Lords of the Sky

There seemed real amusement in her eyes now. We both supped before she spoke again.

“Are you not told to bring back word of what you see along your Storyman’s road? Of the keeps’ moods, their readiness for war?” Her fine, dark brows rose, and I nodded mute agreement. “And no less are we sorcerers commanded to report on you. Had you not thought as much?”

I said, “I’d wondered-aye, I’d suspected it was so.”

“Then a word of warning,” she said gently, “from a friend. Have a care what questions you ask. Perhaps show less of this feeling for the Changed. Your friendship with your servant served you ill, no?”

I was abruptly aware of the bracelet on my wrist. Almost, I took my hand from the table to hide the bangle, then knew it for foolishness. Did Rekyn know it for what it was, then it was too late to hide it. Did she not, then best make nothing of it. I said defensively, “He was my friend. Is that wrong?”

“In some folk’s eyes, it is,” she said. “I’d not say it so, but there are others…. Jareth, for example, is known to scorn the Changed.”

I said, “Without them, we’d know chaos. You said that much yourself.”

“So I did.” She nodded. “And so it is; or would be, did worse come to worst.”

Her voice trailed off, and for a moment she stared into her ale. Her face was clouded, and she toyed absently with a strand of dark hair. I had not thought to see Rekyn so irresolute. I waited, sensing she reached a decision of some kind. I was agog but curbed my impatience, for I felt she was about to speak of things, if not forbidden, then seldom said. I was minded of conversations with Lan: I thought perhaps another piece of the puzzle should come my way. Rekyn raised her head to look me in the eye again, and I saw her choice was made.

“Likely I should not tell you this,” she said quietly, “but I’ve a feeling about you. I cannot explain it, save”-she smiled and sighed a laugh-“save were I a seer, I’d tell you destiny sits on your shoulder. So-you’ve wandered abroad enough to see how much we depend on the Changed?”

I said, “Without them, Dharbek should be helpless, I think.”

“We’ve come to depend on them perhaps too much.” Her handsome face was grave now, and her eyes flickered about the room, as if to ensure she was not overheard. “And likely there are those amongst them know it. I think those who flee across the Slammerkin must.”

She paused. I saw this was no easy thing for her to say and asked, “But shall you sorcerers not employ your magicks to create more? Enough to replace those who flee?”

I was surprised when she shook her head; amazed at her words. She said, “No, Daviot. We cannot.”

My jaw gaped, and I could not suppress the gasp that escaped. Rekyn frowned, green eyes flashing a warning. I closed my mouth and set my hands about my tankard as if to anchor myself, leaning toward her across the table.

“We cannot,” she went on in a voice only I might hear. “There’s none can say exactly why, though some claim it’s to do with our migration south. We found that talent when we dwelt in Ur-Dharbek, they say; when the dragons hunted us and we must create prey for them. Since we crossed the Slammerkin, we’ve had no need for the talent. Instead, our magic was bent to conquering Draggonek and Kellambek, and then to defeating the Sky Lords.”

She fell silent as the serving woman came asking if our mugs needed replenishment. We drained them and sat unspeaking as the red-haired woman fetched us fresh. Then Rekyn continued: “All the efforts of my College were given to the creation of the Sentinels, to mastering those gramaryes that enable us to meet the Kho’rabi wizards in battle. We saw the Changed already made bred young-there seemed little need to create more through magic when nature gave us sufficient. Now, it appears we’ve forgotten the way of it.”

“How can you forget?” I asked.

Her lips curved in a smile empty of humor. “We’re not Mnemonikos, Daviot,” she said. “Perhaps did we not guard our secrets so close, but had entrusted those gramaryes to your kind…. But no matter; we did not, and there it is.”

“But,” I asked, bewildered, “how can you forget a talent? Surely once developed-”

“Perhaps forget is the wrong word,” she said. “Perhaps it’s that we took our talent down a different road; perhaps it was some thing intrinsic to Ur-Dharbek, or our need then. Whatever, we’ve lost it now.”

“Do you say that the sorcerous talent is a thing of the land?” I must remember to hold my voice low, as if we engaged only in casual conversation, and that was no easy discipline. “That where you are shapes what you are?”

“Some do,” she told me. “For my own part, I know not. But I could not take some beast and make of it a Changed.”

I shook my head even as a thought burst inside. I stared at Rekyn and said low-voiced, “Do you say we Dhar some how gained the talent whilst we sojourned in Ur-Dharbek? Because we lingered there?”

It was rhetoric: I sought to pin down my sudden thought, but still she confirmed me, “Some say it so, aye.”

“Then if they be correct,” I murmured, “shall the wild Changed not develop sorcerous abilities?”

It was as though a shutter lifted to expose a bright-lit room, or a torch were ignited to spill brilliance where before there had been only shadow, and I was dazzled. I felt pieces of the puzzle join; there was no complete picture yet, but I saw its outline grow clearer.

Rekyn faced me square across the table, and I was again minded of the dragon’s gaze. “Likely,” she said. “It’s suspected, at least.”

I said, “By the God!” For all the heat, I felt a chill course down my spine.

“Now do you understand why your interest in the wild Changed has found such disapproval?” she asked me, and when I nodded, dumbstruck: “I should not have told you this. Such knowledge is forbidden, and I break a vow in the doing. Do you voice it, then likely you and I both shall find ourselves on the scaffold.”

I nodded. I was too intrigued then to feel any fear. That would come later, but in that moment I felt only awe; and a tremendous curiosity. I asked her, “How many know this?”

“We sorcerers,” she said, “the master of your College, the Lord Protector, the koryphons; none others. It’s a secret close-guarded.”

I licked my lips, staring at her. Close-guarded? Aye, for what should be the outcome did the folk of Dharbek-Truemen and Changed both-learn of this? Even were it no more than suspicion, it must turn our world on its head. I thought the Changed should surely abandon the land to flee north, to gain that power that was now the sole property of their masters. I thought Truemen should fight to halt them. I thought there should surely be such chaos delivered us all as must hand Dharbek like some festival gift to the Sky Lords. I stared at Rekyn and felt fear stir behind my wonderment.

“Did you speak aught of this,” she said carefully, “then likely Sarun-or any aeldor-would have your tongue torn out before execution. And mine with it.”

I said, “Aye,” aware my voice came hushed and hoarse. “Save not likely, but surely. But Rekyn, why do you tell me?”

She shrugged then, a smile haunting her mouth as puzzlement misted her eyes. “I cannot say,” she told me. “Not beyond that I’ve a feeling about you. I can explain it no better, save perhaps the telling shall serve to bind your questioning tongue.”

“Bind it?” I snorted bitter laughter. “Rekyn, you float a lure before my curiosity and tell me do I chase it, I must die.”

“Were you not already chasing it, in your own way?” she gave me back. “You go from keep to keep asking your questions-What does this sorcerer know of the wild Changed? What that of Ur-Dharbek? You show open friendship of the Changed; you deal with them as equals, never hiding your beliefs. Oh, Daviot, leave off that face! I’ve told you we’ve a duty to observe, just as you do. In the God’s name, my friend, you hold the history of the Dhar in your head; you’ve knowledge few others possess. With all of that and clear evidence you perceive the Changed as little different to Truemen, think you you’ve not raised hackles? There are some have urged you be called back to Durbrecht-found some position within your College, where your curiosity might be tight-reined, you all the time watched. Save you’ve won yourself a reputation as the finest Storyman in decades, you’d be there now; and warded close as any prisoner.”