Lords of the Sky

I looked out over the sleeping town. A dog barked twice and was after silent. The moon stood high, close on its full, shining on shingled roofs and smokeless stone chimneys. It was all so ordinary, so normal, I could scarce believe we were in Ur-Dharbek, behind a locked door. I put my arms around Rwyan. I said, “Tezdal is- was-a. Sky Lord-our enemy.”

Her smile was equivocal. “Think you the Changed do not see Truemen as enemies?” she asked me.

I said, “Perhaps. But we are treated so kindly, it’s hard to think they mean us harm.”

“Perhaps not harm,” she said, “but use. That, I think.”

I said, “I’ll not let them harm you.”

Rwyan held me at arm’s length then, her face turned up as if she could see me clear. She said, “I’m not a fool, Daviot. No matter how kind they treat us, still we’re in ther power, and neither you nor I can do aught about it.”

I was chastened. “I’m sorry. Are you afraid?”

She laughed then, soft, and said, “Of course I am. I’d be a fool otherwise. But I’ll not let my fear overcome my sense.”

Oh, my lovely, brave Rwyan! I could only hold her then and ask that God I doubted that she be kept safe, unharmed, her talent returned. And holding her, desire stirred, pent long weeks in shipboard chastity. I raised her face and kissed her.

The morning found us entwined in limbs and rumpled sheets. I was grateful that Ayl knocked upon the door without entering, as might some less discreet jailer, and bade us prepare to leave.

Tezdal, Rwyan, and I broke our fast and were once more locked in the wattle cage. Thyr nodded grave farewell as the wagon lumbered away. I held Rwyan’s hand. I could not help but feel happy, for all our future remained a mystery.

It was early yet, the sun barely a handbreadth over the horizon, and the air held a slight chill. The moon still lingered in the west, but the sky was soon blued and scudded with white cloud. Birds sang loud, and for a while two dogs paced the wagon. Few folk were abroad, and they paused only briefly in their tasks to watch us go by. I thought that a prison cage traversing the roads of Dharbek should have attracted far greater attention.

We left the little town behind, and soon the paved road became again a track, running through farmland. Through the wattles I could see ahead the looming shadow of highlands. The road appeared to lead that way, and from the position of the sun I calculated that we traveled in a northwesterly direction. I supposed Trebizar must lie in the heart of Ur-Dharbek, likely in those hills.

That afternoon we rode through orchards, the trees heavy with apples and pears, and Glyn sprang down to pick handfuls of the fruit which he shared with us. I saw few buildings, but those were neat and well ordered, with wells and windmills and guardian hounds that came out baying warning of our approach. That night we slept in a farm, the three of us together in one small room beneath the thatched roof. There was one window, tiny and shuttered because it held no glass.

Tezdal examined the roof and said, “We might dig through that easily.”

I said, “Remember, Rwyan’s blind.”

She said, “It should be useless anyway. Even could we reach the Slammerkin, we’d face the magic of the Border Cities.”

I thought of what Rekyn had told me then, and of Ayl’s words, and repeated them back: “‘The magic of the Border Cities shall deny you return no less than we.’ Is that truly so?”

Rwyan nodded. The room was dim, and I could barely make out the movement of her head, but her voice came clear enough. “Those cities guard the Slammerkin shore. Their magic is shaped to ward the north, to hold back any Changed who might seek to return; or dragons, do they still exist.”

I said, “But we’re neither Changed nor dragons.”

She said, “No matter. The magic of those cities is not so particular. Anything coming south over the Slammerkin should be destroyed.”

Tezdal said, “Even you? You’re a sorcerer.”

Her laugh was soft in the gloom, and self-mocking. “Not now,” she said. “Not whilst I wear this necklace. I’d be consumed with you.”

Tezdal cursed and punched the roof, releasing a downfall of dust and straw.

Rwyan said, “We can do nothing, save go on.”

“And hope,” I said, finding her in the dark.

She leaned against me, her head on my shoulder. “Aye,” she murmured. “And hope.”

We went on, past farms and hamlets, sometimes towns. None were walled; I saw no keeps nor any sign of warbands. We slept under a roof when such comfort was available, under the stars when it was not. The nights held a chill now, and Ayl obtained us all blankets, and as we progressed farther inland, he allowed us more often out of our cage. Those nights we slept beside the road, we sat around a fire, and that was oddly merry, as if we were all companions on some journey of discovery.

I ventured to ask Ayl if he was not afraid we might flee, for there were no constraints set on us, and even those nights we slept in beds, the doors were no longer locked.

He chuckled and asked me in turn, “Where should you flee, Daviot?”

I shrugged and gestured vaguely to the south. I was not serious, and he knew it: this was become a kind of game between us, a slow gleaning of information. He said, “That’s a long way, and even did you succeed in stealing a boat, your sorcerers deal unkindly with vessels coming south out of this land.”

“You brought the Sprite north,” I said.

“Aye, north,” he returned me, “and far out to sea. The attention of the Border Cities is not much directed that way.”

“They only pen you here?” I asked.

He nodded gravely. “It’s deemed senseless to hold a Changed who’d flee to this land,” he said. “We who choose to cross the Slammerkin are thought dangerous-Dharbek well rid of us.”

I said, “You seem not very dangerous to me, Ayl.”

He laughed at that. “But I’m a terrible freebooter. I stole the Sprite, no? And took three Truemen prisoner.”

Those events I had pushed to the back of my mind marched forward, and I perceived an ambiguity in his good humor. I thought to test the mettle of our relationship then: I said, “Aye, that you did. And put the captain overboard.”

Firelight played on his massy face as he nodded soberly. “I did,” he said. “But Tyron was also thrown a float; and that was a greater kindness than he’d show me. Did fortune favor him, he made the shore.”

I said, “That should be a long swim, even with a float.”

He asked, “Think you he deserved better?”

I made a noncommittal gesture. Rwyan said, “Did he drown, shall his death not weight your conscience?”

Ayl turned toward her, and on his face I saw an expression I could not interpret. Still looking at her, he said to me, “Do you describe what I show you, Daviot.”

I frowned and ducked my head. He unlaced his shirt and rose, tugging off the garment and turning his back. I gasped: his skin was dark and across the swarthy surface, from the width of his huge shoulders to the narrowing of his waist, there was a pattern of pale scars, ridged welts that could have only one source.

In a voice frightening for its calm, he said, “I was tiller-man then. A storm was rising, and I argued Tyron’s command that we sail. He ordered me whipped. Two of my fellows were lost in that storm. So-no, lady, my conscience shall not be troubled.”

I heard Rwyan suck in a sharp breath, her face creased in expression of pity.

Softly, Tezdal said, “Did any mark me thus, I’d kill him.”

Ayl drew on his shirt and sat again. “I think I dealt him kind,” he said.

I nodded.

And then a thought struck me: that Ayl knew much of this land he could not, was all he told me true, have visited. Did the Border Cities make so effective a barrier, there could be no commerce between Ur-Dharbek and Dharbek, for all traffic must go in but the single direction and none come back. How then could he know of Trebizar, of this Council-of this road, even?