Eldicar Manushan and the page Beric were crossing the terrace garden and walking along the path to his apartments. The magicker was wearing a pale blue tunic shirt of glimmering silk. His legs were bare, and he wore no boots or shoes. His page was clad only in a loincloth and was carrying towels across his shoulder.
“Good day to you, Dakeyras,” the magicker said with a broad smile.
“And to you. Where are you heading?”
“To the beach. Beric has become fond of it.” The blond page looked up at his uncle and grinned.
“The water is very cold,” he said.
“You have taken a wrong turn,” said Waylander. “Go back to the tall yellow rose and turn right. The steps there will take you to the sea.”
Eldicar Manushan glanced at the roughly cut walls of Waylander’s apartments. “I understand you live here,” he said. “You are a most curious man. You build a palace of great style and beauty yet live in little more than a cave on a cliff wall. Why is that?”
“I sometimes ask myself the same question,” said Waylander.
“Can we go to the sea now, Uncle?” put in the boy. “It is getting very hot.”
“You go down, Beric. I will join you presently.”
“Don’t be long,” said the child, running back down the path.
“The young have such energy,” observed Eldicar Manushan, moving into the shade of a flowering tree and seating himself on a rock.
“And innocence,” added Waylander.
“Yes. It is always a cause of sadness when it passes. I did not take a wrong turn, Dakeyras. I wanted to speak with you.”
“I am here. Speak.”
“I am sorry for the deaths of your people. It was not my doing.”
“Just an unfortunate coincidence,” said Waylander.
Eldicar sighed. “I will not lie to you. My people have formed an alliance with, shall we say, another powerful group. Such is the way of war. What I am saying is that I did not bring the beasts to your palace.”
“What is it you seek here?” asked Waylander. “This is not rich land.”
“Perhaps not. But it is ours. It was once ruled by my people. We were temporarily defeated by force of arms. We retreated. Now we are coming back. There is nothing overtly evil in this. It is just human. We want what is ours by right, and we are willing to fight for it. The question for you is: Is this your fight? You are not a native of Kydor. You have a fine palace, servants, and the freedom only riches can supply. That will not change. You are a strong and deadly man, but whether for us or against us, you can make no discernible difference to the outcome.”
“Then why concern yourself with my friendship?”
“Partly because I like you.” The magicker smiled. “And partly because you killed the Bezha. Not many men could have done that. Our cause is not unjust, Dakeyras. This was our land, and it is the way of man to fight for what he believes is just. You agree?”
Waylander shrugged. “It is said that this land was once below the sea. Does the sea own it? Men hold what they are strong enough to hold. If you can take this land, then take it. But I will think on what you have said.”
“Don’t take too long,” advised Eldicar Manushan. He turned to follow his page to the beach, then swung back. “Did you find the body of the priestess?”
“I found the body of a creature not human,” said Waylander.
Eldicar Manushan stood silently for a moment. “She was a joining. A failed experiment, full of bitterness and hatred. My own lord, Deresh Karany, invested much time and passion in her training. She betrayed him.”
“And he sent the demons?”
Eldicar spread his hands. “I am only a servant. I do not know all my master’s plans.” He strolled away.
Waylander sat for some time outside the apartments. He was a hunter, trained to follow his prey and kill it. This situation was far more subtle and infinitely more dangerous.
Added to which, there was another player in the game who had not yet shown himself.
Who was Deresh Karany?
During the next three days life in the palace began to return to a semblance of normality. The servants were still nervous, and many purchased ward charms from stallholders in Carlis, hanging them on the doors of their rooms or around their necks. The temple was filled daily with new converts, all anxious to be blessed by Chardyn and the three other priests.
Chardyn himself spent hours every day poring over scrolls and learning, as best he could, the ancient spells said to be useful against demonic possession and manifestation. He also removed an ornate box hidden below the altar. From it he took two items: a golden ring with a carved carnelian stone at the center, and a talismanic necklet, both said to have been blessed by the great Dardalion, first abbot of the Thirty. You are a hypocrite, he told himself as he looped the necklet over his head.
In the palace hospital many of the wounded soldiers died in agony despite the use of the crystal supplied to the two surgeons by Waylander. Neither of the men was as skilled as Mendyr Syn. But others survived. They were visited daily by the duke and offered encouragement. The crippled were assured they would receive good pensions and parcels of land back near the capital.
Little was seen of Waylander during this time, and all callers to the palace were greeted by Emrin, who informed them that the Gentleman was not in residence.
In the Winter Palace, on the far side of the bay, the duke began preparations for the celebration feast. The lords of Kydor—Panagyn of House Rishell, Ruall of House Loras, and Shastar of House Bakard—all arrived in Carlis and were given sumptuous suites in three of the towers. Lord Aric of House Kilraith occupied the fourth tower.
Invitations to the feast were sent to all the heads of the minor noble families and a handful of wealthy merchants, including the Gray Man.
There was great excitement among the invited, for those who had already seen the wondrous talents of Eldicar Manushan had spread the word. And the magicker had promised a night to remember for all the guests.
A little to the west of the Gray Man’s apartments was a sheltered ledge hidden from the palace above by a jutting overhang. Here there were several bench seats created from split logs, surrounding the sanded stump of a huge tree. The Gray Man was stretched out on one of the benches. To his right sat Ustarte the Priestess, dressed now in a green robe of silk. Her face was still gray, and her eyes reflected both weariness and pain. On the bench opposite sat Yu Yu Liang and Kysumu.
Yu Yu’s shoulder was healing fast, but he found himself wishing he were back in his hospital bed. Ustarte had tried to question him about his experiences with the spirits of the original Riaj-nor. Yu Yu found it hard now to remember all that he had been told. Much of it was beyond him, anyway, and he had not understood it even when it was being relayed to him by the spirit of Qin Chong. There was a palpable feeling of tension in the air. The Gray Man was stretched out on his side, resting on one elbow, but his face was stern, his eyes locked on Yu Yu’s face. It was most disconcerting. The priestess was disappointed, and only Kysumu seemed relaxed and at ease. Yu Yu guessed this was merely an outward show.
“I am sorry,” he said in Chaitze. “I remember the tall man coming to me. I remember he called me pria-shath, which Kysumu said means ‘lantern bearer.’ Then he took my hand, and we flew. High through clouds and under stars. I saw battles on land and at sea. I saw great cities being built and being destroyed. And all the time he was talking to me. I thought I was remembering it, but when I awoke, it started slipping away. Sometimes things come back to me—like when I remembered how the magic of the swords could be passed on. But most of it is gone.”
The Gray Man swung his legs to the ground and sat up. “When I spoke to you in the grounds of the palace,” he said, “you told me we had to find the Men of Clay. You remember?”
“Yes, the Men of Clay. I remember that.”
“Who are they?”
“They wait in the dome. That’s what he told me. They wait for the lantern b
earer.”
“And where is the dome?”
“I don’t know. I can’t think anymore.” Yu Yu was feeling agitated now.
Kysumu laid a hand on his arm. “Stay calm, Yu Yu. All will be well.”
“I don’t see how,” muttered Yu Yu. “I am an idiot.”
“You are the chosen, the pria-shath. That is why you were drawn here,” said Kysumu. “So sit calmly and let us continue to seek the truth. You agree?”
Yu Yu leaned back and closed his eyes. “Yes, I agree. But my mind is emptying. I can feel it all washing away.”
“It will come back. Qin Chong told you that you must find the Men of Clay, who live in a place called the dome. He said these Men of Clay were waiting for the lantern bearer. Did you see the Men of Clay in your travels with Qin Chong?”
“Yes! Yes, I did. It was after a great battle. There were thousands of warriors—men like you, Kysumu, in robes, some gray, some white, and some crimson. They knelt and prayed on the battlefield, and then they drew lots. Certain of the warriors then moved away from the others. They walked into the hills. Qin Chong was with them. He was with them and with me, if you take my meaning. And he said, ‘These are the Men of Clay.’ ”
“This is good,” said Kysumu. “What else did Qin Chong say to you?”
“He said I must find them. At the dome. Then we floated again, over hills and valleys and across a bay, and we sat in a little wood, and he told me of his life and asked about mine. I told him I dug ditches and foundations, and he said that was an honorable occupation. Which, of course, it is, for without foundations you couldn’t—”
“Yes, yes,” said Kysumu, allowing his irritation to show. “But let us return to the Men of Clay. Did he mention them again?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
The Gray Man leaned forward. “When they drew lots, how many men moved away into the hills with Qin Chong?”
“Several hundred, I would think,” said Yu Yu.
“And the black man,” said Ustarte.
Yu Yu blinked in surprise and stared at the ailing priestess. “Yes. How did you know? I had almost forgotten myself.”
“My wounds have sapped my powers—but not completely,” she said. “Tell us of him.”
“He was a wizard, I think. His skin was very dark. He was tall and well built. He wore a blue robe and carried a long white staff, curved at the top. At least I think he was a wizard. He was related to someone famous. Grandson or great-grandson. Something like that.”
“Emsharas,” put in Ustarte.
“That’s it!” said Yu Yu. “Grandson of Emsharas, who was also a wizard.”
“Far more than a wizard,” said Ustarte. “He was a lord of demons. According to legend, he rebelled against his brother, Anharat, and aided the humans of Kuan Hador in the first Demon War. Through his power the warriors of Kuan Hador defeated the demons, casting them from this dimension. That was in the days when Kuan Hador was a symbol of purity and courage. When Kuan Hador fell into evil ways and a second war broke out, the few descendants of Emsharas took up arms against the empire. There were many battles. Nothing is known of the fate of Emsharas’ descendants.”
“We seem to be no closer to an answer,” said Kysumu.
“I think that we are,” observed the Gray Man. He turned to Yu Yu. “The last battle you saw was at the city of Kuan Hador?”
“Yes.”
“In which direction did the Men of Clay walk?”
“South … southwest, maybe. A southerly direction, anyway.”
“That area is mostly forest now,” said the Gray Man. “It covers a vast area on the way to Qumtar. Do you remember any landmarks?”
Yu Yu shook his head. “Just a lot of hills.”
“We must travel there,” said the Gray Man. To his right Ustarte gave out a low moan. Her head sagged back against the headrest of the bench. The Gray Man moved swiftly to her side. “Help me with her,” he told Kysumu. Together, with great effort, they lifted the priestess, carrying her back to the apartments and laying her on the bed.
Her golden eyes opened. “I … need a little … rest,” she whispered.
The men left her and returned to where Yu Yu waited. “How is your wound?” the Gray Man asked him.
“Better.”
“Can you ride?”
“Of course. I am a great rider.”
“You and Kysumu should head back to the ruins, then strike out toward the south.”
“What are we looking for?” asked Yu Yu.
“Anything that looks familiar to you. The Men of Clay walked away from the battlefield. Did they walk far? More than a day, for example? Did they make camp?”
“No, I don’t think so. I think the hills were close to the burning city.”
“Then you must find those hills. I will join you in a day or two.”
Kysumu stepped in close to the Gray Man. “What if the demons come back? You will not have our swords to protect you.”
“One concern at a time, my friend,” said the Gray Man. “Emrin will see that you have two good mounts and a week’s supplies. Tell no one where you are heading.”
Lord Aric of House Kilraith stepped past the two guards at the door and led Eldicar Manushan through to the rear apartments, where a third guard politely relieved Aric of his ruby-pommeled dagger. Lord Panagyn of House Rishell was lounging in an armchair, his booted feet resting on a glass tabletop. He was a big, ugly man with iron-gray hair and a large bulbous nose, but his face was given a hint of glamour by the silver patch he wore over his left eye.
“Greetings, Cousin,” said Aric, amiably. “I trust you are comfortable.”
“As comfortable as any man sitting in the fortress of his enemy.”
“Always so suspicious, Cousin. You will not die here. Allow me to introduce my friend, Eldicar Manushan.”
The broad-shouldered magicker bowed. “A pleasure, my lord.”
“So far the pleasure is all yours,” grunted Panagyn, swinging his legs from the table. “If you are looking for an alliance with House Rishell, Aric, you can forget it. You were behind the treacherous turncoat Shastar. Had he not switched sides, I would have killed Ruall, as I killed his brothers.”
“Indeed so,” said Aric. “And you are quite right. I did convince Shastar to change sides.”
“You admit it, you dog!”
“Yes, I do.” Aric sat down opposite the astonished man. “But all that is in the past. There are far greater prizes in our grasp now. We have battled one another in order to gain control of larger areas of Kydor. Larger areas of a tiny nation. But suppose for a moment we could conquer the lands of the Chiatze and the Gothir. And beyond. Drenan, Vagria, Lentria. Suppose that we could be kings of great empires.”
Panagyn laughed, the sound rich with mockery. “Oh yes, Cousin,” he said. “And we could fly over our empires on the backs of winged pigs. I do believe I saw a feathered pig swooping past my window as I arrived.”
“I don’t blame you for your cynicism, Panagyn,” said Aric. “I will even give you another opportunity for jest. Not only can we rule these empires, we will never die. We will be immortal like gods.” He fell silent for a moment, then smiled. “You wish to make another jest?”
“No, but I would appreciate you offering me a taste of the narcotic you have obviously been imbibing.”
Aric laughed. “How is your eye?”
“It hurts, Aric. How do you think it feels? An arrow cut through it, and I had to pluck out both shaft and orb.”
“Then perhaps a small demonstration would aid our negotiation,” said Aric. He turned to Eldicar Manushan.
The magicker raised his hand. From the tip of his index finger a blue flame leapt into the air, closing in on itself and swirling like a tiny glowing ball.
“What is this?” asked Panagyn. Suddenly the ball sped across the room, flowing through the silver eye patch. Panagyn fell back with a groan. He swore loudly and scrabbled for his dagger.
“No need for that,??
? said Eldicar Manushan. “Stay calm and wait for the pain to pass. The result will surprise you, my lord. The pain should be receding now. What do you feel?”
“An itching in the socket,” muttered Panagyn. “It feels like something is lodged there.”
“As indeed something is,” said Eldicar. “Remove your eye patch.” Panagyn did so. The socket had been stitched tight. Eldicar Manushan touched his finger to the sealed lids. The skin peeled back, the muscles of the lids swelling with new life. “Open your eye,” ordered the magicker.
Panagyn obeyed him. “Sweet heaven!” he whispered. “I have my sight. It is a miracle.”
“No, merely magic,” said Eldicar, looking at him closely. “And I didn’t quite get the color right. The iris is a deeper blue in your right eye.”
“Gods, man, I care nothing for the color,” said Panagyn. “To be free of pain—and to have two good eyes.” Rising from his chair, he walked to the balcony and stared out over the bay. He laughed, then swung back to the two men. “How have you done this?”
“It would take rather an age to explain, my lord. But essentially your own body regenerated itself. Eyes are really quite simple. Bones take a little more expertise. Had you, for example, lost an arm, it would have taken several weeks and more than two dozen spells to regrow. Now, if you will, my lord, take a close look at your cousin.”
“Good to be able to take a close look at anything,” said Panagyn. “What am I looking for?”
“Does he seem well to you?”
“You mean apart from dying his hair and beard?”
“It is not dye,” said Eldicar Manushan. “I have given him back some ten years or so. He is now a man in his early thirties and could remain so for several hundred years. Perhaps more.”
“By the gods, he does seem younger,” whispered Panagyn. “And you could do this for me?”
“Of course.”
“And what do you require in return? The soul of my firstborn?” Panagyn forced a laugh, but his eyes showed no humor.
“I am not a demon, Lord Panagyn. I am a man, just as you are. What I require is your friendship and your loyalty.”