The Rogue

Yem chuckled. “It is hot.”

“Yes,” Dannyl agreed. “And yet it is winter.”

The old man pointed to the west. “Long way that way the volcanoes are covered in snow. It is high and cold.”

“I wish I could see that.”

Yem’s shoulders rose. “If the volcanoes wake, the snow melts. Then we have floods. Very dangerous. Not as dangerous as the floods of molten rock.” He glanced at Dannyl. “We call the floods ‘volcano tears’ and the red rivers are ‘volcano blood’.”

“And the ash?”

“Volcano sneezes.”

Dannyl smiled in amusement. “Sneezes?”

Yem laughed – a quick bark that reminded Dannyl of Unh. “No. I lie. We have many names for ash. There are many kinds of ash. Hot ash and cold ash. New ash and old ash. Ash that falls dry and ash that falls wet. Ash that fills the sky. We have a Duna name for each kind. More than fifty winters ago one of the volcanoes exploded, and the sky was full of ash for many months.”

“That must have been the eruption that caused the long winters in Kyralia.”

“Its reach was that great?” Yem nodded to himself. “It is a powerful volcano.”

Dannyl did not answer, for they had reached the shelter. He sighed with relief as he stepped into its shadow. The same old men that he’d spoken to the previous night sat in a ring on a blanket, but there were two male additions and one old female. Yem indicated that Dannyl should sit in a gap between two of the men. He himself moved around the circle to fill a gap on the opposite side.

Yem looked around at each of the men, then turned to the woman.

“Speak, Keeper. Give Ambassador Magician Dannyl your answers.”

The woman had been staring at Dannyl, her gaze keen and assessing. Though her expression was unreadable, there was something anxious and disapproving in her demeanour.

“You wish to know what stones can do?” she asked.

He nodded. “Yes.”

“They do whatever a magician can do,” she told him. “They turn magic into heat. They can be like a dam or shield. They make light. They can hold something still.” Her eyes focused on a distant point, and her voice took on the tone of a teacher reciting a familiar lesson. “Two kinds of stone may be made. One can be taught a task, but the magic must come from the holder. One can be taught a task, and holds magic for the task. Both can be made to use once, or many times, but the store must be filled again when it is emptied.” She blinked and looked at him. “Do you understand?”

“I think so,” he replied. “So if a stone can hold a store of magic, is it a storestone?”

Her chin rose. “Not such a stone as you spoke of last night. A careful stone-maker makes a stone hold only enough. Most stones hold only so much, then they break. So to stop the breaking, they are made to hold only enough.” She cupped her hands together. “The stone you spoke of had no stop to it.” She threw her arms wide, fingers splayed. “Stones that don’t break are rare. We do not know how to tell if they won’t. And even if they don’t, they are still dangerous. The more magic inside, the more dangerous – like if a magician takes and holds too much power it is dangerous. Easy to lose control.”

Dannyl straightened in surprise and interest. “Are you saying that a black magician – a magician who knows higher magic – can take so much power that his control over it starts to slip?”

She paused, obviously taking time to translate the less familiar words he’d used, then nodded.

“Long, long ago many peoples lived where the Duna and Sachakans are. They had cities in the mountains where the stones were made, and were always at war with each other. Whoever had the most stones was strongest. One queen lost her stone caves and sought to be a stone herself. She took more and more magic from her people. But she lost control of that power and burned, and that was when the first volcano was born. It turned her people the colour of ash.” She pinched the skin of her arm between finger and thumb and smiled. “Storestones are like magicians. Better to keep a little power, then use, then restock.”

I wonder how much power it takes for a black magician to lose control, Dannyl thought. Clearly more than what Sonea and Akkarin took to defend Imardin. Hmm, I had better let Sonea know about this. We don’t want Imardin turning into a volcano.

“Do not fear,” the woman said, mistaking his worried look. “Nobody makes storestones any more. They stopped trying because it was too dangerous, and then they forgot how to.”

He nodded. “That is good to know.” Then something occurred to him and he frowned. “If a stone can be taught anything a magician can do, can it be taught black magic – what Sachakans call higher magic? Can a stone take magic from a person?”

She smiled. “It can and it can’t. A stone can be made to take magic, but it would not work unless the skin of the person touching it was cut or they were tricked or forced into swallowing it. It will only take as much magic as it is made to take, or it would break. It would have to be able to hold much magic to kill a magician.”

Dannyl shuddered at the thought of having a black-magic-wielding stone in his stomach, sucking out his life. But perhaps it wouldn’t be able to take enough power from him to kill him, and it would soon pass through his system. Still, it would weaken a person, and might do a lot of damage to their insides if it broke.

“What happens when a stone breaks?” he asked.

“It may break into many pieces,” she said, flaring the fingers of both hands. “Or it may crack. If magic is stored, it can go out in many ways. Maybe how the stone meant to send it, maybe unshaped, maybe shaped in another way.”

Dannyl nodded. So either you’d get a warm glow inside or be cut to ribbons and burned up. Nice. Seems to me that these stones could give us as many more ways to do harm as good.

“How much do the Traitors know of making stones?”

Her eyebrows lowered. “All that we know, and more. They once traded with us, but broke our trust by taking the secrets from us.”

He nodded in sympathy. So it was true. He considered what to ask next. He wanted to know how easy or time-consuming the stones were to make, but he figured that would be asking for too much detail. If the stones were difficult to make, that knowledge could be used against the Duna. No, if he was to ask any new questions, he ought to take the opportunity to seek information that might add to his book.

“How do the Duna believe the wasteland was created?”

“Only what you have told us,” she said, shrugging. “Before then we knew only that the Guild made it.”

What else could these people tell him about the history of magic? He’d like to know more about their own origins. Perhaps they could tell him about other ancient peoples who lived in the mountains. Perhaps those who once occupied the ruins of Armje in Elyne.

“I would like to know more about the people you spoke of, who lived in the mountains long ago.”

“What we know are only tales,” she warned him.

“Even so, they are all we have of those times, and tales that last as long as these are usually good ones.”

She smiled. “Very well.” She looked at Yem. “But there are many, many stories. Maybe I tell you another time.”

“After this meeting is done,” Yem agreed. He looked at Dannyl appraisingly. “There is more we wish to tell you,” he said. “Other things than answers to your questions.”

Dannyl looked around at the old men, all of whom were now watching him intently. “Yes?”

“You know that the Traitors stole our secrets. They have grown their knowledge more than we ever have. We are able to make stones that will block a magician from reading a mind. They have stones that can make that magician see thoughts he expects.”

Dannyl’s heart skipped. So that’s how their spies avoid discovery and keep their home hidden! Then a cold sensation flowed over him. If Achati heard this … He would tell his king and then perhaps other Ashaki. All would search their slaves for stones and remove them. They’d kill thousands of