They’d lived here long before Valhan decided to make their home his own. Most were excited and pleased that Cepher had attracted the favour of the ruler of worlds. A few had feared that it would bring changes they would not like, though the Raen had assured them he did not wish to do anything more than occupy the topmost level of the structure.
As far as Rielle could tell, the only other sorcerers in Cepher were of the more common, mortal kind, and they were treated no differently to the artisans with no magical ability. Since Valhan’s original intention had been for her to become an artisan in his world, and he had brought her to a place full of them, it seemed obvious that he didn’t intend her to sit about doing whatever non-artisan sorcerers did in their spare time. He expected her to create, and to mingle with other creators.
The trouble was, she feared the artisans’ judgement of her. Memories of being mocked and rejected by the artists in Schpeta crowded her mind when she contemplated exploring the building. She had wondered if she might be better off approaching the tapestry weavers first, since in her experience weavers were more welcoming and were used to working in a group. Yet what would they make of her, a sorcerer and the Raen’s… what?
She did not know how to describe her relationship with him. Not friend, as they weren’t that close. Not follower, as she’d not made any conscious decision to serve him. Not ally, as they’d made no deal. Not student either, as he wasn’t the one training her. All they knew was that she had an association with the most powerful sorcerer in all the worlds. They might fear her based on that alone.
She didn’t want to scare or intimidate anyone. She wanted them to feel she was their equal.
Artists were not so easily daunted. Yet that meant they would treat her as an outsider if she didn’t impress them with her skills. In order to prove she was more than a sorcerer, she had asked for tools and materials a few days after arriving, and begun working.
It wasn’t going well. She’d told herself she was out of practice, ignoring the empty feeling in her gut each time she sat back and gave her work a critical lookover. She had tried warm-up exercises, different drawing and painting mediums–even oily paint, which was no novelty to the artists here.
Today she had returned to the simplest method: chalk and paper. Her subject was the mechanical insect Valhan had given her.
Picking it up, she examined it again. She still wasn’t sure what it was for. An amusement, or something more practical? Though Valhan had said it could be trained to obey commands, she’d had no luck in doing so. Without any idea what sort of rewards would motivate it, how could she teach it anything?
And yet… Valhan had said this odd little thing was the future.
She set it down in the same position, picked up her drawing tools and continued her sketch. Nothing focused the mind on a subject like drawing. She ought to notice details she’d missed before. But though that was her intention, her thoughts soon wandered.
How well will I draw and paint in a hundred cycles? What about a thousand? Would she live in Valhan’s palace for long, or one day leave it? Or create her own? Me the ruler of a palace? No… but it would be nice to be able to create a place like this, where artisans can work together.
Would she always want to paint? How much would she change, whether through the experience of living, or the influence of others? Would time keep passing faster and faster, as it seemed to now compared to when she was younger? Would other people’s lives seem to flash by? What if she fell in love with a mortal man? Would he age before her eyes, and die all too soon? If she fell in love with an ageless man, could they hope to remain in love for hundreds, if not thousands, of cycles? If she could read his mind, how much would his expectations influence her appearance and personality? Would it be too painful to see what he didn’t like about her as well as what he loved? Perhaps it would be better to fall in love with someone whose mind she couldn’t read. So far, the only person she’d met whose mind was inaccessible was Valhan.
A small thrill ran down her spine. He was a beautiful man. And powerful. Both were very attractive. But the power also repelled her. And she wasn’t filled with anticipation and excitement when she saw him, as she had been with Izare, counting down the hours until she saw him again… before she met the corrupter and everything began to fall apart. With Valhan, she felt a contradictory fascination and dread.
Besides, love was a complication she didn’t need right now. Perhaps she would welcome it again one day. After all, an eternity with no love was a sorry prospect.
Since Valhan is the most powerful sorcerer in the worlds and can read everyone’s mind, can he even risk falling in love? Dahli had said Valhan hadn’t taken a lover in hundreds of cycles. No, he said Valhan hadn’t seduced anyone for that long. That’s different.
But love? A lover’s expectations would surely have a greater influence on an ageless sorcerer. Their expectations were greater and…
A tapping interrupted her thoughts. She turned to see one of the servants standing at the entrance to her suite of rooms. The woman’s knees bent, then she quickly straightened them. Rielle had put a stop to all the falling to the floor in supplication, telling the servants that she was neither royal nor holy, but just another artisan.
“Yes, Sesse?”
“Do you wish for anything, Sorcerer Rielle?” Sesse’s eyes were bright and wide, and her voice wavered. Fear radiated from her.
“What is it?” Rielle asked.
Sesse’s eyes dropped to the floor. “They said I wasn’t to tell you.”
Putting down the chalk and paper, Rielle beckoned. “Sit.” She waved at a nearby chair.
Sesse entered the room, not raising her eyes until she was perched on the end of the chair.
Looking into the woman’s mind, Rielle read that a sorcerer had arrived a short while ago. That in itself wasn’t strange. Many of the artisans had come here from other worlds, and the families paid sorcerers to bring them for visits, or send messages. Sorcerers also brought customers for the artisans’ wares, or came to buy work for themselves or on behalf of others.
But this sorcerer was a stranger, and did not appear to be interested in purchasing anything. He says the rebels are going to attack the Raen soon, Sesse thought, knowing that Rielle would read the words.
Rielle frowned. She’d discovered there were rebels opposed to Valhan’s rule while reading the minds of artisans in the hopes of learning which of them she would most easily befriend. Most people here thought the rebellion would fall to internal disunity before it became a threat. The rest were certain that any attack on the Raen would fail. But the stranger’s news had stirred doubts among them.
“The Raen has lived for over a thousand cycles. Rebellions must have risen before,” Rielle pointed out.
Sesse blinked. “I… I don’t know. I suppose they must have.”
“And yet he’s still alive. Still the Raen.”
The woman’s nodded. “He is. And the rebels have been gathering for less than a cycle. They can’t have had much training or preparation in that time.”
“No,” Rielle agreed.
Sesse rose. “So… is there anything you need, Sorcerer Rielle?
Rielle shook her head.
The woman rose, made a little half-bow and hurried to the doorway. There she hesitated, then looked back.
“One of the sorcerers says the leader of the rebels might be the Successor. That Millennium’s Rule may be coming true.”
“Valhan is already more than a thousand cycles old,” Rielle told her. “Even if he were to be defeated tomorrow, that still means the prophecy did not come true.”
Sesse looked thoughtful, nodded, then walked away.
Turning back to her drawing, Rielle wondered if her lack of focus was simply the result of many interruptions throughout the day by well-meaning servants. When she had nearly finished the drawing she heard footsteps in the doorway again and sighed. This time Sesse did not knock, and Rielle had to smooth away a scowl as she turned
to see what the woman wanted.
Dahli stood a few steps away. He had been staring at her intently, but as she looked at him his face relaxed.
“I see you’re settling in,” he said, smiling.
“Dahli!” Rielle set the drawing aside and stood up. “I don’t think anyone is settled here today. The servants are all astir with rumours of rebel plots to kill Valhan.”
His smile faded. “Ah. That. Don’t worry. Valhan has been aware of the problem for some time. He’ll deal with them as he has always done.”
“Which is how?”
Dahli picked up her sketch and examined it. “Give them a few chances to change their minds, then show those who don’t what they’ll be facing if they continue.”
“Is it working?”
He set the drawing down again. “Too soon to say.”
“Is this the reason he abandoned his world?”
Dahli shrugged. “He has not said so. He wants me to stay here and…” He frowned and turned to the door. Following his gaze Rielle saw Sesse hovering there. “What is it?”
“Sorry for interrupting, Sorcerer Dahli,” the woman said, looking from him to Rielle.
Dahli’s frown deepened and his shoulders tensed. “Who is this man?” he demanded.
Realising he had read the servant’s mind, Rielle sought the source of his anger. Sesse had come to tell Rielle that the sorcerer who had brought the news had been harassing the servants and trying to recruit sorcerers to the rebels’ cause.
Sesse cringed before Dahli’s anger, but did not shrink away. “I did not hear his name.”
Dahli exhaled. “Where is he now?”
“In the dining room.”
With a hiss, Dahli strode out of the room. Rielle hurried to the door and watched him stalk away. Something about Dahli’s reaction disturbed her. His manner had changed too swiftly from a lack of concern to rage. She looked at Sesse.
“There’s a kitchen next to the dining room, right? Is there a way to the kitchen that’ll get us there without Dahli seeing?”
The woman nodded, beckoned, then led Rielle down the passage in the other direction. Several corridors and staircases later they reached a long, busy kitchen. Sesse spoke to one of the kitchen servants. The man sniffed with disdain and pointed to a door at the far end. Two male servants hovered there, exchanging anxious looks. “He’s still in the dining room, making a nuisance of himself,” Sesse translated as she led Rielle to the door.
The two servants stepped away as they saw Rielle coming, looking relieved. As Sesse reached out to the handle Rielle pulled her back.
“Wait here,” Rielle said. She pressed her ear to the door, but the first sounds she heard were footsteps approaching, and she ducked away before the door opened and two scowling servants hurried through, holding golden platters piled with food.
“More of whatever this is! I want—” a man called after them, his words cut off as the door closed again. Rielle pressed her ear to it again. She heard another door close, and more distant footsteps.
“I hear you’re recruiting for the rebels.” The voice was Dahli’s.
The sound of a chair scraping on the floor followed.
“Not actually recruiting,” the stranger said. “Just passing on news.”
She sought the visitor’s mind. His name was Gabeme. When he’d realised he’d arrived at one of the Raen’s palaces his first thought was to slip away again without raising suspicion. But a quick scan of minds told him it was a small palace–probably a minor one–and he was reassured to learn that the ruler of worlds didn’t visit often, nor did his allies. Not all of the artisans were happy to have their home turned into a palace for the ruler of worlds. The idea that he might recruit rebels from right under the Raen’s nose had tempted him to linger.
He hadn’t bargained on one of the allies dropping in.
“Oh, I’m no ally,” Dahli corrected, then laughed.
The laugh was so light-hearted that Rielle wondered if she was hearing someone who only sounded like Dahli. She sought his mind and glimpsed a murderous intention. Her blood went cold. Surely Dahli wouldn’t…
“No? Then… what are you?” the stranger began.
“I am his Most Loyal.”
The magic around Rielle suddenly surged to a point somewhere within the dining room. Gabeme had taken it. She caught her breath, hoping that Dahli already had enough to repel an attack–and had regained control of his temper.
What she saw in Gabeme’s mind now shocked her. He’d heard stories of this one, closest of the Raen’s most willing followers, to whom the Raen gave his most terrible and murderous tasks. I must be the most unlucky rebel in the worlds. He was too terrified to move. The Most Loyal was reaching for him. He backed away, knowing that he would never win a fight with this man, or outrun him.
Rielle pushed through the door. “Let him go, Dahli.”
Dahli froze and looked at her in surprise. Gabeme gave her a puzzled stare, then vanished.
“Gah!” Dahli clenched his fists and turned back to the empty space Gabeme had occupied.
“Don’t!” Rielle called. “There is no need to kill him.”
He glared at her, then vanished.
Letting out a long sigh, she turned back to the door. At least I tried to stop him killing the man. But as she reached out to the handle Dahli blinked into existence in front of her.
“Gone,” he growled. “Just as you planned.”
She stepped back. “Plan?”
“You meant him to escape.”
“Well, yes. You were going to kill him.”
“Of course I was! He’s a rebel!”
“A messenger. A nobody.” She shook her head. “What difference would killing him make? He’s too weak to be any great threat–and not particularly smart. I couldn’t stand there and let you kill someone just for being a fool.”
Dahli’s eyes narrowed as he advanced, forcing her to back away. “You expect me to believe that?”
“Why wouldn’t you?” She stopped and met his stare despite how close he stood. “You’ve seen into my mind enough to know I’d never support killing anyone if it could be avoided. Why else would I intervene?”
“Because your loyalty is not to Valhan.”
Rielle shook her head. “What are you saying? That I would oppose Valhan and support the rebels after having met one rather unimpressive one–rebels who I don’t know and who have never done anything for me.”
“But you do know them,” he told her.
Exasperation filled her. “How can I possibly know the rebels?”
He leaned closer.
“You know Baluka quite well, from what I have heard.”
The name was like a slap, creating a wave of guilt that drowned out her ability to speak.
His expression became triumphant. “He is their leader.”
She could not breathe. Baluka. He’d not returned to his family and learned that she had left willingly. He’d joined the only people who were willing to fight the man he believed had abducted her.
“Oh, Baluka,” she breathed, moving to a chair and sitting down. “Why didn’t you go home?”
So this is all my fault, in a way. If I hadn’t left to join Valhan, Baluka wouldn’t have left the Travellers and–oh, what a mess. But then she realised that, by the same kind of reasoning, this could just as easily be Valhan’s fault for taking her from her world.
She looked up. Dahli stood regarding her with crossed arms, all determination and venom.
“Valhan was wise not to let me teach you how to travel between worlds,” he said.
She felt sick. I had no idea he distrusted me so much. It doesn’t make sense. He has seen into my mind. He knows I harbour no lingering feeling for Baluka. There must be another reason.
“You know I didn’t know Baluka had joined the rebels,” she told him. “You never saw that knowledge in my mind when you were teaching me pattern shifting.”
“Never seeing it simply means you never thoug
ht about it while your mind was open.”
“But surely if I had some malicious plan I’d have been unable to help thinking about it?”
“You simply had no reason to yet. But you did acknowledge that you do not want to serve Valhan. You are not loyal to him. You still feel an obligation to the Travellers. To this young man. If you had to choose between them—”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Dahli,” she said, cutting him off. “Just because I don’t feel the same loyalty to Valhan that you do doesn’t mean I want him dead. Far from it. You know I never want to kill anyone ever again. Nothing will change that.”
Though his face barely moved, several emotions were betrayed in tiny shifts of muscles. Knowing. Guilt. Realisation. Hope. The latter three intrigued her. It was as if he had realised she wasn’t aware of something. As if he knew he’d got away with something. Perhaps it was time she asked the questions.
“What do you think would change that?”
He looked away. “The same motivation that drives the rebels. Freedom to do as you wish, regardless of the consequences.”
She did not believe one word of it. “After all you have done for me, and everything Valhan has shown me?”
Again, the flash of guilt. What he has done for me? Or is it something he has done to me.
“Teaching me magic…”
No reaction.
“… and to become ageless,” she continued.
He swallowed and his eyes widened slightly.
“Though I’d have liked to have known the costs beforehand,” she added.
His face froze.
That is it. Either the dangers he’s already told me about are worse, or there is something else. For the first time, she sought his mind.
It might not be true, he was thinking. I thought I saw something, when I first arrived and she was drawing.
And she saw what he feared. Valhan had told Dahli of a belief, perhaps as ancient as Millennium’s Rule, that a Maker who learned to pattern-shift always lost the ability to generate magic. He’d never known a Maker strong enough to learn pattern shifting, so he was curious to know if it proved to be true.