Lords of the Sky

This puzzled me. “And am I convinced?” I asked. “What then?”

He laughed: a short, sad bark. “I know not. I can see no way to thwart Allanyn, to avoid war. Perhaps when you’ve all the knowledge I can give you … perhaps you’ll see some way.”

Rwyan said, “You speak for peace, Urt?”

He thought awhile, then ducked his head and said, “I’d free my kind, but not at cost of their lives. Neither do I believe all Truemen are evil. This world of ours must change, but I cannot believe Allanyn’s is the way. Even though I see no other.”

Rwyan surprised me then, for she asked what seemed to me a very strange question in these circumstances. She said, “Urt, do you dream?”

He looked no less startled than I. His eyes narrowed, framing a question of his own even as he nodded.

Rwyan said, “Of what?”

He paused before he answered, as if the recollection were not altogether pleasant. I thought he braced himself before he said, “Of dragons, sometimes; of riding the skies with those creatures. You and Daviot with me. I feel, sometimes, they call me. I see their eyes, as if they sat in judgment.”

Rwyan laughed and clapped her hands. “The pattern! By the God, it’s the same dream.”

Urt stared at her as if he thought her mad. Some lesser version of that doubt crossed my mind, too-I’d looked only to comfort her with those musings, not taken them so serious myself. But now … now I began to wonder. Slowly, I said, “We share that dream. I’ve known it, and Rwyan; Tezdal, too.”

“But there are no dragons left,” he said. It sounded somehow like a catechism. “I remember in Durbrecht, Daviot, that you spoke of them.”

“And was laughed at,” I said. “But even so, those dreams return, time and time again. And even when we were parted, Rwyan shared them; then Tezdal. Now you.”

His expression was blank, empty of understanding. “Do you explain?”

I said, “I cannot.”

Rwyan said, “I believe there’s a pattern, Urt. Some weaving of destiny joins us, perhaps sends us these dreams.”

“To what end?” he asked. Warily, I thought.

And now Rwyan must frown and shrug and tell him, “That I cannot say. But I feel it a good omen.”

Urt nodded without much conviction. Then his head turned, cocked in attitude of attention. Urgently, he said, “Are you questioned, say only that I sought to persuade you; naught of anything else.”

His hearing was far more acute than mine: he caught the approaching footsteps long before Allanyn stalked into the clearing. She wore a gown of emerald green that emphasized the feline grace of her movements. Her hair was gathered up, the golden band bright on her brow. Her eyes shone spiteful.

“So,” she demanded, “are they persuaded?”

“I put our case,” said Urt. “They consider it.”

Allanyn studied him a moment. Then, lazy as a cat toying with a trapped mouse, turned to us. For long moments she only eyed us, her lips parting to expose sharp white teeth.

“They consider it?” Her tone was mocking, oily with malice. I was uncertain whether her spite was meant for us or Urt. “They’ve not so much time they should dwell overlong on a matter foregone. Before this winter’s out our Sky Lord allies shall have all their ships and all their warriors in place. By summer’s advent-by Ennas Day-we’ll be ready-our battle shall commence then, Urt. In Dharbek, our people will rise; and from across the seas and over the Slammerkin will come the skyboats. Ere then, I’ll have this mage’s knowledge, willing or not.”

Her voice rose triumphant as the sentence ended; I felt Rwyan’s hand find mine. Brave, she said, “Not willing, Allanyn.”

The feline Changed smiled at that, horridly. Her eyes returned to Urt. “Perhaps the mage should be better persuaded by other methods. Perhaps we should put her lover to torture and let his pain deliver our arguments.”

Her tone was casual: I felt a chill. I was prepared to die, but I’d not thought to be tortured. I saw Urt frown his distaste and shake his head. In a voice so calm it was an insult, he said, “Would you soil us with such methods, Allanyn?”

Her ocher eyes blazed. She stiffened. She said, “I’d have those answers we require; and soon.”

“The Raethe has agreed,” he gave her back, “that they’ve until the Lord Tezdal wakes. Do you now assume to command us all?”

I thought she might fling her magic at him for that. I could not doubt but that these two were enemies. I watched as Allanyn spun round; striding back the way she’d come. Over her shoulder she hurled a parting sally heavy with threat: “Not yet, Urt. But when that day comes, beware.”

BY ENNAS Day! By summer’s beginning: it seemed to me time ran faster now. Those days on board the Sprite, the slow trek to Trebizar-they seemed an idyll, a leisurely journey for which we now paid the price. I thought it could not be long before Tezdal woke and I must strike that blow I dreaded. And after-Allanyn’s threat vivid in my memory-I thought I should likely face not clean death but slow torture. I saw no escape. How could there be? Even was Urt still truly a friend, still there seemed to me nothing he could do. He had admitted he saw no answers; neither had he suggested any means by which we might evade Allanyn’s wrath. Indeed, likely the wrath of all the Changed did we attempt escape. Which seemed to me impossible….

My thoughts ran around and around in circles….

The Sky Lords prepared the Great Coming…. The Changed prepared for war…. The fylie of the Kho’rabi should soon descend on Dharbek from both east and north…. The wild Changed go bellicose across the Slammerkin…. The Changed of Dharbek rise like some invisible army…. The land would run red.

I’d not be there to witness that carnage; nor Rwyan. I wondered if time’s clock might have run different had I spoken of what I’d seen that night when I saw Changed and Sky Lords together. I’d still no doubt but that pogrom should have ensued, but might that not have been the lesser abomination? Could my warning have changed history’s course? Had I delivered my country all unsuspecting to destruction?

I slumped morose in a chair as twilight fell over the gardens, my head all aspin with awful doubt. Rwyan spoke to me of hope, but I could find little place for such optimism. She spoke of the pattern, but I could see only the snapping of its threads here in Trebizar. I thought death should be welcome; sooner the Pale Friend’s embrace than witness of what must surely come.

I ate a few mouthfuls of the meal they brought us, my appetite quite gone, and would not be cheered by Rwyan’s optimism. I could not be: I saw no space for hope. I drank wine that had no taste. I wanted only to hold her and for a little while push back the bloody darkness that loomed about me.

She held me. She kissed me and stroked my hair. But she would do no more: she told me we must wait, that Urt would make good his promise of revelation. I thought that revelation should be poor comfort.

Then, when the sky was all velvet blue and filled with stars, Urt came. For an instant I dared hope he had some plan-that he’d somehow spirit us away. I was unsure I’d even want that-not knowing we left behind the destruction of my homeland.

I need not have tormented myself so: he had no plan, only a crystal.

He came in furtive, motioning we be silent as he eased the door ajar and went to the table. From a pouch on his belt he extracted a glowing stone. It was larger than that obscene jewel Rwyan had worn; not so large as those in the crypt where Tezdal-so he advised us-slept still. He set it down and unthinking wiped his hands against his tunic, as if the crystal left behind some physical taint.

“Lady.” He addressed himself to Rwyan. “I think you’ll know the use of this. Do you show Daviot, and before morning I must have it back.” He shrugged, his eyes mournful. “I can do no more. Perhaps you’ll find an answer in the stone.”

I said, “Shall it free us? Shall it grant Rwyan power?”

He said, “I think not that, but perhaps understanding. I’ve not the talent for it, but the gifted use these stones-they send them south to Dharbek, to the Changed there; to spread the word.”