If you entered his mind, you would be tempted to influence his thoughts, Byallis said. And for reasons of your own, you do not wish to do that.
Precisely, Kyroun said. His approval of Byallis’s insight purled across the Oneness like a wave caressing a shoreline.
The Emperor and his people must welcome us of their own free will, the Seer explained in response to the unspoken question that stirred the Oneness. And they must come to Almovaar the same way all of you did.
What if they do not accept us? Eimos asked.
Again, Kyroun did not answer directly. Instead, he lifted a tiny portion of the veil that divided the Oneness from the pure presence of Almovaar. The glimpse of that presence shot through the Oneness like the first ray of sunlight after the passing of a storm. The essence of their god touched them all, and once again, the Acolytes and Adepts were grateful that they had been granted even a minuscule fragment of Almovaar’s potency.
Hopefully, it will not come to that, Kyroun said. For now, though, we must await the Emperor’s decision.
So. We nearly die in the water, only to leave our fate in the hands of a stranger instead of our Seer. Almovaar gives us power. Why do we hesitate to use it?
The new speaker was Ruk, a stolid Acolyte from the Northlands. Ruk seldom said much, either in or outside the Oneness. When he did, his words tended to be as subtle as a blow from a quarterstaff.
What we do is Almovaar’s will, Ruk, Kyroun said firmly. The Northerner was a good man, especially in a fight. But, as with Eimos, Kyroun did not feel he could trust Ruk with the amount of sorcerous power an Adept could wield. Control of impulses was not Ruk’s strong point.
There was no need for further discussion after that. The Oneness ended, and after they had taken the time they needed to return to the world outside their communion, the Almovaads began to file out of Kyroun’s cabin.
Eimos, a slender, rakish-looking , black-haired man, stepped aside to allow Byallis to precede him through the door. Byallis cast him a sidelong glance as she passed him. The smile on Eimos’s face was innocent enough. But it didn’t reach as far as his eyes, which were a shade of blue that was startling in his swarthy-skinned face. And as soon as she was gone, his smile disappeared.
Byallis was a plump woman with curly brown hair that cascaded below her shoulders. Kyroun’s hopes for her were high. But even in the Oneness, he was careful to conceal his approval. It was best not to encourage rivalries by directly acknowledging favorites. The Seer could never have shielded his ships from the storm if internecine struggles among the Adepts and Acolytes had distracted his concentration during the dangerous voyage.
Ruk was one of the last to leave. A huge, hard-looking man whose head was topped with a shock of straw-colored hair, the Northlander cast a questioning glance in Kyroun’s direction. He looked as though he belonged on a battlefield rather than in a religious order.
The Seer spoke to him with his mouth rather than his mind.
“Keep watch, my friend,” he said. “Keep very vigilant watch.”
Ruk responded with a short nod. Then he left the cabin, and the Seer was alone, except for Ulrithana, a Shadimish Adept who was his closest confidant save for his second-in command, a man named Ferroun ni Tamiz. He wished Ferroun were with him now. Although he had no sorcerous ability, Ferroun was the perfect administrator, and he would have been able to defuse the tension that was now building among some of the Adepts. And that would have freed Kyroun to concentrate on rebuilding his strength, which he felt certain he would need no matter what the Emperor decided concerning the fate of the newcomers.
But he had assigned Ferroun to the second ship, the Swordfish. And the Swordfish was now at the bottom of the sea.
Kyroun closed his eyes and let out a long, slow sigh – the only outward sign he would allow himself to express of the weariness that assailed him. When he opened his eyes, he saw Ulrithana looking at him calmly, with the far-seeing gaze of her people. The Shadimish woman was not much taller than the Dwarven. Her body seemed lost in the expanse of her voluminous blue robe. Her features were finely drawn, and her eyes had the characteristic Eastern fold that caused them to appear to be slanted at an oblique angle.
“You miss Ferroun,” Ulrithana said.
“Yes,” Kyroun acknowledged. “And I miss everyone else on the Swordfish. We need them here. But I could not save them.”
“You did what you could,” Ulrithana said. “Almovaar could ask no more.”
Kyroun nodded. He knew Ulrithana held little love for Ferroun; she considered him a rival, even though he could never become an Adept.
“I must rest now,” he said.
Ulrithana nodded in turn, and left the cabin. Her stiff-backed posture was the only indication that she was less than pleased to be departing.
Kyroun sighed again. He knew Ulrithana wanted to remain with him, to lie with him on his narrow bed. But he was far too distracted to enjoy her company. He closed his eyes and lay down on the bed. Using the Ishimbi statue as his focal point, he willed the weariness from his muscles and bones, emptying himself of human frailty so that the strength of Almovaar could flow into him like water into a cup. For, like the Amiyas, he, too, was a Vessel.
3
No one saw the furtive figure that slipped quietly over the side of the White Gull and scurried into the shelter of the shadows on the dock. Not the ship’s crew who, had they noticed his departure, would have merely looked the other way and let him be gone. Not the
