Lords of the Sky

I spoke to Tezdal of our history, of the age-old enmity between our peoples. And we agreed that we were not enemies, nor ever should be. We clasped hands in friendship and vowed we should never fight one another.

He knew nothing of the Changed, and I told him of their place in Dharbek’s history and of my own feelings concerning their status. We all of us talked at length of that, debating pro and con, and both Tezdal and Rwyan came to see the Changed and their status through my eyes.

“But still,” Tezdal said one sweltering afternoon as we lounged within the cabin, “they put that necklace on Rwyan. I cannot forgive them for that.”

“Nor I,” I said fierce, her hand in mine.

She startled me then. She said, “Can you not, after all you’ve said of them? You speak of your sympathy for them persuasively enough; I come to agree. You tell me there’s now scant difference betwixt Truemen and Changed, and that we are wrong to treat them as we do. Perhaps they see no other choice, save this-that they must take a sorcerer, to win some measure of freedom. To win-by your lights, Daviot-such respect as we should accord them by right. I’d not have come willing on this journey, and had I my talent unfettered, I’d use it against them. Ayl knows that, so what choice has he but to bind me? I think he must believe that what he does, he does for all his kind: his duty. Is that the ease, then I can forgive them.”

I sat surprised, mulling her words. I think it is ofttimes easier to see the wider picture, to deal in abstract notions, than in those matters personal to us. I thought then that if she could forgive, so must I. I felt humbled by her kindness.

I said, “Do you forgive it, Rwyan, then I must.”

She gave me back, “I’d not have either of you seek revenge on my behalf. I’d have us all survive this adventure.”

I stared at her, marveling. It seemed to me this woman I loved all the time revealed fresh depths. I said, softly, “As you wish.”

She smiled and turned her sightless eyes toward Tezdal. He scowled but then sighed and said, “I like it not. I’d have an accounting of them for these insults. But … would you have it so, Rwyan, then I obey.”

That was a solemn moment. I felt I learned much from Rwyan, that I came to understandings I’d not have found alone.

But still we were prisoners, and whilst we’d given up much hope of escape, we could not help but wonder what our fate should be.

The Sprite must have been well provisoned, for our rations were adequate and we continued northward without delay. I began to wonder if the Changed intended to row all the way to Ur- Dharbek without halting. But then one night I woke, at first uncertain what brought me from sleep. I felt a change I could not define and lay awhile with open eyes and straining ears, Rwyan’s breath soft against my chest. Something was different, and it troubled me. I eased my arm from under Rwyan’s slight weight and sat up. She stirred, reaching for me.

I said, “Something’s happening. Do you wait here.”

She murmured agreement, and I climbed from the bunk. Tezdal woke at the sound and came with me to the portholes.

The bars occluded full sight of the sky, but by dint of much crouching and craning of my head I was able to make a guess we had changed course. It seemed to me we no longer went north but had turned in a westerly direction.

I went back to Rwyan, Tezdal with me. I said, “I think we make for land.”

She said, “But we cannot be close to Ur-Dharbek yet.”

I said, “No, we must be still along Dharbek’s coast.”

“Then why?” she asked. “Surely they’ll not put us ashore in Dharbek.”

I thought a moment, then said, “Perhaps they take on fresh provisions.”

We could not tell, only wait.

In time our momentum eased, and the galleass hove to. The ports told me nothing, save that the night was starry and we had turned west. We heard activity-the pad of feet and muffled voices, faint cries as if from ship to shore. Tezdal and I pressed our ears to the door but learned nothing from that solid barrier. I thought I heard the noise a gentle sea makes, washing against rocks. Then we felt the ship sway slightly and heard such sounds as suggested hatches were lifted. I decided I was correct in my assumption.

There was a splashing then, as of dipped oars, and the Sprite shifted again. I felt the bow come around and hurried to the ports.

Rwyan called, “What goes on, Daviot?”

Her voice was nervous, and I said, “I think Ayl made landfall, to take on stores. Now we turn for the open sea again.”

I was right: sternward I saw the dark mass of a rocky coastline, pines etched stark by a westering moon, a soft swell breaking luminous on a tiny cove. For an instant I glimpsed a fire-a signal beacon-that was dimmed even as I watched. I pressed my face to the narrow opening, seeing the coast recede. The Sprite headed east of north, seeking the wider reaches of the Fend again. Soon there was nothing to see except the moonlit stretch of the ocean: I returned to Rwyan’s side.

We did not sleep again that night but sat talking of its events as the prow came around once more, once more on a northerly tack.

We agreed that Ayl had brought the vessel in to restock, and that was suggestive of even greater organization amongst the Changed than I had suspected. It suggested we were expected; and was that so, then perhaps our kidnap-at least Rwyan’s, and perhaps Tezdal’s-had been planned from the beginning.

“How could they know?” Rwyan asked. “My arrival in Carsbry was not announced.”

“Perhaps Ayl simply acted on the opportunity,” I offered. “He saw the chance to take a sorcerer and seized it.”

“But how arrange this resupplying?” she said.

“Would word not have been sent?” I asked. “If not of you, then that the Sprite quit Carsbry?”

“That, yes,” she told me.

“And in the keeps, folk talk,” I said. “They speak of the comings and goings of Truemen, of vessels, in hearing of the Changed, never thinking the Changed have ears. The Changed are faceless to most Truemen; they speak in the presence of the Changed as they would before horses or dogs. It’s as I told you-Truemen do not see the Changed.”

Rwyan held my hand as we spoke, and I felt her grip tighten at that. She gasped softly, her eyes, for all they saw nothing now, wide as full realization sank in.

“Then nothing’s secret,” she said, her voice a whisper. “As if the walls of every keep had ears.”

“Yes,” I said, “and all through Dharbek, the Changed listen and pass word between themselves.”

Tezdal said, “Even so, how could they know this ship would go to that particular cove?”

I said, “I think likely they didn’t. I think it was likely just one cove of many where Changed wait.”

“By the God!” Rwyan’s voice was shocked. “Be that the case, then there’s a great conspiracy afoot.”

I said, “Aye, and I think we go to the heart of it.”

I believed I was right; I was also afraid that I was right. It seemed that all the pieces of the puzzle I had observed grew daily clearer, fitting one into the next. I believed it was the Changed’s intention to bring a sorcerer to Ur-Dharbek, perhaps to save a Sky Lord-an ally. I suspected I was brought along only because-as Ayl had suggested-I wore Lan’s bracelet, which marked me as a friend. I thought I should be safe; I suspected Tezdal should be safe. I did not know how they might treat Rwyan, and that frightened me. Should they seek to employ her magic against the Truemen of Dharbek, I’d no doubt she would refuse. … I could only guess what might be the outcome of such refusal. Was Ur-Dharbek filled with Changed, Tezdal and I should be poor champions.

I debated putting these thoughts into words. I suppose it was a kind of cowardice that I did not: instead, I told myself I should only frighten Rwyan, and she be better comforted by my silence. But then, the enormity of the conspiracy only just burgeoning, I was myself alarmed enough, and more than a little confused. So I held my tongue, and put an arm around her, and told her we could do nothing save wait.

One morning when it seemed we had sailed forever and should likely go on and on until we came to the