conspiracy-if conspiracy, indeed, existed. Had I not been Durbrecht-trained, I think I should have begun to doubt my memory, to think that meeting I had witnessed a figment of my imagination, a dream. But I knew it was not so. I could recall it clear, every detail, and it remained a worm gnawing at the heart of my conscience. Still, I saw no further sign of collusion betwixt Changed and Sky Lords, saw no more clandestine rendezvous. Indeed, I saw not much more sign of the Sky Lords themselves. A boat sometimes, not often and never close, so that I began to wonder if the Kho’rabi gave up their voyaging or confined it to the coast. I thought I should learn no more in the wild hinterland, but only where folk gathered in the larger towns. The gray mare and I were both leaner now, at the peak of our strength, and I decided it was time to return westward.
It was a pretty ride, through a landscape painted with autumn’s colors, the air crisp by day, chill by night, but as I came on the coast I realized I had dawdled longer inland than I had intended. Fog met me as I approached Trevyn, rolling in off the western sea to blanket the land, cold and damp. I drew my cloak tight and came on the hold like some ghost rider, my mare, whose coat matched the brume, all but invisible. It was the midpart of the day, close on noon, but if the sun shone, it was lost above the fog, and I located the gates only by the braziers that burned there.
Inside the walls it was not much better-a twilight lit by the diffuse glow of windows and the lanterns carried by passersby. I knew Trevyn to be a sizable place, but I could barely make out the houses to either side in the gloom, and despite the directions I got, I lost myself five times before I found the keep.
It sat beside the sea. I could hear waves lapping against the western wall. I thought there would be no boats out today. I announced myself to the gate-guards and was brought by a Changed ostler to the stables. My mare was in foul mood, and I saw to her myself before proceeding to the tower, warning the ostler against her temper. I felt cheerful, anticipating a bath (I had slept by the trail the past three days) and perhaps a mug of mulled ale, a good hot meal. Instead, I found myself brought immediately before the aeldor Chrystof and his commur-magus, Nevyn. Neither appeared overjoyed to see me.
Chrystof was a gaunt man of advanced years; a widower, I understood, and childless, with a left arm withered by an old wound got from the Sky Lords. Nevyn was younger, perhaps a decade older than I, plump, his hair dark as the aeldor’s was silver. They sat in high-backed chairs either side of a roaring fire, a jug set close enough to the flames that the spiced wine I could smell should be kept warm. A rug covered Chrystof’s legs. He appeared feeble, gone into his dotage.
I said, “Day’s greetings, my lord aeldor; commur-magus.”
Chrystof nodded and returned the salutation in a hoarse voice. I noticed that his eyes were yellowed with age and the proximity of death. Nevyn only studied me with a cold speculative gaze. I was not invited to sit, although a third chair stood close by, nor was I offered wine. I ran a hand over my fog-wet hair, feeling suddenly chilled despite the warmth of the fire.
Without preamble, Nevyn demanded, “Where have you been, Storyman? We thought to see you long since.”
I hesitated, surprised it was the sorcerer who spoke, and by the imperious question. A Storyman had no set itinerary but was free to wander at will. Word was, of course, passed from keep to keep, of our arrivals and departures, but we were not bound to follow any fixed route or timetable. Nor was it usual to question our comings and goings: I sensed something amiss here. I thought again that perhaps my progress was watched more closely than my fellows’. I said, “Did you expect me ere now, I apologize. I rode inland a way.”
“A long way inland,” said Nevyn, and sniffed disapprovingly. For an instant I saw Ardyon’s cadaverous features imposed over his. “Half the summer inland.”
I shrugged, not liking his tone or the way he studied me. I said, “The aeldor Yrdan of Tryrsbry was kind enough to gift me with a horse. I thought to use that advantage to wander the isolated settlements. Most had not seen a Storyman in too long.”
I had thought that mention of an aeldor’s kindness should remind them of courtesy: it did not. Chrystof grunted and motioned with his cup, which Nevyn promptly filled. He still made no move to offer me wine. He sipped his own and said, “You left Thornbar Keep weeks ago. Where have you been since then?”
“Riding,” I said. I began to grow impatient with his manner, but I hid my irritation, wondering at the reason for this unusual interrogation. “There were none of your kind where I went.”
My answer was deliberately ambiguous. Nevyn grunted, drawing a hand over the purple stain the wine had left on his upper lip. For a while he stared at me. Then: “Word has come from Durbrecht-you are to make no more such forays.”
“What?” I frowned, entirely unable to conceal my surprise. Such a command was unprecedented. “Am I to forsake my calling then?”
The sorcerer ignored my outburst. “You are to pursue your calling as you are bid,” he said. “Your duty is to proceed south down the coast, to Mhorvyn.”
I stared at him. I was struck by his pomposity; struck more by the nature of this command. He took my silence and my expression for doubt and turned to Chrystof for confirmation. The aeldor had been looking into the flames throughout this exchange, but now he swung his gaunt head in my direction. He nodded and said, “It is so, Storyman.”
I could not doubt it; I could wonder why: I asked.
Nevyn answered me obliquely. “You’re to be in Mhorvyn by Bannas Eve,” he said. “And go there by the coast road. Without deviation.”
I asked again, “Why?”
The plump commur-magus shrugged. “Perhaps your College would have report of our preparations.” He sipped more wine. “Perhaps Durbrecht feels your talent is better employed where folk live, not wandering lonely through the hills.”
“Folk live there,” I said. I forbore to add, “Folk kinder than you.” “Do they not have need of Storymen?”
Nevyn stooped to fetch the jug from the hearth; filled his cup. I grew wearied of this insulting behavior.
He asked me, “Do you question the orders of your College?”
This took me aback. “Yes” would have been the honest answer, but I was not, I admitted to myself, any longer entirely honest. Were I, I should have long since spoken of what I had seen. Consequently, I said, “No, I do not question the command; I wonder at its reason.”
I thought perhaps he would answer me with word that I was no longer trusted. That Durbrecht would have me in clear sight; at least, where sorcerers might monitor my progress and my doings. I could not, of course, voice this thought: to do so would mean revealing secrets I was not yet ready to impart. I awaited his response.
That came with a smug and careless smile. “Perhaps Durbrecht sees a wider picture.” he said, and added an insult as calculated as any Barus had given me. “Remember we gird against the Sky Lords. Storyman. Do they come, shall it be against some foresters’ hamlet or against the keeps? Which do you think?”
I thought that I had sooner dealt with him as I had dealt with Barus. I held my staff, and I thought that it should have been most satisfying to deliver him a sound crack. I gripped the pole tighter. Nevyn saw and drew himself a little upright in his chair. I thought perhaps he readied his magic to throw against me: I forced myself to calm and said, “Doubtless both our Colleges see the wider picture-I had thought to allow the plain folk of this land a glimpse. After all, these great holds-the towns-are warded by such as you, and news is easier to find. But in the lonely places-should they not know, too?”
I was rather pleased with my diplomacy. It went unnoticed by Nevyn. He waved a dismissive hand and said, “Do the Sky Lords attack, it shall be against the keeps, not the hamlets. Surely, then, better to ply your calling where folk gather, not waste it on the empty woods.”
It was an effective counter. Nevyn was pompous, insulting, but he was no fool. I saw we reached impasse in our verbal duel and allowed his point with a silent nod. He smiled and told me, “In any event, you are commanded-the coast road to Mhorvyn, without diversions.”
“I’d not,” I said carefully, “argue the wisdom of my College. So be it, then.”
“I’m glad,” he returned me, “that we reach agreement.”
I nodded again. I wondered fleetingly if he saw through me; if his talent allowed him to perceive what I hid. I decided not-I thought that were it so, he should have ordered me seized and imprisoned. I thought that this was such a man as would order a pogrom did he learn what I had seen. I stood in stolid silence.
Chrystof stirred himself then, as if he noticed for the first time that I stood dripping on his carpet. “You’re
