Lords of the Sky

closer. He ignored it, easing away from me, as if afraid I should impart some contagion.

I sighed and said more gently, “Thom, in Durbrecht I named a Changed my friend; and he, me. I was proud he did. I think there is little difference between us, save what’s imposed by such as Nevyn, and I see no reason why you should not take a cup of wine with me, save you choose not.”

His eyes were very wide and his lips were drawn back from his teeth in atavistic memory of his ancestry. As suddenly as my anger had arisen, so did the realization that if he reported this outburst to Nevyn, I must be surely marked a dissident, again branded a rebel. Was I watched now, his report would damn me. I feared I had gone too far, revealed my feelings too openly. I shook my head and fell silent.

I saw Thom’s lips close slowly over his yellow teeth, then move. I thought it some expression of fear or outrage, but then a sound emerged, faint: a name.

He whispered, “Urt.”

I was amazed. I said, “You know Urt?”

Thom shook his head. I thought to press him; thought better of it. I waited as he gathered himself, no longer crouching defensively but squatting as he had done before. Absently, he reached out to find the boot he had dropped. No less absently, he began to polish again. I suspected he took refuge in familiar action. I waited: there was a mystery here I thought should be lost did I pursue it too eagerly.

Finally, his eyes intent on the boot, he murmured, “Urt’s Friend. We speak of you, master.”

“Urt called me Daviot,” I said. And for Thom’s sake added, “When we were alone.”

The Changed nodded, and I saw his lips shape my name. Gently, I asked him, “How have you heard of me, Thom?”

He hesitated, glancing up, then down again. I thought he debated the wisdom of confiding in me. I curbed my impatience. It seemed a long time before he said, “We … speak, Master … Daviot.”

“How?” I asked.

I wondered if I stumbled on a thing unknown to other Truemen. That the Changed of Durbrecht communicated with one another, that I had long known. But that this servant of a keep on Kellambek’s west coast should know of Urt, know of me-that was a startling revelation. I did not believe the College of the Mnemonikos was aware of this. If so, it was a well-kept secret. Were the sorcerers? Were they aware, then perhaps my feeling of being watched was explained. I had inquired openly of the wild Changed, of Ur-Dharbek, and my sympathies were known in Durbrecht. Perhaps that was the reason I was commanded to proceed directly from keep to keep, that the sorcerers might observe me, eavesdroppers to my possible sedition.

Thom shrugged and polished, and when he spoke again, it was with lowered eyes and a voice so soft I must bend close to hear him. “Oarsmen come down the coast, Master … Daviot…. There are servants in the taverns, porters…. Merchants employ us. They speak … we hear … sometimes.”

He shrugged again and fell silent. I saw that he was very frightened. I prompted him gently: “I’ll not betray you, Thom. What you tell me shall be our secret-you’ve my word on that.”

He looked at me again. It was the look a whipped dog gives when offered some kindness: gratitude and fear mingled. He said, “Word came of Urt and you.” Then he smiled, a wary, tentative expression. “Urt’s Friend, you are named.”

I returned his smile. I felt proud of that appellation. “We were friends,” I said. And then, “What word of Urt?”

“None … Daviot.” I thought he savored the saying of my name; nervously, like indulgence in forbidden fruit. “Not since he was sent to the Slammerkin.”

A hope faded at that, though its flame was not entirely dimmed. I recognized it was wildest optimism to think I’d find news of Urt so far south, but what I had found opened wide vistas of possibility. It seemed that that hidden society I had perceived in Durbrecht must extend throughout Dharbek. Stretched thin by distance, yes, but nonetheless there-a network of the Changed, unseen, passing word of their kind wherever Changed met Changed, their presence, their unquestioning servitude, so familiar to most Truemen it was taken for granted. I was disappointed that Thom could tell me no more of Urt; I was wildly excited by what I learned.

“Daviot?” I heard him ask. “You’ll say nothing of this?” “You’ve my word,” I promised. “Should it earn you punishment?”

“Likely.” He ducked his head. “The commur-magus has little liking for us.”

“And Nevyn’s the power here?” I asked.

“Yes,” he told me. “Lord Chrystof’s no blood-heir; the commur-mage is named his successor.”

I grunted. It explained Nevyn’s presumption. I thought he should make an unkind master. “He shall have nothing from me,” I said.

Thom said, “Thank you.”

He set my boots aside-they gleamed bright as my staff-and rose to his feet. For an instant I debated the wisdom of questioning him about the Changed I had seen aiding the Sky Lords. I decided against such risk: did he know aught of that, it was unlikely he would reveal it to me, for all I was named a friend. Did he not, then I should put my freedom in jeopardy, perhaps my life. I saw then what subterfuge and deceit bring-inevitable mistrust. It crossed my mind (a fleeting, guilty thought) that Thom might be some spy of Nevyn’s, sent to lure me into confession. I held my secret to myself. Still, he had revealed things I had not known: I took a small chance, hoping to enlarge my gains.

“Might word be gotten to Urt?” I asked.

“Perhaps,” Thom allowed. “It would be difficult.”

“Were it possible,” I said, “I’d have him know I wander Kellambek. I’d have him know he’s still my friend; that I hope we shall meet again, someday.”

Thom nodded thoughtfully. “Can I pass word,” he said, “I shall…. There might be a boat.”

“He was sent to Karysvar,” I said, “on the Slammerkin.”

Thom said, “Yes.”

I was not sure whether he confirmed my words or his own prior knowledge. I went on: “He might have gone into Ur-Dharbek, to the wild Changed.”

Thom said, “Perhaps,” and his face became masked. “Then he’ll not get word.”

I had gone too far. The features of the Changed are rooted deep enough in their animal ancestors that they are difficult to read; at the same time, they are sufficiently removed from their forebears that their bodies no longer display the clear reactions of beasts. Even so, I had conversed with them enough I saw Thom was perturbed. His reaction was not dissimilar to that of the sorcerers I had questioned on the same subject. I recognized that he would say no more than they, and that did I press him I should lose his confidence altogether. So I shrugged and said, “No, I suppose not. Still, I hope he shall get my message.”

“Yes.”

Thom seemed torn now between the formal “master” and the use of my given name. I was pleased he chose the latter but knew I had made him uncomfortable when he inquired what further service I might require or if he should bring me to the dining hall.

I was hungry: he guided me to the hall.

Neither the aeldor nor the commur-magus was present, which troubled me not at all, and I was given a cheerful welcome by the warband. The warriors were led by a jennym whose name was Darus, and from him I learned that Nevyn had been some dozen years in the keep and was not popular. I commented on the servants’ tunics-those tending us in the hall wore gray bordered with silver-and Darus advised me that was Nevyn’s doing. He spoke somewhat of the Sky Lords, but save for sightings of a few of the little airboats (Trevyn Keep had encountered no landings), I garnered no more information than I already had. War-engines were constructed, but it was Darus’s belief the west coast was safe. I thought him dangerously wrong but said nothing, suspecting that did I voice my opinion that in a year or two the Sky Lords would likely mount their Great Coming, I should earn Nevyn’s further displeasure and my sojourn in Trevyn Keep be even less pleasant. Instead, the fog yet lingering, I passed the afternoon telling stories to a hall of bored soldiers. I noticed, as I spoke, that the Changed disappeared.

That evening I saw Chrystof escorted into the hall by two burly Changed in the uniforms of body-servants. He seemed not quite aware of his surroundings, as if he were more accustomed to his private chambers, and he sat at the high table with only Nevyn for company. I was not invited to join them, but Nevyn called in a