Even though I had no appetite—I was too wobbly, though recovering fast—I was glad of the respite. As I sat down to nut cakes, cheese, and more dried fruit, my mind began to recover. I had connected with a tree, whose sense of time and life is so very different. That distant boom had to be my heart slowing down to a dangerous degree.
All right, then. No more tree contacts. But (I exulted) I’d done it!
Raifas had dressed again in his black outfit with the dragon embroidery. A quiet servant waited nearby with my cloak, which I took with a word of thanks that set off the inescapable bowing. Out we walked, me looking at the time-blurred carving of knotted patterns in the stonework surrounding the arched doors. I slid my fingers over the carvings, trying to imagine the long-ago hands that had worked to shape the stone, and I wondered what the artisan had thought—if she, or he, had shared a vision of the building with the tile layers and the others who had made the place. Or had they been constrained by fais—had their work come at the cost of sorrow and anger and pain?
The birds awaited us. I leaped onto Andisla and felt in the way the bird rocked slightly under the impact that he could fly, but was not as springy as the day previous. I wanted to say something, but I would have to explain my concern, and I was not ready to share my faltering new skill with anyone as yet.
As he’d said, the flight was relatively short. The birds flapped hard into the rising wind, soaring upwards, then circling to use the wind effectively before angling on the tumbling currents of hot air rising to meet the cold winter winds.
“Hold on,” Raifas shouted as Firebird screamed. “This is the rough part!” Greenish magical fire scintillated around the gryph as Firebird screamed again, flapping and veering downward. Andisla followed as if on a string, straight into a roiling turmoil of vapors and smoke.
My eyes stung and my vision blurred with shadowy shapes diving and rising. I squinted into the whorls, unconsciously reaching through that pin-hole in my mental wall—and the shadows brightened to scaled, spike-backed, bat-winged creatures of wildly different sizes and shapes, their eyes glowing as brightly as the fire beating far below. But they were half-invisible: I could see the rock plainly through them.
Somewhere Firebird shrieked, and because I was listening in the mental realm I felt the green lightning strike him with stunning pain. I gulped, flinching, and nearly fell off Andisla, who jolted, wings juddering.
I reached mentally for Firebird, who struggled wildly against pain and fear. My entire body flashed with chill when I looked through the gryph’s mind to the vast shape stirring down below in the heart of the fire.
Another flash of white-pain rocked me backward, and I gasped, blinking sightlessly into the smoke as Andisla struggled upward, bursting into the cold air.
“There you are!” Raifas shouted, pale with worry. “Thought you fell!”
I barely heard him over the hiss and seethe and roar of wind and molten rock. The shadows vanished in the smoke, and I coughed as the gryphs sailed up into cold, clean air, then drifted slowly down the slope to the castle courtyard.
I slid off Andisla, dizzy, headachy, totally confused. Alarm still shivered through me at the awareness of that ruby-scaled creature as big as an island who dwelt in that space between the surging boiling rock . . . and where was that?
“Elenderi!” I blinked up into Raifas’s face.
“I thought you fell into the pit. I couldn’t see you at all,” he said, eyes narrowed. “Until I pulled the beasts up. You fell backward between Andisla’s wings, is that it?”
“Backward,” I repeated witlessly.
“I should probably have waited,” he admitted. “I really wanted to show you my idea, but for some reason Firebird fought the descent like a fledgling, which caused Andisla uncertainty. And when you nearly vanished. . . .” He shook his head. “My pardon for putting you in danger. We shall wait a day. How are you feeling? Do you need to recruit yourself, or are you able to tour the flagship?” He looked down as tiny snowflakes drifted to touch his shoulders and hair. “It is an easy ride. We need not exert ourselves. I doubt the snow will worsen. The sky looks the same clear to the horizon and the lizardrakes will do all the work.”
As he spoke, servants had begun leading the two gryphs away.
I don’t know why I tipped my head back. Partly because my neck ached and my eyes still stung, but perhaps a residue of mental connection remained because once again my gaze was caught by that great gryph eye, and hot rage blasted me nearly off my feet.
I stepped back, then steadied myself against the rail. Raifas did not see. He had turned his attention to the harnessed sleigh approaching, drawn by three pairs of lizardrakes.
He stretched out a hand to me in invitation. Numbly I followed, my mind wailing wordlessly. Too much, too fast. I craved a chance to sit, to breathe.
The creatures began to pull the sleigh at a spanking pace along the ancient road zigzagging down the mountain. Raifas took the reins himself, which kept him busy enough for me to shut my eyes and try to sort out the turmoil inside my head. Did they know about that immense creature in the fire world?
Fire world. Slowly I began to sift the impressions. The dragon—if it was a dragon—that majestic immanence dwelt between the fire rock and wherever-it-was . . . I had no words. I opened my eyes, my awareness still heightened by my encounter with the tree.
Around me, snow. To the left, the gray-green sea as the sleigh’s runners hissed down the icy road. Before us, three pairs of bird heads on skinny necks bobbing as the lizardrakes ran. But the middle creature on the right bore a shadow. I tried to blink it away, then remembered a blurrier shadow on the first lizardrake I’d ever seen.
This shadow sharpened into a human shape. Was I seeing ghosts now? The human shape moved with the lizardrake in the manner of a true shadow. Ghosts, all songs and records insist, drifted or lurked about on their own.
Images and impressions began fitting into a semblance of coherence like pieces of a puzzle: the roots of the trees, even the odd, blurring shapes around some of the creatures.
The puzzle was by no means complete, but I sensed that all these things were related. However the instinct to keep silent surpassed all until I understood more, such as why Firebird was so angry and what those shadows might be, and how this other world fit with Sveran Djur as I was beginning to comprehend it.
Gradually I became aware that Raifas was addressing comments to me as we descended toward the wharf. He didn’t talk all the time—he was busy guiding the sleigh—but I gained the impression that he spent his winters attending on the emperor and working at pennon affairs, and spring was when he departed with the East Fleet.
“Do you like ocean travel?” he asked presently.
“I’ve only been on two vessels,” I said, “a yacht and a trader.”
I wondered how much to say about being forced aboard Ilyan Rajanas’s yacht, or more importantly, the trader when Hlanan, Kee, and I had been trying to escape Prince Geric by sailing from Fara Bay. Until Lendan brought pirate ships to chase us—with Dhes-Andis’s full cooperation.
Looking back, I could see how I had stupidly, ignorantly piqued Dhes-Andis’s interest, thereby putting a lot of other people in danger. He had some sort of connection with Prince Geric, yet he’d been quite willing to throw away Geric’s life in order to test me.
I wondered if Prince Geric had ever been in Sveran Djur.
Raifas guided the sleigh down the last curve of the road, and the sleigh began bumping along the icy quay, recalling my attention to my surroundings.
Servants ran down a long pier from the mightiest of the warships as Raifas guided the sleigh to a stop. We climbed out and servants took charge of the lizardrakes; I glanced back at the one with the shadow. Yes, I could see a distinctly human silhouette with bowed head as the creature plodded away.
I skipped to catch up with Raifas, who led me down the pier to a ramp gently heaving on the sea, its high end connected to the warship.
From th
e castle up the mountain all these ships had looked like toys. Warships were different from traders, which in my experience had looked rather like barrels with a pointy end, slow because they sat heavy in the water with their holds full of goods. These warships lay long and lean, their masts raked back, the better to brace into strong winds.
Djuran warships were the fastest and best-made on the seas, Raifas began telling me as we mounted the ramp. Because of the protection magic worked into each piece of wood as it is laid down, from keelson to the trucks holding up the upper masts, some of these vessels were more than five hundred years old.
I wondered if that was where the forests had gone as Raifas conducted me along the companionway, affording us a clear view fore and aft—which admittedly was beautiful. Tripled patterns carved everywhere, the lovely inward slanted windows at the back end (stern, he corrected me), the gentle slope from the captain’s deck back of the wheel to the foredeck, it was all lovely, except that storage place below the crew-deck, where swords, lances, knives and other steel weapons were stored, along with barrels of arrows and bows ready to be strung.
“Much faster on deep waters than Shinjan galleys,” he said as we made our way back up the ladder. “Their galleys maneuver well in light airs. Better than ours when there is no wind.” He waved his hand up at the masts as we walked to the bow, which looked out to sea. “But if necessary we can get out sweeps, and while their slaves can row far faster, at what a cost! A man is not going to row at strength while his back is raw with festering wounds, if you will pardon the crudity.” His mouth crimpled with disgust.
He turned away, leaving the subject of Shinjan slaves to the wintry air, and explained how Djuran warships could keep that narrow, lean look by a long history of transferred supplies from shore. But those supplies were difficult to get when harvests were scarce, and thus Sveran Djur ever sought to unite with kingdoms not primarily made of rock.
“Would you like to climb aloft?” He turned his hand toward the complication of ropes binding the masts to each side.
“The snow is coming down harder,” I said. “How much would we see?”
He looked up, then out. “Probably little,” he admitted with a rueful curve of his lips. “I confess I wanted to demonstrate my skills. I was sent to sea at ten and every year since, summer has found me on the water. First learning to sail, then to command.” He pointed at the warehouse on the quay at the other end of the pier. “I know you can put sunlight into Fire Sticks, and someone mentioned your having cleared snow off the streets in town. Can you clear that roof?”
I peered doubtfully at it. The roof lay at a farther distance than I’d tried yet, and it was also a vast affair, whereas I had worked hard to confine my fire magic to small targets. “I don’t think I can,” I said.
“Ah, probably as well you haven’t the magical reach.”
“Why?”
“I had an idea about your using your fire magic against enemy ships, but my understanding is that magic is unreliable in warfare, once the surprise is gone. What one mage comes up with, another can ward.”
I had been thinking that my difficulty was with using too much fire. I still got that danger-grip at the back of my neck when I remembered how very close I had come to losing control on the rooftop in Fara Bay. But I did not want to explain that now. One vow I meant to keep was never again to send fire against ships the way I had against those pirates.
Raifas moved on and I followed him, glad to have the subject dropped.
The command cabin was that space with the pretty windows across the stern, under the captain’s deck. Like the ship itself this cabin was clean and elegant in design and fittings, dominated opposite the row of windows by an embroidered dragon tapestry edged with golden knotwork in threes. Neat shelves held books and scrolls. Fine cushions surrounded a low table bolted to the deck, above which swung golden lamps overhead. Against the curve of the bulkheads someone had affixed beautifully rendered maps.
The fleet, he explained as we sat down, had only winter crews, a scarce handful coming out by weekly rotations to keep the ships clean and damage free. Most of the crew lived in various hamlets, villages, and towns in the pennon.
On the flagship the winter crew included a cook and ensigns to see to it the stove warmed the cabin, and to serve the food as well, as Raifas often visited. They brought me a fruit preserve compote, nut bread, and cheese.
Once we’d been served, Raifas said, “Have you any questions?”
I nodded. “Did you ever meet Prince Geric Lendan?”
Up went the slanted brows. His lips began to shape the word No—and I was distracted by the curve of his lips—when he sat back, brow furrowed. “Wait. Was he one of the princes?”
“Princes?”
“One of Emperor Ifan’s cadre of princes studying magic with Cousin Jardis. I recollect first glimpsing them some twenty, twenty-five years ago.”
“He would have been not much more than a toddler then,” I said doubtfully. “Or five at most.”
“We were all small, and they were not all the same age. Uncle Ifan brought them in over the years, I’m told, but we scarcely ever saw them when we visited court, which admittedly was only twice a year. They lived in a private house, where dwelt the unfaised.”
“They didn’t have fais?” I asked. That would explain the bone whistle that I’d stolen from Geric, which was the cause of Dhes-Andis finding me. I had not known it was a magical device to facilitate mind-to-mind communication.
Raifas flashed his grin. “I know very little about magic. But my understanding was, these princes were to be sent home to bring their kingdoms into unity with the Djuran Empire. Our mages would not risk the fais being meddled with by foreign mages.” He spread his hands. “Except for one or two—among whom might very well have been your Prince Geric Lendan—they were pretty much gone by the time Shinja attacked us and Emperor Ifan died in the Battle of Athaniaz Island.”
“He’s not my Prince Geric,” I said.
Raifas laughed. “Then why do you ask?”
“Because I think he was taught magic here, and I wondered by whom.”
“Likeliest either Emperor Ifan or Cousin Jardis. The service mages are sequestered far away, with their own palace. We never see them. They rarely come to the imperial island, except as summoned by Cousin Jardis.”
“Here’s another question,” I said, wanting to get away from the subject of the Evil Emperor. “My understanding is that Emperor Vandarus Andis unified Sveran Djur. What does that mean? This island isn’t Djur, so either they invited someone else’s ruler, or he conquered it. Which is it?”
“Does it matter, as long as there is peace?”
“But if he conquered it there wasn’t peace when he was doing it.”
“You simplify these matters to absurdity. What if unrest and violence existed before he came? From everything I have learned the Sveranji existed in ignorance. Union brought the civilization we enjoy today. It is the same civilization Ndai will enjoy, for when I am Prince of Ndai, I will govern as well as I do in Ardam Pennon. Do not take my words as idle self-praise,” he added, head tipping to the side as he studied my expression. “I will show you over the island if you like. You may see for yourself.”
“So you’re going to be attacking Ndai?”
“How much do you know about Ndai?”
“Nothing,” I had to say.
“I can point you to evidence that they squabble with the continent east of them, especially Damatras, who fights with everyone. They squabble among themselves, their nobles against the mages. Nothing new. You can find wars all over the world, breaking out on the slightest pretext. In Sveran Djur we have no war.”
I remembered those threatened fires, the mercenary army, and while I was still angry with Aranu Crown, I remembered how hard Hlanan had worked to save lives, and I said, “That’s because you take it to other people.”
“Union is seldom easy,” he said with the steady gaze of total conviction. “But after
ward, I assure you, there is peace.”
“When everybody gets a fais.”
“Precisely.”
More pieces of the puzzle, I thought as we finished up. It was getting dark by then, and Raifas said, “I hate magic transfer, but the storm is worsening. I’ll have the lizardrakes sent to the harbor barn.”
His gaze diffused: fais communication. I was seeing it done, though I still could not manage much more than short communications with Kal. Apparently one needed a lifetime to learn to web.
“Can you magic transfer with fais?” I asked when he looked up again.
He looked surprised at that. “Of course. You have to touch it, but the spell is easy enough. It’s recovering that’s hard.” And demonstrated what I was to do.
It was my turn to be surprised when it actually worked.
As always, it jolted us as if we’d leaped off a tower. He went off to change, so I braced myself, held my breath, and pictured the Destination at Rajanas’s castle in Alezand—but the instant I assembled the inner picture of that Destination, white lightning caused my knees to buckle.
As I picked myself up off the tiles, gulping for breath, I knew my transfers were limited to the imperial island. I was still on a leash.
Raifas returned in flowing robes without the stiff shoulder things. His robe was not folded in the tight V, but worn loose so that his shirt was visible beneath, open at the throat, his golden fais framed by a long fringed silk scarf in blue hanging over the outer robe.
“So, tomorrow,” he said. “I gather you would not be impressed by a journey down the Emperor’s Road with outriders, everyone summoned to line the sides and bow?”
“I would not,” I said.
“There are many among the Chosen who crave that very thing. Why are you different?”
“Because I know what those bowing are really thinking.”
He laughed. “You can scry their minds?”
“No. But I spent a lot of time among people who do the bowing, and I heard what they said.”
“In Sveran Djur?” he retorted skeptically.