strange? I wonder why these ferocious bandits let him live? And why they failed to take his horse? Think you there’s a story there, Daviot?”
Solemnly, I answered him, “It would seem so, Cuentin.” “But you’re southward bound,” he said, “so perhaps you’ll never learn it.”
“No,” I said. “Likely not.”
He nodded. “Krystin also said to bid you the God’s speed.”
I said, “For which, my thanks-to her and you.”
He smiled wide, his eyes moving from my face to the staff set beside my saddle. “That’s a sturdy pole,” he remarked casually. “I imagine it must serve you well.”
“It does,” I said. “At need.”
He said, “Yes,” and began to laugh aloud.
I could not help but join him, and he took my arm in a companionable way as we traversed the yard. As we came closer to the stables, he stifled his laughter and said more seriously, “I’ve encountered Barus a time or two, and he’s a surly fellow. Still, it does not do to spread rumors about a jennym, so perhaps we’d best keep this tale betwixt we two, eh?”
“Barus,” I said, “is not a fellow I care to think of much.”
“No,” Cuentin agreed. “You’ll find our Tevach more genial.” He smiled mischievously. “Perhaps because he’s no desire for me.”
“Nor I,” I said, not wishing there to be any misunderstanding between us.
Cuentin took no offense at this, but raised his hands in mock objection. “Fear not,” he said. “I understand from Krystin that your tastes lie elsewhere. Albeit they tend toward we sorcerers, eh?”
I smiled and nodded, waving back the Changed stableman who came to tend my mare. I warned him of her temperament, and he left me to unsaddle her, contenting himself with the preparation of a stall.
I was glad of the interruption, for Cuentin’s news disturbed me somewhat. Just as I had once before grown aware of societies overlapping one another-of Changed living amongst Truemen, simultaneously seen and invisible-so now I perceived that the sorcerers were a further layer in these complex, secretive strata. I had known my arrival and departure should be reported from keep to keep, but only that. It now seemed the sorcerers exchanged more detailed messages, gossip even. Perhaps it was only Krystin’s fondness for me that had prompted her to tell Barus’s tale to Cuentin, but it came unnervingly fast on the order to quit Tryrsbry, which had come soon after my questioning her about the wild Changed. I wondered if my progress was monitored. Perhaps I traveled under the cloud of my affair with Rwyan, my friendship with Urt. Perhaps the interest in the Changed I had shown in Durbrecht, my disobedience of the unwritten rules, yet branded me a rebel. It was an odd sensation to consider that I might be “watched” in this fashion; it was irksome to think that I could do nothing about it-was my burgeoning suspicion correct, I could hardly question Cuentin or any of his kind. To do so would only reinforce whatever doubts existed about my probity.
I set to currying the mare, barely aware of her irritable snapping, instinctively avoiding the sudden lurches with which she sought to trap me against the bars of the stall. I finished tending my ungrateful horse and turned to the patient Cuentin.
“So,” he said, “do I bring you to Gunnar.”
I shouldered my saddlebags, took up my staff, and went with him into the tower of the keep.
By the time we found the aeldor, I had learned that he was wed to Dagma, had three sons-Donal, Connar, and Gustan-and a single daughter, Maere; that Dagma was pregnant, all three sons betrothed, and that Maere possessed a temper of erratic nature. Cuentin was a font of information.
I found the aeldor and his wife a solemn, even dour couple, and their sons not much different. By contrast, Maere, who was little more than a child, was a lively girl. All were dark, and all save Maere seemed to me of that West Coast character I had, overall, come to expect. Still, they made me welcome enough, and I remained in Cymbry some days.
While I was there, I was a dutiful Storyman. I asked no untoward questions, pried not at all, but only told my tales and thanked them for their praise. What questions I did ask were entirely within the aegis of my calling. I decided that if I were indeed monitored, it was not by the aeldors but by their sorcerers.
And if that were the case, Cuentin was a most subtle observer. I spent much time in his company and found him amusing and informative. From him I learned that the Sky Lords’ little airboats were seen with increasing frequency all over Dharbek, seeming not to concentrate on any particular area but randomly across the land, whilst the larger vessels had been seen not at all this year. With the aid of Gunnar’s jennym (who did indeed prove a most likable fellow), Cuentin had slain three groups of Kho’rabi. He spoke openly of the elementals harnessed to the Sky Lords’ purpose, and it came to me that not everyone saw the ethereal creatures so clearly as did I. It was Cuentin’s opinion that the blood gift that made him a sorcerer and me a Mnemonikos also granted us the ability to perceive the aerial spirits more readily. I wondered if that same blood rendered us more aware of the subtle currents flowing through our world, of the existence of societies within societies. That thought I kept to myself.
I rode once with him and Tevach after word came of a sighting, and I saw the Kho’rabi slain with the same efficiency as Krystin’s band had demonstrated. I once more witnessed the liberation of the elementals, and it was as strange and disquieting an experience as before. I asked Cuentin his opinion of such magic and got back no more answers than before.
“It lies beyond my ken,” he told me. “Their sorcery takes a weirdling path. And the God knows, do they bring it to full strength”-his lips curved in sour approximation of a smile-“then we shall see the Great Coming, and Dharbek fight for her life.”
To hear this voiced by one usually so sanguine was somehow more alarming than those predictions issued by folk of more saturnine disposition. I said, “And what of you sorcerers?”
I realized we had begun to speak in terms of conclusion, not supposition. It was an ugly realization.
Cuentin shrugged wearily. “Shall we be enough?” he asked. “The God knows, the sorcerous talent is hardly commonplace. The College is already depleted to strengthen the Sentinels; all Dharbek’s scoured for initiates-with not much success. Do the Sky Lords come in force …”
He shrugged again, letting the sentence tail away like the filthy smoke rising from the pyre. I chose then to take a chance: the moment, and the direction of our conversation, were opportune. I asked him, “What of the Border Cities? Might sorcerers not come from those?”
He answered me without, I felt, forethought. “And leave the Slammerkin undefended? Unwise, my friend.” Then he broke off, his dark eyes suddenly enigmatic. I could not tell if I had caught him off guard. “There are fewer of us to man the Border Cities now, scarce enough to ward all Dharbek. And as we know naught of the land beyond … What if the Sky Lords grounded across the Slammerkin? What if they established themselves in Ur- Dharbek? We might then face landward invasion from the north, besides the aerial attack. No, better hold the Border Cities manned against that danger than risk the Kho’rabi coming over the Slammerkin.”
It was a sound argument, the logic irrefutable. Perhaps-even likely-it was sincere, but for an instant I had thought to see something in his eyes, on his face, that hinted at secrets, at knowledge held back. I was tempted to say something of the wild Changed; I thought better of it.
If Cuentin guessed I had sought to probe, he gave no sign, and Tevach approached us then to announce his grisly work completed. We mounted our horses and rode away, my curiosity still unsatisfied.
It continued thus as I progressed southward. I was given ready welcome wherever I halted, and with my sturdy (if still ill-tempered) mare to carry me, I was able to meander between the populous coastal plain and the wilder hinterland much at will. The common folk were not much informed of events in the wider world, nor much interested. They went about their lives as usual, the little airboats considered a nuisance rather than a threat. They had become a thing accommodated into the daily round, much as were the cycles of the Sky Lords’ Comings-a matter for the Lord Protector and his lieutenants, the aeldors and the sorcerers. And as for those authorities-well, their attitude was not, I thought, very different. Engineers sent from Kherbryn appeared in the keeps, supervising the construction of the war-engines, and the aeldors appeared to feel such weapons should combine with the powers of their sorcerers to defeat any attack. I encountered no other sorcerers so open as Cuentin, nor so voluble, and if they-like him-thought the war-engines insufficient to their purpose, they kept that belief from me. As Sastaine came and went, I found no more answers, only more questions.
