Lords of the Sky

without a past. What shall he be, then? A servant? We’ve never had servants; we’ve no Changed to fetch and carry for us. Shall we make a menial of him?”

Cyraene muttered, “It should be fitting,” and Alrys chuckled, nodding agreement.

Rwyan said, “Was it not that first made the Ahn our enemy? Shall we repeat that mistake?”

Faces turned in shock toward her, outrage writ there. That she questioned was, their eyes said, grossest assumption. She was grateful for Gwyllym’s calm smile.

“There’s truth in that,” he said, voice raised over angry muttering, “but I’d not now debate our past. Save I say we should not forgo our ancient customs. I’d not see him made a servant any more than I’d have Changed on the Sentinels. Can we agree on that?”

There was a murmur of acceptance, a ducking of heads; reluctantly from Cyraene, Alrys.

Gwyllym waited until he had silence again. Then: “So, here he’s useless to us-as has been said, another mouth to feed. We cannot restore his memory, and without that he’s nothing. In Durbrecht, however …”He paused, gray eyes moving slowly from face to face. “In Durbrecht is the College of the Mnemonikos, whose talent is remembering; who understand memory better than we and possess such techniques as might restore his. I say we send him there.”

“And our own College,” Gynael said, forestalling Demaeter’s protest, “which can surely deal with one forgetful Kho’rabi; wizard, or no.”

“And on the way?” the plump sorcerer demanded. “What of that?”

There was a pause. Into it, Rwyan dared speak again. “I’ve spent more time with him than any of you, and I tell you he’s no threat. He deems us saviors, himself indebted.”

“Perhaps,” said Cyraene, her voice smooth, venom in the words, “you’ve grown too close. Did you not once disgrace yourself with a Rememberer?”

Rwyan felt a chill at that reminder; instantly replaced with anger’s heat. “I loved a man, aye,” she said. It was an effort to hold her voice calm: she had sooner slapped the woman. “And when I was bade come here, I left him. I know my duty.”

“And have you found another man?” Cyraene asked with malevolent mildness. “One no more suitable?”

“I’ve not,” Rwyan answered curtly; and could not resist adding, “neither do I cull the newcome for lovers.”

The older woman’s face paled with affront, but as her mouth opened to vent reply, Gwyllym said, “Enough! Shall we squabble like spiteful children, or speak as adults?”

Rwyan said, “I’m sorry.” Cyraene shrugged, arranging her gown.

Demaeter said, “I ask again-what of the journey to Durbrecht? How can we know him secure along the way?”

“Deliver him from keep to keep,” suggested Jhone. “Let the commur-mages take him, with a squadron from each warband.”

“Slow,” said Alrys.

“And,” said Gynael, “unlikely to be much welcomed by the aeldors. Are our fears realized and the Great Coming begun, the keeps shall need their sorcerers and their soldiers.”

Gwyllym ducked his head. “That’s true,” he said. “A boat should be simpler and swifter. But first-are we agreed that he goes to Durbrecht?”

Again a pause, a murmuring as individual discussions were voiced; finally a nodding, a rumble of consent.

“So be it.” Gwyllym turned slowly, eliciting agreement from each of them. “He goes to Durbrecht. Now let us debate the how of it.”

Maethyrene said, “A supply ship?”

“When shall the next come?” Alrys demanded. “Most are commandeered to supply the holdings.”

“We might request one of Durbrecht,” Jhone suggested.

“And be refused,” said Demaeter. “Or wait the God knows how long.”

“Send to Carsbry then,” Jhone offered. “Let Pyrrin divert a boat or send one of his own galleys.”

“Has he one to send,” said Gwyllym thoughtfully. “And there’s another thing-I’d see Tezdal delivered whole, alive. Think you a galley out of Carsbry, with warriors on board, should treat a captive Sky Lord kindly? Remember, both Pyrrin’s sons were slain.”

“They’d more likely slay him,” said Cyraene. Rwyan thought she concealed her pleasure at the notion.

“We could protect him,” Maethyrene said. “Send our own escort.”

Cyraene’s protest was genuine: “We’ve a duty here! We dare not weaken our defenses.”

“Then it would seem we reach impasse.” Demaeter folded chubby hands across his belly. “For I’ll not agree to sending him anywhere save he’s warded by magic.”

Gwyllym frowned, nodding acceptance. Rwyan said, “Perhaps there is another way.”

Again, their faces turned toward her, some still hostile, others curious. Gwyllym motioned that she explain, and she said, “I think that the warbands would likely slay him, perhaps even some keep sorcerers. I’d suggest he go clandestine-that we advise only Durbrecht of his coming and none others. We might send one of our own boats to Carsbry and find some ship going north from there.”

“Not without he’s warded,” said Demaeter obstinately. “And as Cyraene points out, we cannot spare guards for such a journey.”

“We might,” Cyraene said, her eyes sparkling as they fixed on Rwyan, “send one. Perhaps one powerful enough to hold the Kho’rabi in check, but not so great as to weaken the island’s magic.”

Demaeter nodded, Alrys voiced agreement; others joined them.

Rwyan saw a trap set and sprung: she was not sure she minded. She said, “I’d go, be it your wish.”

Jhone said warningly, “It would be no easy journey, child.”

“Yet we’re agreed it must be done,” said Cyraene.

Rwyan found Gwyllym studying her speculatively. She said, “I swear Tezdal is no threat. I trust him.”

“With your life?” asked Gynael.

“With my life,” answered Rwyan.

Cyraene smiled feigned friendship and said, “I say we accept Rwyan’s proposal.”

Gwyllym asked, “Are you sure?” And when Rwyan ducked her head, “Let us vote on it.”

It was soon cast. Some there were glad enough to see themselves rid of the Kho’rabi, some of Rwyan; her friends voted honestly, in favor of what seemed to them the best proposal. It was decided she should go with Tezdal to Carsbry, claiming herself a mage returning from a sojourn on the island. She would ask of the aeldor Pyrrin that he arrange passage north for them, to Durbrecht if that were possible, if not, then to some other keep closer to the Treppanek, where she might find another ship. She would be given coin enough to facilitate the journey; they wished her the God’s speed.

There was only a single point of dissent: Demaeter would send Tezdal out in chains. Rwyan had not known she commanded such eloquence as she argued that.

How, she demanded, might such bonds be explained? They should look most odd, no? Was Tezdal a prisoner, then surely he would be delivered to the aeldor. And what manner of prisoner would come from the Sentinels, save a Sky Lord? Which announcement they were surely agreed was not to be bruited abroad for fear Tezdal be slain out of hand.

No, she told the fat sorcerer with a firmness she had not known she possessed, was this subterfuge to work, then all must appear normal. There could be no chains.

And should he regain his full memory and turn on her?

He would not, of that she was certain; too, she was not without defenses. She had the talent, no? She could ward herself well enough against a single man, surely?

“I believe you can,” said Maethyrene. “But even so-do we agree he goes unfettered-you must still explain his presence. He cannot be your servant, for we’ve no servants here. What is he then? Why does he accompany you?”

There was a murmur of agreement, of doubt. Cyraene frowned as if disappointed. Rwyan thought a moment on the argument and smiled. “I am blind,” she said, “so let him be my eyes. A man hired off a supply ship to act as guide and servant. The God willing, that explanation should satisfy most folk.”