken of what I’d seen that night when I saw Changed and Sky Lords together. I’d still no doubt but that pogrom should have ensued, but might that not have been the lesser abomination?
Could my warning have changed history’s course? Had I delivered my country all unsuspecting to destruction?

I slumped morose in a chair as twilight fell over the gardens, my head all aspin with awful doubt. Rwyan spoke to me of hope, but I could find little place for such optimism. She spoke of the pattern, but I could see only the snapping of its threads here in Trebizar. I thought death should be welcome; sooner the Pale Friend’s embrace than witness of what must surely come.

I ate a few mouthfuls of the meal they brought us, my appetite quite gone, and would not be cheered by Rwyan’s optimism. I could not be: I saw no space for hope. I drank wine that had no taste. I wanted only to hold her and for a little while push back the bloody darkness that loomed about me.

She held me. She kissed me and stroked my hair. But she would do no more: she told me we must wait, that Urt would make good his promise of revelation. I thought that revelation should be poor comfort.

Then, when the sky was all velvet blue and filled with stars, Urt came. For an instant I dared hope he had some plan—that he’d somehow spirit us away. I was unsure I’d even want that—not knowing we left behind the destruction of my homeland.

I need not have tormented myself so: he had no plan, only a crystal.

He came in furtive, motioning we be silent as he eased the door ajar and went to the table. From a pouch on his belt he extracted a glowing stone. It was larger than that obscene jewel Rwyan had worn; not so large as those in the crypt where Tezdal—so he advised us—slept still. He set it down and unthinking wiped his hands against his tunic, as if the crystal left behind some physical taint.

“Lady.” He addressed himself to Rwyan. “I think you’ll know the use of this. Do you show Daviot, and before morning I must have it back.” He shrugged, his eyes mournful. “I can do no more. Perhaps you’ll find an answer in the stone.”

I said, “Shall it free us? Shall it grant Rwyan power?”

He said, “I think not that, but perhaps understanding. I’ve not the talent for it, but the gifted use these stones—they send them south to Dharbek, to the Changed there; to spread the word.”

He hesitated an instant, as if some dire secret were revealed. I was reminded of that clandestine meeting I had witnessed, when Changed and Sky Lords came furtive together. I said, “In Kellambek I saw your people and Kho’rabi meet by night. Was this the reason?”

Urt nodded. “Likely. Those little boats the Sky Lords command defy Dhar magic to bring the stones south.”

I grunted as that mystery was resolved and gestured that he continue.

He said, “Perhaps do you commune with this, we three can find some way …” He shook his head helplessly. Then smiled without sign of humor. “You asked for proof of my friendship, Daviot? Well, is it known I give you this, I’m dead. This secret is close-guarded, and should the gifted learn what I do, my life is forfeit. Allanyn shaped this crystal herself, and she’d not hesitate to take my life.”

He spoke with absolute conviction, and as I watched his face, I felt my doubts dissolve. It seemed a weight lifted off me.

He was once again the old friend of my youth, the one who had first shown me that secret world of the Changed. The true friend who’d carried my messages to Rwyan and hers back to me. Without him, I’d not have known my love: I thought then that it was he had first set my feet on the road that brought me here. I suppose I might have hated him for that, but all I felt was love, our comradeship rekindled. I went to him, taking his hand as I’d done so long ago in Durbrecht.

His smile grew warm at that, and he answered my grip firm. There was no need of words, for which I was thankful—I had none at that moment. I felt only shame that I’d doubted him and heartfelt regret that this world we Truemen made should force enmity on us. Urt was not my enemy, nor I his: those roles were chosen for us by the past. I felt sad that our tomorrows looked to be soon ended.

He said, “I dare not delay. Allanyn already seeks to brand me traitor. ‘Trueman’s Friend,’ she names me.”

Still gripping his hand, I said, “Is that a crime, Urt?”

“To some; to Allanyn surely.” His grin brought me memories of his usual good humor. “Was it not ever the way—that Changed and Trueman live apart? Our situations reverse, eh, Daviot?”

“I think,” I said, “that had I a choice, I’d sooner face Ardyon than Allanyn.”

His grin faded at that, his expression become again grave. He said, “Aye. Ardyon seems as nothing beside her.”

As we spoke, Rwyan studied the crystal. She did not touch it; she seemed to me wary of the stone, as someone loath to handle a sword might regard the blade they know they must soon wield. Her face was troubled as she turned toward us. “Does this give us answers, Urt, shall you be with us in their deliverance?”