“Just as water carries lightning in a storm,” Carolin nodded.
“Yes, that’s it. When the energy of the lightning passes through the water, it leaves a faint trace. It’s not discernible by ordinary means and it dissipates quickly. But the stone column at the bottom of the Lake had been constructed specifically to draw certain energies to it, through it. When I touched it, my own energon fields came into physical contact with it. The pattern of how it had been used entered into me. I saw—” Varzil lowered his eyes, “—I was back there, like a ghost with eyes and ears but no voice—and I saw how the lake we know came to be.”
Carolin let his breath out. Eyes dark with emotion met his own. “You witnessed the Cataclysm?”
“The beginning of it, anyway. It was no natural catastrophe.”
“No, I didn’t think it was. It happened during the height of the Ages of Chaos, didn’t it?”
“Two Towers made war upon each other, just like in the stories of Tramontana and Neskaya.” Varzil hugged the pillow even harder. The knuckles of his hands gleamed white. “Only this time it was Hali—and Aldaran.”
“Ahdaran!”
In hushed tones, Varzil described how each Tower had prepared to do battle against the other, tapping into the elemental forces of the planet and ancient fears.
“If either side had been truly successful, I don’t know whether Darkover would have survived,” Varzil said, his voice a shaken whisper. “They were dealing with powers beyond their control. Distance meant nothing, nor did time. No one was safe from these weapons, not even halfway around the world. If Aldaran had time to complete its attack—Carlo, I saw what they were attempting. They would have split open the planetary crust clear to the molten core. Hali, for their part, counted on an even older, more primal force. I didn’t get a clear look at its final form, and for that I am grateful.” His voice turned inky, hypnotic, and his eyes no longer focused.
And what I did see ...
“Demon—” Varzil stammered, reeling visibly with the memory, “—from the darkest, coldest hell—the power behind the coming of night—ashes in the black of space—”
“Varzil! What’s going on?” Seeing his friend sway, eyes rolling up to show white crescents between half-closed lids, Carolin grabbed his shoulders.
“But Hali was warned—in time—they acted—diverted the attack into the lake—column like a magnet—changed water and air—”
“Varzil! Can you hear me?”
Varzil shuddered and, to Carolin’s relief, drew back, once more in command of himself.
“Carlo, this is important. It was no accident that I, I was given this vision from the past. It’s happening again, don’t you see? Maybe not with those particular weapons, but the conflict is the same. To each age comes its own madness. But the lesson of the Cataclysm was lost.”
“What we can’t remember, we can’t learn from,” Carolin said grimly. He thought of the destruction of the two Towers only a few decades ago, of Liriel’s dream of rebuilding Tramontana under Hastur control—and for what purpose? For yet another Tower as a tool of warfare?
Carolin sat back, slumping. All his life, he had seen the men of his clan struggle to contain laran weapons, only to have new ones spring up like poisonous weeds in a garden of rosalys. If Felix in his prime, and the great King Rafael Hastur and even Allart Hastur could not put an end to the madness, what hope had he? What hope had any of them?
He looked to Varzil, this slender pale lad who had looked upon a disaster which would drive most grown men mad. “Are we doomed to repeat the whole thing again and again until we finally destroy ourselves?”
“As long as men can conceive of such weapons and are willing to use them,” Varzil said, “I believe we are.”
Carolin had never heard such desolation as now, in the voice of his dearest friend. Something hot and fierce boiled up inside him. “Then we must make it so that men cannot conceive of such things!”
“How?” Varzil shook his head. “As long as men are men and time endures, there will be those who must settle their differences with a sword instead of words.”
“Then let them use swords on each other, until they have hacked each other into bloody pulp!” Carolin flamed. “At least, he who lands the first blow may well fall beneath the next! Let there be an end to clingfire and bonewater dust and matrix spells which strike from afar.”
“Aye,” Varzil said, inflecting the word in the country style, “that’s the problem, isn’t it? Lords can sit in their castles and order their Towers to attack their enemies. For each new weapon, another even more terrible must be devised to counter it. They risk nothing. If I were king of the world—did you play that game as a child?—I would decree that anyone with a dispute must enter the arena himself and place his own body as surety against his cause.”
“Trial by single combat?”
Varzil grinned, a wolfish stretching of the lips.
“No, men will never return to those days, if they ever existed,” Carolin said. The heat within him had fallen away, leaving his thoughts preternaturally clear. “I don’t believe we will ever do away with armed combat or excuses to engage in it. If I were king of the world, I would forbid any weapon which does not place the user’s life in equal jeopardy. I would force all the other kings—indeed, every lordling from the Wall Around the World to the Dry Towns deserts—to sign my pact.”
Carolin noticed then that Varzil was staring at him like a blind man gazing at the sun. He gave a little, self-deprecating laugh. “Did I say something stupid?”
“No,” Varzil replied, shaking his head, still with that expression of awe. “You said something—I don’t know why I didn’t see it before. Not merely a pact based on men’s consent, a thing which can be as easily taken back as offered, but a true covenant of honor.”
“Even if I could enforce such a thing over Hastur lands, I can’t see any other lords pledging away their laran arsenals,” Carolin said practically. He grinned, despite himself. “Still, it’s a grand dream, isn’t it?”
“One that’s worth keeping, even if it may not come about in this lifetime or the next,” Varzil said.
Carolin got up and laid one hand upon the door frame. As if touched by some prescience, he shivered. Not because he was afraid; although he knew he would be if he ever tried to put his pact into action, but because the world had already changed. Whatever happened now, neither he nor Varzil could return to who they were before those words passed between them.
16
Carolin arrived early at the King’s presence chamber for the first audience to be held since his return. The guard admitted him through the private side entrance with a bow. He paused inside the door, studying the room that was to be his one day. It was a pleasantly proportioned, if formal, chamber with a bank of eastward-facing windows, bright and warm enough in the late morning for even a frail old man. Here the king heard pleadings, received written petitions, and decided other issues presented to him by his advisers. Once these audiences had been frequent, sometimes daily, but in the last decade, they had become irregular as more and more matters were left to subordinates.
That, too, will change, now that I have returned.
Carolin remembered coming here as a boy, when he and Rakhal sat with the other nobles in order to learn statecraft. The mingled smells of dust and furniture polish sharpened his memories.
In those days, everything seemed simple—his place in the world, his uncle’s reasoned decisions, his notions of what was just and right, what was wrong and how it must be punished. Rakhal was his cousin and playfellow, and would some day be his faithful counselor. If there, were darker undercurrents, hidden maneuverings, Carolin had been happily unaware of them. But he could never return to those uncomplicated times. He was a man now, a prince ready to take his place in the world. He must learn to think and act like one. The holiday of Arilinn was over
The page who followed him everywhere stirred at the doorway. Carolin started to wave the boy about hi
s business, then recovered himself. How quickly he had lost the habit of ever-present servants. He went to the half circle of chairs behind the polished tables and stood behind his usual place at the right side of the king’s elevated seat.
Minutes later, petitioners, courtiers, and audience filed into the chamber and took their places according to rank. Comyn might sit in their own railed-off section, as Lady Liriel Hastur had, taking the most privileged position. Ordinary people stood. Among them were a judge from the cortes and representatives from the city elders of both Hali and Thendara.
A few minutes later, the old Elhalyn lord who had been Felix’s chief adviser since before Carolin was born shuffled in and took the place to the king’s left. The single remaining seat then was to Carolin’s right, one place removed from the King.
With a bustle and tramping footsteps of guards, King Felix entered. He moved stiffly, but with dignity. Rakhal followed a pace behind, trailed by a clerk laden with parchment scrolls and papers. Rakhal placed a hand beneath the King’s elbow to help him into his seat. When Felix was comfortably arranged, everyone bowed ceremoniously.
Rakhal’s gaze flickered to Carolin, his expression unreadable. Carolin caught the instant of hesitation before his cousin stepped to the vacant place.
“My boy,” Felix said, patting Carolin’s hand. “So good to have you back with us.”
Good, Carolin thought. The king was alert this morning. The vagueness of the other night must have been a passing thing. “It’s good to be home.”
The remaining introductory pleasantries were soon concluded. Rakhal said, “We must finish in a timely manner so that we do not overtax His Majesty.” He motioned for the clerk to set the pile of documents before him.
Carolin glanced at Lord Elhalyn, who as senior counselor had always presented the day’s agenda to King Felix. The old lord looked vaguely uncomfortable. Had something happened, some scandal which had cost him the King’s special favor?
The sergeant announced the opening of the session and everyone bowed. Rakhal took the scroll bearing the day’s agenda and presented it to the King, who nodded his willingness to hear these cases.
The first order of business was the proposal to finance the rebuilding of Tramontana Tower. Carolin did not think that even King Felix would dare keep Liriel waiting through lesser matters, not with her sitting in the front row, back straight, hands precise in her lap. Not a single detail of her appearance or demeanor was less than proper for a lady of her rank, Comynara and Hastur. By her very presence, she lent solemnity to the proceedings.
The evening before, as Carolin lingered after the last cup of wine with his uncle and Rakhal, he had broached the subject. Few important decisions were made during public session. Rakhal already knew of the proposal.
“When Tramontana fell, we lost a valuable resource.” Carolin made his argument point by point, carefully watching the King for signs of understanding. “Now communications with the Hellers are unreliable. It would not take much to cut us off from them entirely, or reduce the speed of messages to the pace of a fast horse.”
“We must have an outpost there,” Rakhal said, moving restlessly in his chair. “But the relays are the least of our problems. The more powerful Hastur becomes, the more desperate our enemies. We must expand our defense capabilities, and that means more Towers under our control.”
“I don’t know what the world is coming to,” Felix said, shaking his head. “Old Towers, new Towers with the same name. It’s all so confusing. I don’t understand why things can’t just stay the same.”
“That’s what we are trying to do, Your Majesty,” Rakhal said soothingly. “To put up a new Tower in the same place so that things will be just like they were.”
“Oh, yes, well then, that is good.”
Afterward, Carolin said, “I do not think the leronyn who made the proposal intended a military outpost or a factory for clingfire, but a place to train new students, to do peaceful productive work.”
“They will do whatever we command,” Rakhal answered, smiling. “In the king’s name, of course.”
“I have lived among Tower folk,” Carolin reminded him, “and I would not so lightly dismiss their independence and resourcefulness. Their discipline is as great as any soldier‘s, nor are they peasants who can be whipped if they do not obey. I think it unwise to create such expectations in the King’s mind. The Towers are a power in their own right. If we do not accord them that respect and self-determination, the day may come when we have no choice.”
“What, would you have us go to the expense of rebuilding a Tower and then demand nothing in return?”
Carolin shook his head. “On the contrary, I would have the Tower free to do the work it does best.”
Now that conversation came back to him. With little discussion, King Felix read aloud the brief statement approving the project. From the front row of the Comyn section, Liriel met Carolin’s gaze and then, very slightly, inclined her head. She might owe him a favor in return, but he very much doubted that included blind obedience.
The next several documents appeared to be routine business, matters which were already settled and required only the consent of the King. There was some discussion over the next, a tariff dispute between the cities of Hali and Thendara. The issue was unfamiliar to Carolin, and he listened with interest as the two representatives put forth their cases. Hali invoked an obscure legal precedent that Thendara challenged, calling upon the testimony of the cortes judge.
“We must weigh the welfare of the respective parties involved,” the judge said. “Each has an interest here. The point is whether the strength of this prior verdict is sufficient to counterbalance the compelling arguments for damage.”
“The issue is clear,” said Thendara, glancing at Rakhal. “We cannot allow a minority to defy the wishes of so many. We need a new precedent, one based on today’s reality, not the whim of some judge who was probably bribed.”
“Bribery is a serious charge,” Carolin said.
“This is exactly the type of case where we need protection,” Hali retorted. “Your Majesty, as defender of all your subjects, we appeal to you—” His eyes lifted to the face of King Felix, who had been gazing out the window for the past five minutes.
“You have all made your points amply clear,” Rakhal cut in, “and my uncle will give them due consideration. Complicated matters such as these cannot be so quickly decided. Come back next month and we will discuss it further.”
The two representatives, who had only a moment ago been adversaries, exchanged an appalled look. Hali swallowed, visibly choking back a retort.
“Highness,” the judge said, his voice taut, “this case has already been continued for an entire season. The parties have compromised upon every aspect except this. Without a ruling on the exact percentage of tariff impounds, the grain will sit in the warehouses for the rest of the winter.”
“I don’t understand the urgency of the situation,” Carolin said. “Surely it won’t perish in the cold.”
“There is already hunger in Thendara,” the representative of that city explained. “The price of wheat has risen past what poor people can pay. Hardest affected are those who depend upon the bounty of the King, for those supplies come from taxes paid in kind.”
“We must have a ruling either way,” said the judge. “And because the precedent decision was made by His Majesty, only he can determine its relevance.”
“Uncle,” Carolin said, gently breaking into the old man’s reverie, “I think it wise to give these good men a decision. It is our own people who will suffer if this case goes any longer without resolution.”
“Then I suppose I must,” King Felix said. He shook his thin shoulders, as if recalling himself. “Yes—ah—quite. Let me see the record you are referring to.”
Rakhal shot Carolin a furious look and fumbled in the papers, finally producing one. Its edges were discolored and curled with age.
Felix studied the document, lips moving as h
e ran his finger along each line of text. “Yes, well—ah—Elhalyn? Do you remember this business?”
The old lord straightened in his chair and his eyes brightened. “Majesty, I do. As you will recall, the base tariff was much lower in those times. This ruling was meant to be a temporary increase in order to equalize the relative costs of the different routes of transport, but it has since become permanent. The taxes involved have been raised a number of times for other reasons. Were this ruling to be invoked now, the result would be a far larger burden upon the merchants than was ever originally intended. Than Your Majesty intended at the time, that is.”
“Of course,” Rakhal said, “Your Majesty is free to reinter pret the ruling in whatever manner you see fit.”
Carolin did not like his cousin’s oily tone, nor his disrespect for the old lord. Elhalyn might be reduced in royal favor, but he was still the senior member of the council and, what was more important, he was the only one among them who remembered the original circumstances.
The king sighed. His gaze wandered to his right and for a moment he seemed surprised to see Carolin sitting there. “What—what would you advise, my boy?”
Carolin drew a breath. The expedient thing would be to keep with the precedent. The merchants might complain privately about the increased costs, but they would find ways to increase their prices to compensate. One way or another, by impounds or taxes, the price of grain would rise. The people who would pay were those least able to afford the extra burden.
All those years ago, the king had made a bargain with his people, even if it were not written into law. The King was certainly able to proclaim whatever he pleased or rather, whatever his soldiers could enforce. But was it just? Was it honorable? Was there not some implied obligation on the king’s part to reconsider a temporary measure when the need had passed?
“I do not agree with the precedent,” Carolin said. “His Majesty decreed the original tariff in view of special circumstances. I do not see that these hold true now. The most important thing is to allow the passage of this grain to the people who will need it the most. No one should profit from another’s hunger or helplessness.”