for ourselves.
The mantis gave a blessing, and we set to. I ate abundantly and drank my fill. My breeks were tight when I pushed back my chair and rose in answer to the shouted demands for a tale.
For Rhys and his brothers, I told of Damyd’s Battle. A kithara was brought out for that, and a tambour, which made a fine accompaniment. Then, as all around men and women called for their own favorites, I told them of Cambar’s oak wood, wondering how they might respond. I was gratified to hear them murmur solemn agreement that the wood was a fit monument to brave men. Still, I followed that with more traditional stories-of great battles and courageous warriors, of wise aeldors and Lords Protector. I felt welcomed here in Mhorvyn, but I knew that ere long I must speak with Laena, and she send report to Durbrecht; and that after I should be commanded on, to wander more or return. My first year as a Storyman was ended this night. I had no idea what the next should bring.
Bannas Eve became Lantaine: a new year was born. In Yanydd’s hall we hailed Lantaine’s dawning as outside the keep’s stout walls the wind beat fiercer. The aeldor’s prophecy proved wrong: the storm did not blow itself out by dawn, but rather grew more intense. Shutters vibrated under the onslaught; tongues of winded flame flung sparks into the hall; word came the island was cut off, the causeway drowned, no boats likely to put out in such a tempest. When I ventured out, I saw the sky black with sullen cloud and lightning dancing over the roiling sea. I had witnessed storms as bad, or worse, as a child, but this-perhaps because of Laena’s glum augury- seemed to me different. I thought it should not soon end.
Nor did it. It blew for seven days, and I began to think the commur-mage correct in her belief, though I could scarce comprehend how the Sky Lords might bend the weather itself to their will. It lent a somber undercurrent to the seasonal festivities that, by common consent, we elected to ignore. We worked the harder at revelry, for all it was no easy thing to smile and dismiss the ravaging of wind and wave as Lantaine duties were dispensed. Yanydd must, of course, go out amongst the people of his holding, and I had my Storyman’s duty, which brought me out to the taverns and alehouses with my tales. On orders of the aeldor, Callum gave me an escort of four stout soldiers, who made themselves a barrier betwixt the wind and me as we struggled against the ferocious gusting. That alone was often strong enough to blow a man off his feet, but also there were roof tiles hurled like missiles down the streets, and shutters torn loose and flung like straws. I saw several folk injured; the keep’s herbalist-chirurgeon was much in demand. In the harbor three boats were sunk, and for all that Lantaine the causeway lay under angry water.
I spoke of it to Lan. He knew already of Laena’s belief (which knowledge no longer surprised me: I had soon enough come to accept that there was little the Changed did not know) but claimed ignorance of the storm’s source.
“Be it the Sky Lords’ doing,” he said one evening as I prepared for the night’s feasting, “then their magic must be wondrous powerful.”
“And wondrous disruptive,” I said. “Is all Dharbek assaulted like this, there can be no commerce.”
“No” was all he gave me back.
“But neither can they attack,” I said, and added a cautious, “surely. Such a gale must deny them grounding, no?”
“I’d think it so,” he said. “Save they’ve such magicks as can deny the storm.”
He seemed quite sanguine, as if neither storm nor source bothered him overmuch, and I could not decide if that was simple indifference or something else. I had no way to press him, however, save by open accusation, and that I avoided. Our relationship was built on mutual confidences but was not yet quite friendship. I felt he dealt with me honestly for the most part, and when I sensed reticence, I could not decide whether it stemmed from genuine ignorance or a refusal to tell me all he knew. I had sought to learn more of Ur-Dharbek and the wild Changed but with no better success than before: he continued to claim a lack of knowledge with a fixity I could only think of as dogged. Rather than jeopardize our rapport, I elected to leave that matter be. I had, anyway, other preoccupations.
Chief amongst them was my report to Laena, and that meeting I approached with some trepidation.
The gray-haired mage showed me only friendship throughout my sojourn in Mhorvyn, but still I hoarded such secrets as prompted me to anticipate that meeting with no great enthusiasm. As it was, Lan was again proven right, and the fears I created for myself were the worst I must face. It was the second day of Lantaine that she suggested we withdraw to her chambers, that I might tell her of my year. I agreed without demur (I had little option, and I felt I had sooner confront the affair than allow the maggot of fear to gnaw further) and so found myself ensconced in a comfortable room, settled in a deep-cushioned chair before a blazing fire. Laena took a seat opposite and offered me mulled wine. I thought perhaps it might contain some electuary to loosen my tongue and so, pleading a sufficiency already drunk and more to come, refused. Laena showed neither surprise nor disappointment and filled herself a cup. As she drank, I began to suspect myself of paranoia. Neither did she seek to employ her talent in any quarrying of my mind, but only asked that I tell her of my wanderings.
I spoke freely enough, holding back what I knew of the Changed and that mysterious encounter I had witnessed; in all other specifics I was honest. Laena heard me out, interrupting from time to time to ask that I repeat some observation or clarify some point. Occasionally she raised a hand to silence me and sat awhile with closed eyes, her lips moving without sound.
I asked her what she did, and she told me, “I’ve not your talent, Daviot, else I’d be Mnemonikos and not mage. I must employ my magic to commit all this to memory.”
“Your magic will hold it all?” I asked.
“Long enough,” she answered. “Not as you do, but until what you tell me is passed to Durbrecht. That I’ll do once we’re finished, and then it will fade and I’ll recall no more than my own natural memory retains.” She chuckled then and added: “That shall not be very much, nor for very long,” which set me more at ease.
So I gave my report, and Laena dismissed me.
“It will take a while for this to reach Durbrecht,” she advised me, “and then some days ere word comes back. I’ll tell you as soon I may what orders your College has.”
“I hope,” I said, gesturing at the closed shutters, “that I’ll be allowed to stay here until then.”
Laena nodded, smiling a trifle wanly as she cocked an ear to the wind’s howling. “I think there’ll be no choice in that,” she said. “Until this weather breaks at least.”
I nodded and left her to her magic. She gave no sign that she suspected me of dissimulation, and whilst I could not entirely dismiss unease, I was somewhat relieved. I felt I was granted a reprieve, at least until Durbrecht returned word.
That took longer than was usual. I had anticipated a response within six or seven days, but none came in that time and I began once more to fret. Was my case such as occasioned lengthy deliberation? Or did this freakish weather somehow disrupt the channels of occult communication? I did not know, nor had I any wish to question Laena, for fear she wonder at my impatience. I had no one in whom I could entirely and honestly confide. Lan was the nearest to that ideal, but even to him I could not tell all, and when I ventured to express some small measure of my concern, he only bade me wait, seeming no more disturbed by this than by the weather.
And then the storm died, the wind’s place taken by snow. The louring black that had spanned the heavens took on a livid hue, and a white curtain fell over Mhorvyn. This, I was told by Lan and Yanydd and Laena-indeed, by all I asked-was unprecedented. Snow was rare enough here; snow in such quantity was unknown. I had seen enough in Durbrecht, but very little in Whitefish village. There, what fell was soon translated into rain or sleet, the salty seaside air melting the flakes even as they descended. It should have been thus here, but the precipitation came so thick and strong, it blanketed the island between dawn and dusk and after built steadily up. It was a marvel to many-who had never seen snow-and to the children sheer delight. They rampaged through the streets, tossing snowballs, rolling in the stuff, constructing forts and follies even as gangs of Changed were set to clearing the roads and walks and roofs. It was, in truth, a pretty scene, the keep and all the rooftops decked pristine, but at the same time unnerving.
I went about the town as usual, wrapped in my cloak, my boots padded against the chill, listening as much as I spoke. None connected either storm or snowfall with the Sky Lords, but all wondered at such weather. Some talked of omens, some zealots of the God’s wrath; fishermen complained of lost catches, merchants of undelivered
