Lords of the Sky

boots and shouting men-but only faint, as if from a great distance or as if the mist dampened sound. I could see dim shapes, but none came near, and when I attempted to approach, they receded. Overhead, I could hear the beat of massive wings, but when I looked to the sky, it was as gray as the mist, only the moon visible. I knew I was lost, and that I must find the edge of the wood before I became as one with its spectral inhabitants, but there were no paths and the holt seemed endless. I heard Rwyan calling me, and then from another direction, Urt, so that I faltered, turning this way and that, unsure to whom I should go, nor certain I should find either. I was wading through deep leaf mold in answer to Rwyan’s call, stumbling over concealed roots, branches tugging at me as if to hold me, when I awoke.

The day was dull, torn between winter’s failing grip and spring’s fresh promise. Rafts of pewter cloud hung low, assaulted from the east by a promisingly bright sun. Birds sang, their melodies far easier on the ear than the sounds Cleton made at his ablutions. I waited for him to finish and then attended to my own toilet.

He was to travel overland to Dorsbry on the Treppanek’s north bank and would not leave until midmorning, whilst I must soon be gone. We clasped hands and said our last farewells, and I shouldered my pack, took up my staff, and quit the chamber that had been my home for the past five years without a backward glance.

The College yards were empty so early, save for scurrying Changed, and I spent a moment staring around, thinking that I should feel some greater emotion. I felt nothing but a vague pleasure at the notion of being again on a deck. I saw Decius watching me from his window and smiled as I remembered that I had once wondered if he had legs. He saluted me and I raised my staff in answer, then strode toward the gates.

Ardyon was there. Ensuring the Changed gatemen did their duty, I presumed. I was not at all inclined to bid the warden any fond farewell, but it was impossible to escape his notice or to ignore him. I looked him in the eye and nodded.

He sniffed and said, “Day’s greetings, Storyman.”

I answered, “Day’s greetings, warden,” with no warmth in my voice.

He sniffed again and clasped his caduceus in both hands against his narrow chest. “The God go with you,” he said.

I said, “My thanks,” still cold.

His cadaverous features remained impassive as ever, but there was about his stance some hesitancy, and I surmised he wished to say something more, so I waited.

Finally he said, “Concerning the servant-Urt. I had no choice in that matter, save to do what I did.”

I looked at his sunken eyes and said, “Perhaps not; but that does not make it right. Think you he enjoys such treatment? To be shunted hither and yon, like some beast?”

His expression did not alter, but in his sniff I thought I discerned amazement. He said, as if the words were all the explanation needed, “He’s Changed.”

“Think you the Changed have no feelings?” I asked coolly.

Behind his back I saw the gatemen staring, their eyes wide and startled. I am not sure whether in amazement at what I said, or that I dared say it to Ardyon. I did not care: it was too late for him to punish me now.

I think he frowned then. At least his brows shifted a fraction upward, and he shook his head slowly. “You’re the oddest student I’ve ever known,” he said.

I shouldered past him and ducked my head to the gatemen, crying, “Day’s greetings and farewell, my friends.”

There was a pause, and then I heard them each call, “Day’s greetings and farewell, Storyman.”

I smiled at that, striding away from the College, thinking that I scored a small victory.

The Dragon was a single-masted galley captained by a westcoaster named Nyal, whose good nature prompted me to revise my opinion of westcoasters. He stood a head taller than I and seemed composed mostly of thick black hair, out of which eyes and teeth sparkled cheerfully. He boasted a crew of twelve bull-bred oarsmen and carried on board his sister, Lwya, her husband, Drach, and their daughter, Morwenna. The family, he explained, was fleeing Durbrecht for fear of the Sky Lords, planning to return to Arbryn, where Drach hoped to reestablish his chandlery. Drach advised me that their home had been partially destroyed in the last Coming and that he had sold his business at a loss, but that he preferred to settle his family in some location safer than Durbrecht, which he believed was singled out for destruction by the Sky Lords as it contained the Sorcerous College.

All this I learned before we reached midstream: Drach was a voluble fellow and was convinced a Storyman must have the ear of the koryphon, if not that of Gahan himself.

I expressed myself innocent of such connections and asked him if he thought Arbryn should be safe, whereupon he nodded enthusiastically, expounding his theory that the Sky Lords looked to destroy Dharbek’s centers of magic, leaving alone the lesser settlements.

“But Arbryn’s a keep,” I said, “and a commur-mage, surely.”

“Of course,” he answered me. “The aeldor Thyrsk’s the holder, and Donal the commur-mage. But the Sky Lords’ll not come so far west-Arbryn’s too small. No, the Dark Ones’ll concentrate on the Sentinels, and Durbrecht, on Kherbryn. They’ll not bother with such small fry.”

There was ephemeral truth in his supposition, and I had no great desire to blunt his optimism, but his careless-or so it seemed to me-dismissal of the Sentinels (and thus of Rwyan) irked me. I said, “But do the Sentinels fall, there’ll be no defense against the Sky Lords. They’ll come unchecked, and do they conquer Durbrecht and Kherbryn, there’ll be none to stand against them. How shall Arbryn fare then?”

I felt immediately guilty, for both Lwya and Morwenna hung upon my words as if I was some font of wisdom, and at this dour pronouncement they paled and gasped, the daughter reaching for her mother’s hand. She was a pretty thing, a few years younger than I, and had my heart not belonged to Rwyan, I believe I might have sought a closer acquaintance. As it was, I regretted my stark declaration. So I smiled heartily and said, “Better to place your trust in the sorcerers and the Lord Protector. Pray the Sentinels deny the Sky Lords passage, and that the warbands slay those Kho’rabi who set foot on our soil.”

Lwya, whose dark good looks foretold her daughter’s future, murmured a heartfelt “Amen,” to that, and Morwenna nodded eagerly, her great black eyes intent upon my face.

Drach tugged on his beard, his brow wrinkled as he considered my words. “I do not wish it,” he said. “The God knows, I’d see them blasted from the sky, but still I think-”

He broke off as his wife touched his arm. I suspect they held me in such awe as to fear I might denounce them as traitors. Perhaps I flatter myself. I did, however, remember that my duty as Storyman was to instill courage in the folk I encountered, so I said, “There’s no denying Durbrecht took a beating this past year, but Trevid has his engineers building even greater war machines, and the Sorcerous College bends all its efforts to the finding of greater magicks. The Sentinels still stand and shall be strengthened the more. The Sky Lords shall not defeat us! Remember the story of Anduran.”

I spun out that tale of past glories, when the aeldor led his warband against a Kho’rabi force three times their number and held the invaders at bay until the Lord Protector, Padyr, came to his aid, with the sorcerer, Wynn, and the enemy were slaughtered to a man. It was one of the great old tales, and they had doubtless heard it a hundred times before, but (though I say it myself) I was a skillful story-spinner, and I held them rapt as Nyal pointed the Dragon westward.

As twilight dimmed the Treppanek, Nyal brought us in to a place named Darbryn, a village that served as an overnight stop to passing traffic, with a ferryboat and an inn. I suggested that I sleep on deck, thinking to hoard my coin, but Drach insisted I accept a room at his expense. I am not sure whether he looked to make amends for fleeing Durbrecht, or if he felt intimacy with a Storyman loaned him prestige. It mattered little to me: I accepted with alacrity.

As the women bathed and we drank ale with Nyal, he said, “I trust you don’t think me a coward, Daviot. Nor that I lack faith in the sorcerers or Lord Protector. I fought with the militia this last year, but I’ve Lwya and Morwenna to think of, and I’d not see them fall to the Sky Lords. Had you a wife, or a daughter, you’d understand.”

That cut me somewhat, but how could he know? I smiled and reassured him I doubted neither his courage nor his loyalty and wished them safe refuge in Arbryn.

Nyal grunted and said, “A man’s first loyalty’s to his kith and kin, no?”