“Milora didn’t wake up in the morning. Grandfather Frits got mad and yelled at the Seers. He said they’d poisoned her. It was bad. And noisy. Then the Seers promised they could wake her up if we brought her to Bel Amica.
They put her in the ’firmary.” Obrey’s face twitched and quivered with worry. “We work here ’til she’s better.”
“That’s horrible,” he said. “I’m sorry. What’s wrong with her?”
“It’s…” She knocked her knuckles against her head. “It’s messy up here. That’s what she says. Like somebody mixed up everything. Can’t find what she needs. Makes it hurt to think.” Obrey’s play became more urgent. She mashed the pieces of glass together into a strange, alarming, jagged shape.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t bring up painful things here in your playroom.”
Absently, she pulled the scarf from her head and began to sweep broken glass into it. He was surprised to find that she was completely bald.
Was your hair ever silverbrown? he wondered. Were you ever older? The Seers had made Queen Thesera seem young again. Could they have drawn years out of Auralia?
She noticed his stare and patted her head. “It’s the glassworks,” she said. “They cut our hair so glass won’t get caught in it. Folks get hurt when glass falls in their food or collects on their pillows.”
He turned to ascend the stepladder, the lightkey in his hand. To reach the open space at the top of the window, he’d have to stand on the top step, with nothing to hold. A mistake could send him plunging through the intricate window. He spread both arms for balance, then reached up to the open space.
Ever so carefully, so as not to press it through to the other side, he fitted the lightkey into place.
“Get down!” Obrey laughed. “Quickly!”
As he descended, a force of heat and pressure struck him. But he saw nothing unusual, not until he looked back up at the lightkey.
That splinter of glass filled with sunlight. As it did, it became a whirling eye, a furnace of color. Reds, blues, and golds rushed through the strands of glassy lace as if they were veins. They spread and separated until the web was intricate with ever-changing hues. The mist enshrouding the window became infused with colors.
Cal-raven caught and trapped the name so he would not say it aloud. Auralia.
“This…” His robe glittering with slivers of glass, Frits had stepped into the room with Milora as close as his shadow. The glassmaker spread his arms as if to embrace the light streaming through the window. Colors trickled through his fingers. “This is our consolation until we can leave this place again.”
“My friends.” Cal-raven approached them, speaking in a surge of resolve. “Milora, I want you to visit Abascar’s healer, Say-ressa. She may be able to help you. And I want to take all three of you with me when I lead House Abascar away. With this window you’ve already given Bel Amica more than it deserves. I’ll take you back to your mine. And I will make sure the Seers do not bother you again.”
He bowed, thanking all three of them—although Milora looked less than grateful—and then he excused himself, invigorated.
As he did, he overheard quiet laughter from the old glassmaker. “He wants to save everyone, doesn’t he?”
26
A SUDDEN CHANGE OF PLAN
Three days?”
That was the first question Tabor Jan asked, but others followed so hard and fast that he stumbled on the path. His sleeplessness was beginning to scare him. He had begged for slumberseed oil, but Bel Amican watchmen were not allowed to use the stuff in case its lingering influence might interfere with their watchfulness.
He struggled to arrange words into coherent responses. How would they assemble the people? Would they get back the supplies that had been taken from them? Would the Bel Amicans offer them any protection? Were their vawns and horses in traveling condition?
As he pummeled Cal-raven with questions, the two men arrived at a rail-train platform deep inside Bel Amica. Here the train concluded its circuitous trip through the house. It would be rigged with a harness of hooks and chains and hauled up to a distant piece of sky through a shaft crowded with pulleys, gears, and ropes. At the top it would be set upon the rails again and begin its descent through courtyards and market squares.
“Tomorrow morning,” Cal-raven was saying, “I’ll address Abascar. I’ll need your help to draw everyone together. They’ll have three days to pack only what they can carry and to repair whatever needs patching. Partayn’s convinced the queen to give us wagons, vawns, and packs for the journey, so long as we repay them, within three years’ time, double what we take.”
Others crowding the platform stared at them and gossiped. “So many people,” Tabor Jan mumbled.
“They’re assembling for the queen’s parade. I’m to stand at the chamber window, like a puppet on a stage, and wave. Look at me, the humiliated king.”
Tabor Jan snorted. “You’re going along with it?”
The rail-train cars came rattling to a stop, sparks spitting from the wheels on the metal lines. He followed Cal-raven into the small crowd that formed to step aboard. As they settled in, the car jolted. The chains rattled. They were lifted. And he tried not to look out as the platform disappeared below.
“Partayn offered me a deal,” said Cal-raven.
Tabor Jan waited, uncertain whether he wanted to hear what would come next.
“He has asked if I would give Lesyl to House Bel Amica. For her music. And she could teach them how to play the—”
“Give her up?” Tabor Jan grabbed Cal-raven by the collar. “You’re turning us into currency?”
“You really do need to get some sleep, Captain.” Cal-raven clenched his teeth.
Tabor Jan let go, suddenly afraid. “Forgive me. I don’t know what—”
Cal-raven straightened his tunic. “The heir is moved by Lesyl’s music.”
“Begging your pardon, master, but I think he’s moved by his—”
“Listen,” Cal-raven snapped.
“I told him I could not decide that for her.”
“Good. For a moment you scared—”
“I told him the decision would be hers.”
Tabor Jan’s mouth slammed shut.
“He’s going to invite her to stay.”
At last the train arrived at the top of its lift, emerging into the daylight. The great wooden crane swung it around and set it down on the rails alongside another platform. They climbed out, and although Tabor Jan wanted to watch the train rumble off, Cal-raven headed to the palace-yard gate.
After the guards let them into the yard, they returned to Cal-raven’s palace chamber, where Hagah’s eyebrows twitched and his tail thumped once against the floor. The empty bowl beside him explained the dog’s immobility.
“It’ll be rough on Hagah, getting back out on the—Don’t touch anything!”
Tabor Jan paused, his fingertips hovering over one of the overlapping maps.
“I’m charting the best possible routes. Here’s our first campsite.” Cal-raven tapped a corner of an open scroll.
Tabor Jan’s eyes moved from one map to the other and back again. Either he was so tired that he was imagining things, or Cal-raven was taking them all the way to Fraughtenwood and beyond. “They’d better be giving us weapons as well.”
“With Thesera gone to the islands, Partayn will have the power of the throne. He’ll give us what we need.”
“An armed escort?”
“Partayn’s considering some whose loyalty to the throne is greater than their loyalty to Ryllion.” The king tapped a few stones placed between the Cragavar and Fraughtenwood. “And I want to get a good distance from Bel Amica before the Seers have a chance to organize any interference.”
“May I, master?” Tabor Jan sank onto the cushion beside the window. “I can already hear the parade. You’re really going to stand at the window like a trained dog?”
“I’m not the only one.” Cal-raven leaned on the sill and looked acro
ss the avenue. “Cyndere will be up there at her window, waving. Wait, there she is!”
Tabor Jan took the farglass Cal-raven offered him. He adjusted the eyepiece. “Don’t trust my sight, but I don’t think that’s her.”
Cal-raven took the farglass. “It’s Emeriene, dressed as Cyndere.” He put it down. “Why? Where is Cyndere?”
A sudden thump brought Hagah to his feet, woofing at the wall. Tabor Jan was already drawing his club from its belt loop. “Master…”
A section of the wall swung open as easily as a door on oiled hinges. A figure in the opening bowed to them. Just Cal-raven’s height, just Cal-raven’s stature. Tabor Jan was baffled as the king’s equivalent stepped into the light. That’s Cal-raven’s uniform. And it’s a little darker, but that’s Cal-raven’s beard. He turned to the king. “Is this a joke?”
“Yes,” said Partayn, stretching out the word as he descended the stair behind the imposter. “Yes, to a few of us. This is Conyere. She’s the closest Cyndere could find to your stature.”
“She?” Cal-raven stepped closer.
“The beard’s glued on,” said the woman whose voice was soft but deep. “Why do I need a twin?”
“Conyere will stand at the window for you.” Partayn shrugged. “I know, it’s kramming ridiculous, but she’s going to play the part of Abascar’s king. And Emeriene will play the part of Cyndere. In the meantime, good king, I suggest you come with me.”
“Why the charade?” Tabor Jan rumbled.
Partayn laughed. “We’re going to rescue two of your people from the Seers.”
The king was already reaching for his hooded cloak. Casting it over his shoulders, he knelt and checked the dagger strapped to his calf. “We’re taking back the injured from the Seers’ suspension baths. They’ve had them long enough. Cyndere’s found a way.”
“I have one more piece for your costume,” said Partayn, lifting a black strand of cloth. “You remember, don’t you?”
Tabor Jan shifted uncomfortably as the Bel Amican heir blindfolded the scowling Cal-raven. “Take me with you. I don’t like this.”
“Stay here,” said the king. “Study the maps. Think of everything that could possibly go wrong so we can be ready for it. And don’t worry about me. I’ve made up my mind. We’re leaving. It has already begun. I know our destination, and I won’t make the Keeper wait anymore.”
Smoldering, Tabor Jan watched Partayn lead the king away. When he saw Conyere’s amusement, he had to restrain himself from smacking that smile off her face.
Before him, the map waited for his attention. He reached out for a stone Cal-raven had set down at Fraughtenwood’s edge and then, with a chill, discovered another stone set beyond it somewhere among the mountains of the Forbidding Wall.
It was all Cal-raven could do to keep from stumbling as they descended a narrow, crooked stairway that would lead them out of the tower. He traced the wall with his fingertips, bracing for a misstep.
When they reached the bottom of the stair, hands smeared a cool putty across his cheeks and brow. His boots were removed, and his feet fumbled for the sandals set beside them.
“You cannot be recognized,” Partayn said. “Not even by those infirmary workers.”
Someone else entered the small room. “Did it go well?”
“Ey there, my lord,” said a gruff but familiar voice. “A little chancy. We’d almost given up. The empty boat never appeared. The Seers must be suspicious, because Ryllion’s doubled the guard and put every perimeter station on alert. Either they know we’re up to something, or they think there’s some other danger to our house tonight.”
Henryk, thought Cal-raven, the guard who locked me up.
“So,” Partayn continued, “if the boat never appeared, how did you manage?”
“Our friend’s a strong swimmer. Came in by the river and didn’t draw a breath until he jumped up right in front of me. Ey, my! I nearly shouted out his name.”
A firm hand gripped Cal-raven’s arm. “Good to see you again, trespasser,” said the guard.
“I’d say the same,” said Cal-raven, “if only I could see.”
“Good luck to you, Cal-raven,” said Partayn. “I’m off to the parade. Officer Henryk will take you from here.”
A slender figure wrapped in black waited in the ghostly light of the Seers’ suspension baths.
Folding the blindfold, Henryk bowed. “I’ll be at the end of the corridor. Remember…haste.” He slipped away, past a huge guard wrapped in a stormcloak.
Cal-raven faced Cyndere. “What do we do?” he asked.
She held out a heavy flask, the sort carried for water on hunts. “This,” she said, “is our best hope. If this does not revive your friends, we will have to put them back and hope the Seers will show them mercy. They’re beyond any other kind of help.”
He took the flask, sniffed at the opening. He recognized the scent even before Cyndere explained. “It’s water from a deep well within the Cragavar. It’s a secret that Partayn, Emeriene, and I have fiercely protected. Bauris may have learned a little too much about its power.”
“I’ve tasted it,” he said.
She was surprised. “At Tilianpurth?”
He began to describe Old Soro’s well at Mawrnash, but the guard cleared his throat, impatient.
“Why keep it secret?” he asked. “Everyone should know.”
“The Seers,” said Cyndere. “They’d make people pay or seal it off for themselves. Imagine the riots. We might lose the best tool we’ve ever had for achieving our purpose.”
“And what is that?”
She stepped close, eyes reflecting blue. “Breaking the Cent Regus curse.”
He looked at the flask as if it were fragile. “Is it possible?”
“It’s been done.” She took his hand and pressed a small figurine into his palm. He looked down, and in the faint shimmer of the baths, he recognized the sculpture of the beastman he had given to Henryk.
A heavy hand came down on Cal-raven’s shoulder, and a voice growled quietly, “rrrRemember?”
Cal-raven’s throat constricted. He looked into a scarred and beastly visage, and he dropped the figurine. Without thinking, his hand reached for the knife on his leg. It was gone.
Cyndere seized him by the wrist. “This is Jordam. First of his kind—awakened from the curse. He risked his life to bring us this water, just as he takes it into the Cent Regus Core to awaken help.”
Cal-raven leaned against Dane’s bath tank, speechless.
“No one knows, Cal-raven, except you, me, my brother, and Emeriene. Oh, and Henryk. Henryk watches for Jordam down by the harbor. Jordam swims in by night beneath an empty rowboat. To anyone else, it looks like a bark broken free of its moorings.”
“rrrNot this time,” said Jordam. “rrRyllion’s watching. Had to swim deep. Guards everywhere.”
Cal-raven stared into those fiery eyes, those twitching black nostrils, that fanged muzzle, which seemed, against all reason, to be smiling with affection for Cyndere.
“He’s here to save not only his own people but yours, Cal-raven.”
“rrAgain,” said Jordam.
Jordam knelt beside the tank. The body of the woman lay limp in his arms, her red hair spilling down to the floor and dripping the milky bath of the Seers’ potion. Cyndere knelt, facing the beastman, her hand cupped behind the woman’s head. Then she turned to Cal-raven. “We’re ready.”
He opened the flask, then gently tilted it until the water dripped between the woman’s parted lips. “rrMore,” said Jordam.
Cal-raven poured more, and her body jerked in sudden alarm. She choked, spraying water into Cyndere’s face. Jordam held her steady, patient. He looked up, but Cal-raven could not meet his gaze.
The woman grasped Cyndere’s shoulders, and Jordam turned to hide his face from the waking woman. “rrScarf!” he whispered anxiously to Cal-raven. “Scarf!”
Cal-raven put down the flask, then took the scarf draped over Jordam’s shoulder
and wrapped it around the beastman’s face.
Blinking, the woman choked and tried to sit up. Jordam lifted her and placed her quickly in Cal-raven’s arms, then turned his back and walked to the door. Cal-raven carried her to the bench across the room and wrapped her in one of the large, thick towels.
Jordam turned to the second tank, then bent low to lift the man from the bath. “rrHelp,” he whispered.
Cal-raven quickly moved to the man’s head and gave him a long draught of water from the flask. He swallowed as if already half awake and began to murmur.
Jordam carried him to the bench. Cal-raven spread a towel out so that the beastman could lay him there. He covered the man as Jordam returned to the doorway.
While Cyndere whispered to the waking survivors, Cal-raven walked to join the beastman.
“rrRemember?” Jordam quietly asked again.
Cal-raven nodded. He looked down at Jordam’s right foot. “I wish I could forget. You did what you could to warn me about the siege. And you gave me Cyndere’s message, even though I would not listen.”
“rrMany Cent Regus still work for the white giant.”
“I am not surprised.” Cal-raven glanced anxiously to Cyndere. “What do the Seers want with Cent Regus?”
“Strength. Strength over every house.”
“I could have done this without you, Cal-raven,” said Cyndere quietly. “But I wanted you here. Some truths cannot be reduced to mere words. You have to see for yourself.”
“You sound like my teacher.” Cal-raven remembered how the mage had insisted he climb the tower of Tammos Raak and behold the view of Inius Throan with his own eyes.
“So you understand now,” said Cyndere, “the power we have to help the beastmen. And even more importantly, we have an ally who is helping us prepare to rescue the prisoners of the Cent Regus. Prisoners, Cal-raven. Survivors. Many of whom are Bel Amicans. But many of them are your own. And if you could help us—”
Cal-raven walked to the doorway. “I cannot depart from my plan. There is too much broken that needs repair, and I must attend to the vision I’ve been given. The Expanse becomes more dangerous all the time. Should I delay and risk the safety of the people?”