Voice of the Gods

other gods.”

“I would like to hear more about those times. What do the Circlians call them?”

“The Age of the Many.”

“Yes, and now we live in the Age of the Five. Or should that be the Age of the Ten?”

Mirar shrugged. “At least when I tell you tales of the past, it won’t be your gods’ evil deeds I tell of.”

She chuckled. “No. I gather Circlians aren’t aware of their gods’ past, then?”

“No. Only Dreamweavers know, passing down experiences and stories through mind links.”

“So perhaps that is the reason your people are badly treated there and well treated here. Our gods have no need to fear the stories Dreamweavers might tell.”

Mirar looked at her, impressed. It made sense, though he was sure he would have come to the same conclusion eventually.

Imenja looked out at the courtyard. “I have to warn you, the closer war comes the more we will want you to commit to helping us in some way.”

As she turned to look at him he met her gaze steadily.

“Dreamweavers do not fight.”

“No, but there may be other ways you can assist us.”

“We heal the wounded. What else can we offer?”

She shifted in her seat to face him. “If someone attacks a patient you are healing, what do you do? Allow them to be harmed, or protect them?”

“Protect them,” he answered.

“If someone attacks a friend - or a stranger - what do you do? Allow them to be harmed, or protect them?”

He frowned, suspecting he knew where this was leading. “Protect them.”

She smiled and turned back to regard the courtyard. “Nekaun might be satisfied with a compromise.” Her smile faded and she sighed. “I can’t promise that he won’t punish you or your people if you don’t offer him something. That something doesn’t have to involve your people. He wants it to appear that we have you, the legendary Mirar, on our side.”

Mirar shook his head. “That may endanger Dreamweavers in the north.”

She looked at him, her expression sad. “I know. It is a choice I don’t envy you for.” She stood up and smiled. “But if you join us, there’s a good chance we’ll win, and that will probably be a better result for Dreamweavers than the alternative.”

He nodded. “You have a point.”

“Consider what I’ve proposed,” she told him. “But it is late, and even Voices need to sleep now and then.”

“And immortals,” he said, rising. “Good night, Second Voice Imenja.”

“Good night.”

The Servant who had escorted him to the meeting appeared and guided him back to his rooms. Mirar stared out of the window for a while, thinking about what Imenja had suggested.

A compromise. One that doesn’t involve my people, just me. I protect the Pentadrians with magic. That frees the Voices to put more of their magic into fighting. With Auraya locked up below the Sanctuary, surely the Pentadrians will win this time.

How would his people feel about that? Would they lose respect for him for choosing a side? They might, but the southern Dreamweavers would feel betrayed if they knew he could have prevented the Circlians conquering the southern continent and subjecting them to their habitual prejudice.

Sighing, he retired to bed. As soon as he reached a dream trance he sought Auraya’s mind, but the only response he got was disjointed and reluctant, and he decided to let her sleep. He called another name.

:Emerahl.

:Mirar, she responded without hesitation. I was just talking to The Twins. How is life in Glymma?

:Good for me; no different for Auraya.

:Poor woman. Have you found a way to free her?

:No. She is too well guarded, as am I, but I am hoping that may change as the war begins to distract everyone. If I show any interest in her Nekaun starts asking if I want to be present when he kills her. When I ask why he’s delaying he just says “when the gods decide.” Imenja made a suggestion to me tonight. He told her what the Second Voice had proposed. What do you think I should do?

:Don’t get involved. But since you’re already involved then don’t take sides. But since these Voices probably won’t let you, then do what she suggests. But not straightaway. If you give in now they will start asking for more. Wait until the last moment. And if you can, make Auraya’s fate part of the deal, even if it only means delaying her execution.

As always, she was a source of good advice.

:That sounds like a good plan. How is the Quest for the Scroll of the Gods progressing?

:We haven’t figured out what the symbols mean yet. I haven’t had much time to work on it. The Twins want me out of Southern Ithania, in case the Thinkers track me down. I’ll be coming through Glymma. She paused. Could we meet safely? I’d like you to look at the diamond.

:I’d like to see it, but I think it would be too dangerous. Though I’m free to come and go from the Sanctuary, I don’t know where we could meet safely and I’m certain they have someone following me when I do go out.

:The Twins probably wouldn’t like it. Not only would we risk the Voices finding us, and then taking and destroying the diamond, but the last thing we need is the Pentadrians blackmailing me into joining them, too.

:No, Mirar agreed. The Circlian gods would just love that. According to Auraya, they’ve been hanging around the Sanctuary quite a bit.

:The Pentadrian gods don’t chase them off?

:She hasn’t said anything about sensing them.

:That’s odd. Maybe they fear the Circlian gods.

:Maybe they are so different in nature that Auraya can’t sense them, Mirar suggested.

:Maybe they know she can overhear gods, and are avoiding her. I guess we’ll never know.

:Not unless they decide to tell us.

:I can’t see that happening any time soon. Any other news?

:No.

:Good luck, then. I will let you know when I’ve reached Northern Ithania.

:Good luck.

Her mind faded from his senses. Fighting off a niggling weariness, he embarked on his last task for the night: sending his mind out to skim the thoughts of the people around him.

41

Three days had passed and Nekaun had not returned. The domestics continued their routine of dousing Auraya with cold water and feeding her the grainy sludge. The cold water left her shivering and she almost wished they would leave her grimy. It was bad enough that she was cold all the time, but the chill that came after her dousing seemed to drain all strength from her.

She craved real food and sometimes found herself dreaming about it. When she skimmed the minds of