Lords of the Sky

He nodded gravely and asked her, “Did you love him, that his memory makes you look so sad?”

And that, she thought, is exactly like Daviot: to strike directly to the heart of a thing. She ducked her head and said, “Yes, I did.”

“Then,” he said, “why are you apart?”

“We’d different talents.” She shrugged, not much wanting to pick at those old wounds. “Mine was for sorcery; his for memory. I was sent here; he’s a Rememberer.”

“Shall he be in this Durbrecht?” he asked.

“I think not,” she said. “I think he likely wanders Dharbek now, as a Storyman.”

“What’s that?” he asked. “A Storyman?”

Rwyan told him, and when she was done, he said, “Then perhaps you’ll meet him along the way.”

“Perhaps.” She smiled, denying herself the brief flare of hope his words kindled. Then caught the import of what he said: “You accept? That you must act the servant?”

“Do you wish it?”

She was not quite sure whether he asked her or made a statement. She said, “It’s needful.”

“Be it your wish then.” He stood, executing a cursory bow. “Then so be it.”

“Thank you,” she said.

The Feast of Daeran was past before I sighted Carsbry, my belly grumbling its anticipation of Pyrrin’s hospitality. Betwixt this keep and Cambar, the land was ravaged, famine a growing threat, disease stirring. This should have been a season of growth, of plenty; it was, instead, a time of hardship. I went often hungry: I thought I should rest awhile in Carsbry and fatten myself a little before continuing up the coast.

The hold was a pretty sight in the midmorning sun, despite the arid fields, and I paused by a stand of black pine, studying the place. It sprawled around a gentle bay, the houses spreading in twinned arcs from the centerpiece of the keep, that standing watchful over the harbor and the inland road alike. Moles extended out into the placid waters of the Fend, ensuring safe anchorage for sea-borne traffic, and I saw galleasses moored there, and galleys, warlike amongst the smaller fishing craft. It still seemed odd there was no wind. I nudged my mare and set her to the road.

No less odd than the absence of a breeze was the listless attitude of the folk I encountered. I should by now have become accustomed to that apathy, but still it struck me as strange that the arrival of a Storyman should elicit so little excitement. I thought the implacable heat drained more than physical energy; it seemed to rob the people of that animating vitality that had always carried us defiant through hardship.

I halted at the keep’s gate, announcing myself to the soldiers lounging there. They wore no armor but only breeks and plain shirts draped with Carsbry’s plaid. For all they still wore swords, I thought them ill prepared against attack should the Sky Lords come. My name taken with no great display of interest, the pyke commanding waved me carelessly by and I heeled my mare across the sun-hot cobbles of the yard. Pyrrin’s banners hung limp from the tower, which appeared so far the condition of his holding. When I looked to the walls, I was encouraged to see a trio of the war-engines standing ready, with missiles piled beside-presumably not all here was lassitude.

I found the stables and rubbed down the mare, saw her watered and fed, the Changed ostlers warned of her temper, and made my way to the hall.

Pyrrin sat dicing with his warband. He was a man at the midpoint of his life, no longer youthful, but not yet given up to age. I judged him some ten years or more my senior and likely overfond of his food and ale. Fat began to overlay his muscle, and his pale brown hair was thinning. I thought his features spoke of indulgence, though his manner was amiable enough. He greeted me kindly, calling that ale be served me, and introduced me around.

His wife-the lady Allenore-greeted me from where she sat sewing with her women. She was as like her husband they might have been sister and brother, save her hair was thick, albeit weighted with sweat. The commur-magus was an elderly fellow, Varius by name. He was portly and disfigured by a dreadful burn that marred the left side of his otherwise cheerful face. He told me later that Kho’rabi magic had left its mark, and from others I learned that despite his years and girth, he was a formidable fighter. The jennym was a lean, hard- looking fellow named Robyrt. He alone amongst the commanders wore leathers and seemed ready to fight.

We drank and traded news. I had little enough: what change I had observed along my road was for the worse. They seemed not much concerned by Taerl’s succession or Jareth’s regency, or were loath to air their views in my presence. They told me there had been, some weeks ago, an expedition of the Sky Lords come against the Sentinels. Not, they hastened to advise me, the great airboats, but a horde of the little craft. All save a handful had been destroyed, and those few Kho’rabi who had reached the shore were all slain. Of greater and more recent interest was the arrival of a sorcerer in Carsbry, bound for Durbrecht with a servant in tow. She awaited, they said, the departure of a trading galley which should leave on the morrow.

I was immediately intrigued. “A servant?” I asked. “I thought there were no Changed on the Sentinels.”

“Nor are there,” said Varius, “and nor’s he.”

“A strange fellow,” Robyrt offered. “Did he not accompany a sorcerer, I’d think him likely a Kho’rabi. He’s a look about him.”

“They came here only yesterday,” said Pyrrin, “and have hardly emerged from their chambers. Had Varius not received word from the Sentinels, I’d wonder but if she doesn’t look to hide him.”

She? I felt my heart start beneath my ribs. It was like a blow, and for a while I was without breath, heart and head aswirl. It could not be … surely not … it could not be: that should be too much to dare hope. Worse, if it were and she was Durbrecht-bound. To find her only to lose her again? That should be more than I could bear.

I heard Pyrrin say, “Daviot? What ails you, man? By the God, but you’re gone white. Are you ill?”

I shook my head, not yet able to speak. My throat was clogged with hope; and fear, also, that I might regain and again lose so much. All their eyes were on me. The aeldor pushed a mug to my hand, asking the while if I’d have him summon the keep’s herbalist. On his face I saw the fear I brought disease into his hall. I was not sure what I saw on Varius’s, but I recalled Rekyn’s warning that I was observed by her kind. So: did this plump, scarred magus suspect the reason for my discomfort?

In that instant I did not care. I forced down ale and asked, “She?”

It must have seemed to them a strange question. My whole demeanor must have seemed strange. I did not care.

It was Pyrrin who answered, “Aye, she. Rwyan, her name.”

Rwyan!

I knew not what I did then. Reason was gone, sense: my body reacted of its own. I sprang to my feet, sending my chair clattering over, my head turning, eyes ranging the hall in search of her.

Rwyan!

Robyrt came upright with me, his sword drawn and raised to cut me down. I ignored him: all my eyes knew was that she was not there. I took a step away from the table, turned. They must have believed me crazed. Across the hall, Allenore had dropped her embroidery, hands pressed frozen to her mouth. Her women clustered about her, as if her presence should protect them from this madman. Robyrt stood defensive before Pyrrin, who was himself on his feet, a dagger in his hand. The warband came with naked blades. I saw, as if from outside my body, that some held spears readied to cast. I could not see Rwyan. There was a silence broken by Varius’s calm voice.

“Aye, Rwyan. A blind mage with hair like burnished copper. Bound on tomorrow’s tide for Durbrecht. Now do you sit down and gather up your senses? Or must we bind you?”

I groaned, or wailed-I know not to this day which; but I righted my fallen chair and sat.

Varius filled my mug and bade me drink. I obeyed. I was suddenly gripped with a terrible fear that the sorcerer, or the aeldor, or the jennym, would order me bound, have me locked away until Rwyan was departed. I sat and drank as swords were sheathed and spears lowered. I was the focus of attention. I noticed that Robyrt had taken Pyrrin’s seat, putting the length of the table between the aeldor and me, and that his blade rested ready across his thighs. I gestured apology and mumbled, “Forgive me, my lord Pyrrin; lady Allenore. I …” I shook my