Restoration (55 page)

“Enough for now,” said Nyel. “Human flesh is not capable of more. We can try again tomorrow.”

But I had no intention of stopping the lesson so soon. “Another,” I said. “And, yes, I choose this freely.” Again, I flew over the patterns floating in the deeps. Three more dreamers came to life by my hand: a shepherd in a highland meadow, dreaming of a pliant village maid, a woman racked with nightmares of a monstrous birth, and a slave enduring another night of torment and loss. With the third I began to get the feel of space and time, the uneven texture of the deeps. I could touch the dreamers beyond the floating visions, and imagine that when I was truly proficient, I would be able to bypass the entangling dreams and see only the landscape beyond.

By the fifth day of Nyel's instruction, I was in control. I could now see the human world spread out before me ... distorted, obscured, dim, and colorless behind the vivid flotsam of visions, but enabling me to identify towns and cities and landmarks to locate my dreamers. Though Kasparian struck the spark, and Nyel worked the dream enchantment called vietto, I had learned to harness my own melydda to my efforts, sorting through the manic eddies of the dreamworld. And from the texture of dreams, I could discover the days and nights and seasons of the world, its plagues, famines, and battles, the nuances of pleasure or torment.

On the tenth day Nyel taught me the art of shaping dreams—gathering the image and imposing my own design. “Always with care,” he said, “for you are touching the soul as intimately as is possible for a mortal being.” As well we both knew. Why else was I sitting in his garden preparing to abandon my human self? “Look here,” he said, “in this desert place I've found a typical woman's dream, a mother's dream ...”

 

“Child! Come back to
me!”
Hurry. The music
fades ...
Hurry!

 

“So ease her search. You can do it. Part the crowd. See? Yes, that's it. You can get to the pipers first and hold the child for her, so he won't wander away ...”

 

 

.. and the dream faded from the ocean.

“Some human fears you cannot ease,” said Nyel, and we went on to another lesson.

On the fourteenth day, I encountered Aleksander.

I had been searching for my friends in the unsettled dreams of Azhakstan. They would have had to move away from Taíne Horet, regroup after the disaster; no matter how many Derzhi I had killed, simple reason said that the valleys were no longer safe. Others would have been told of the refuge in the desert. But neither Aleksander nor Blaise would wait too long to strike again.

I drifted over the silken waters, observing the play of light and color and form. The landscape I explored was desert and night. So many dreams, fearful, anxious dreams—the night before a battle. I paused. This one ... how could I fail to recognize the soul where I had lived for three days so long ago? I bent down and touched the waters with my mind's finger, watching the ripples roll outward as I permitted my senses to embrace his dream.
Galloping, racing ... the choking sand billowing in waves, obscuring the quarry ... only a white tail visible through the storm, braided as the Basrans braid their horses' tails. No glimpse of the rider ... the child ... too small to ride alone ... too small to be lost in the desert ... hurry... faster ... dead men and women on every side ... more and more of them ... From the paraivo emerges a stark image, a man hanging by his feet, rats feeding on his ripped belly as his body sways in the wind ... his amber eyes alive ... unable to scream, because of the red braid tied to his tongue. The biting sand becomes a hail of arrows ...

“I'm coming!”
My cry was unintended, but his fear was so great, his intent so unshakable ...

“No! You will not!”

Abruptly the visions fell away, leaving me hanging over the table heaving, as if my entrails had been drawn out through my eyes. A dull crash across from me was accompanied by the sound of splintering wood.

“I gave you no leave to speak to him. I told you I would not send you to this charming beggar who uses you like the slave you were. What courage does he show, hiding his petty blood feuds behind a Madonai warrior?”

My eyes came into focus to see Nyel, red-faced, standing across from me. His white chair had toppled to the ground, cracking one of its delicate arms.

“I was not going to him,” I said as soon as I recovered from the sudden change. “If you remember, I don't know how as yet. And I intend to honor our bargain. But once changed, I will go.” Silly to leave these things unspoken. Nyel had won a great number of points, but the outcome of our joust was still in doubt. I could not waste time dissembling.

“I have hopes your judgment will improve by the time you are Madonai.”

“In a few hours, I'll wish to return to the human world,” I said. “To a different dreamer, if you insist, but in the flesh as we agreed. I'm healed and rested, and they're going to need me today.” Aleksander was not waiting until the refugees were settled, but was riding for Tanzire. A small target, but a symbol. Those who slaughtered Sovari, Malver, and W‘Assani would recognize its meaning, would spread rumor throughout the Empire, all the way to Zhagad's palace. And I needed to be part of the talk, I knew. Lydia had told me how Edik feared the tale of the winged warrior more than anything—the speculation that the gods protected Aleksander. Aleksander would need every advantage he could muster, even tales and rumors.

“How can I send you to serve this human prince as I prepare to make you Madonai, your smallest finger worth more than the entirety of his life?” Nyel's trim gray beard quivered.

“I do thank you for this gift,” I said. “I wish I understood more of your aims. What am I that you should give so much to me?” The ever-present question.

He didn't answer. Just turned his back and stomped away.

Kasparian picked up the broken chair and slammed it upright. “You are in a combat above your head, boy,” he said through gritted teeth. “You, of all warriors, should know that any hold can easily be reversed.” He didn't elaborate, but crashed through the shrubbery and disappeared. Some unlucky opponent—real or il lusory—was going to suffer that afternoon.

Nyel's fury was unsettling, evoking the memory of my own mad rages, like a scent or a taste can raise long-buried events. A potent reminder not to lose all caution. Yet I also chose to see it as a measure of his generosity in allowing me the freedom to act against his own desires. I was not deluded into thinking him entirely benevolent, but neither could I believe him insincere in his efforts to give me something magnificent.

I could have explored the world of dreams for the next few hours, perhaps picked my dreamer and learned more of Aleksander's plan. But the exploration was itself exhausting, so that even if I had been in control of the event, I likely would have deferred my curiosity until I took flesh through the dream. Instead, I stood in the clear space of the tiny lawn and began the kyanar, stepping through the movements to prepare myself for battle. Slow. Focused. Calming. As long as I wore this human body, I would maintain the habits that had served me well. And when I shifted—my skin prickled with anticipation, with hunger for the golden warmth and strength and the fiery melydda that would flood my veins—I, Seyonne, would remain in control.

Aleksander's face was ruddy in the firelight. “We need a way to neutralize the watch and get through the gates. Our informants say the Bek lords are locked in the cellar of the guard tower near the northern gates. The southern gate tower is the stronger defense, and the barracks are right beside it, but they don't want to parade the prisoners through the town once the gates are open tomorrow morning. Too easy for stray Bek warriors to disrupt the executions. So they've made it easier for us. Once we're through the gates, we can surprise the guards and, if we don't take too long about it, have the prisoners out before the next guard change. Then we'll join Terlach and Marouf to take Gan Hyffir. So ... I understand that some of you have the talent to get inside, take down the watch, and get the gates open ... is that right?” The Prince stood in the center of the small group, looking from one face to another as his fingers tapped the hilt of his sword. “That would make things a great deal easier.”

The ten men and women in the circle shifted uneasily and looked at Blaise, who was sitting on the sand, his right arm bound tightly to his chest. “Ordinarily, that's my responsibility,” he said. “I think I can—”

“Indeed you cannot.” The woman came from out of the night behind the circle and handed Blaise a cup before sitting down beside him. Elinor. Her hair was braided and bound up around her head. The flames made her skin glow like burnished copper. “Unless some god has magically knit the bones in this arm, you're not going to be able to fly or even defend yourself, much less take care of eight or ten Derzhi warriors. Someone else will have to do it. Gorrid, I know your easiest form is a zhaideg, but you've shifted to birds before. Roche has never had success with birds, and Brynna is at Gan Hyffir.”

“I won‘t,” said Gorrid, stretching out his legs, folding his arms across his chest, and leaning back against a saddle pack, as if to distance himself from the others in the huddled circle. “I won't risk my neck for any thieving Derzhi nobles. Let them all hang.”

“As I said, I'll not hold it against anyone who wishes to stay behind,” said Aleksander. “But the Bek are not your enemies. They are a family of great honor that does not deserve what's going to happen tomorrow. If we can set them free, they'll listen to what we have to say. And if we can give them back Gan Hyffir, they'll hold this region and bring others to our cause. You need to understand ...”

“Tell them,” I whispered as I elbowed my companion and shoved him out from behind the tent where we were crouched in the deepest shadows of the desert night.

“My lord Seyonne will open the gates of Tanzire,” said Feyd as he stepped into the circle of firelight. Eleven startled faces turned to the young man who bowed respectfully to Aleksander.

“He would be very pleased if you will permit him to take on this duty, Aveddi.”

Aleksander's sharp gaze quickly searched the shadowed encampment. “Seyonne! I knew he'd come. Where is he?”

“He came to me this night ... in a dream,” Feyd stammered, his ivory skin flaring deep red as everyone stared at him. The young Suzaini's broad chest was bare but for the strip of linen wrapped about his shoulder, covering the laceration in his back. In fact, other than the bandage and a great deal of curling black hair, he wore only the short, loose undergarment called “fenzai.” Once recovered from his astonishment at finding me in his tent as well as his dream, and having listened carefully to what I required of him, Feyd had insisted on dragging me immediately to the meeting where the Aveddi and his leaders were finalizing the plan for that night's venture. He had been so eager to be of service, he had forgotten to put on his haffai, an excruciating oversight for a modest young Suzaini.

“Came to you in a dream ... is that possible? Has he been able to do this before?” I could not see Elinor's expression, but her voice was troubled.

“Not to my knowledge,” said Aleksander. “But now, I would swear I've seen him in ... Gods, who knows what's going on with the man? Tell us about him, Feyd.”

“Of course, Aveddi. I was dreaming of my father—Gossopar protect my sire on his mission this night—and in this dream, as my good lord father chastised me for my wounding in our last battle, the Lord Seyonne prevented me setting my father's beard on fire. The Lord Seyonne expressed to me his deepest regards, Aveddi, and his unyielding faith in you. And the same for Blaise and Mistress Elinor and all the company, and he assured me that he will stand with us in all our ventures as far as is possible for him to do.”

“Go back to bed, Feyd. You're still asleep,” Farrol called. “Your father's beard is safe from you this night.”

A few others laughed with him.
I'd be happy for the sorcerer to come along, as long as I don't have to be too close to him ... I dreamed of my mother-in-law last night. Will she be in Tanzire, too? ... Saved my life at Andassar, and at least twice at Taíne Horet ... thankful he's with us ...

“How can you speak lightly of this cursed Ezzarian?” Gorrid leaped up from the sand. “If he does come, he'll likely slaughter more of us as well as our enemies. Do you so easily forget our brother Admet?”