Darknesses (44 page)

A
lucius
yawned and started to stretch.
A twinge of pain ran down his right arm,
and he stopped. It was only a twinge, not the searing agony it had been.
Suddenly, he realized that he was awake, truly awake. He had no idea how long
he had drifted between sleeping and waking, with shadowy figures amid the
green-washed darkness. He remembered talking to someone, but not whom, nor what
he had said.

He
glanced around the room. Whether it was the same room in which he had found
himself after struggling to escape from the strange engineer he had no idea,
only that it had the same amber walls, walls containing a depth beneath their
surface—and a shade similar to the yellow golden thread he had followed through
the darkness between the Tables. He did not recall seeing a bed in the first
room, but he had not seen much before he collapsed.

Slowly,
he turned his head to the right. There was a single window in the room, and
through it he could see the silver-green sky of Corus. He studied the window
and its casement more closely, realizing that the glass was so clear, so
transparent. He had never seen glass so fine. Likewise, the glass was set not
in wood, but in a shimmering silvery metal that was not silver. On the wall
there was a row of amber pegs, pegs that were seamlessly attached to the walls.
From the pegs hung his uniform, his nightsilk undergarments, and his sabre.
There was no sign of the burns and damage to his tunic. His boots were neatly set
against the wall under his uniform.

Only
then did he fully realize that he was wearing a dark green, loose-fitting gown
of some sort, of a fabric even smoother than nightsilk. He fingered the fabric
with his left hand, trying to determine what it might be.

Finally,
he eased his legs over the side of the narrow bed and stood. His legs and knees
felt unsteady, but he took three steps until he stood before the door, a solid
sheet of golden wood without windows, or peepholes, and a single lever handle
of the same metal as the window casements. He touched the door, which felt far
smoother than wood but showed no grain. The door lever did not turn, no matter
how hard he pressed down or lifted. He pushed at the door itself, but it did
not even vibrate. He tried to probe the door with his Talent, but something in
both door and walls stopped him.

He
stepped back. He was definitely confined. He looked toward the window, its
casements of the same polished and shining amberlike stone as the walls. As he
did, he realized something else. The room was wedge-shaped, far narrower at the
end with the door, and wider at the window. The wall in which the window was
set also curved.

He
walked slowly to the window, and the glass that was so clear. For a moment, he
stood there studying it, until he saw the flat bracket on one side. He pressed
it and tugged. The window slid to the left so easily that he almost lost his
balance, and a chill wind rushed into the room, a wind that was winterlike.

He
shut the window, quickly. The gown was scarcely proof against winter cold. Then
he frowned, realizing that the silvery frame had slipped right into the stone
of the casement. He opened the window again, just slightly. The frame did not
move, but the glass slipped through the silvery metal without even the faintest
of cracks showing between glass and metal.

He
tried to use his Talent, but while he could sense beyond the window, something
about the amber stone prevented him from perceiving anything inside the
structure.

After
closing the window once more, he studied the view. He was in a round tower of
some sort. Below were other structures of circular and arcing designs that
extended a vingt or so from the tower to a circular wall of the same amber
stone that comprised the tower and the buildings below. Out beyond the walls,
the ground was white, white sand that shimmered and glittered in the morning
sun. Farther out, the whiteness ended in a rampart of dark rock, rising at
least half a vingt straight up. All along the top of that rampart ran green-tinted
crystal oblongs, but those crystals did not so much reflect as draw in and
catch the sun’s rays.

The
crystals looked familiar…

Alucius
sensed a greenish radiance behind him. He turned back as the door opened, and a
soarer appeared.

You are much better.
The soarer looked young, and very
feminine, her shape shrouded by the golden-tinged green mist that acted as a
garment. Her lips did not move, although Alucius understood the words clearly.

He
looked into her eyes, brilliant green eyes that were clear, and deep—and very
old, Alucius felt, so old that he felt like a ten-year-old on the stead again.
“Where am I?”

The hidden city. It is not for you. Not once you are well and
prepared to do what must be done.

“The
hidden city? How…?”

You know how you reached us. You could not have come here without
knowing how.

“But
I don’t know where.”

That does not matter. What matters is that you must finish
healing and learn more about how to master yourself and your Talent.

“Were
you the one who showed me the mural?”

That matters little. You saw the mural and were warned, but you
did not understand fully its meaning. Or the power of those shown.

Alucius
considered her words for a moment, stifling a yawn. Perhaps he was not so
strong as he had thought. He moved toward the bed and sat down, his eyes still
on the soarer. “I saw that the Duarchy was actually ruled by a different
people, the alabaster-skinned people, who were like the Matrial.”

The Matrial and even the engineer and the Recorder of Deeds are
but pale weaklings compared to those who once ruled Corus and who will return
if you do not undertake to learn and master yourself.

“Why
can’t you?” Alucius didn’t like being rushed into things he didn’t understand,
recalling all too clearly his grandsire’s advice about that, and about how
superiors used people. And he was feeling that he had been used—or had let
himself be used, again and again. He thought about the mural and the Cataclysm.
“You did it before, didn’t you?”

The
soarer remained standing before him. Standing, not soaring—and silent.

“Why
me? You’ve been protecting and watching me for years, haven’t you? What do you
want from me?”

If you do not learn, and return and kill the engineer and his
sibling, Corus will once again become as it once was, before it dies.

“As
it was? In the time before the Cataclysm? How could that happen?”

The
soarer shrugged.
One of the dark…ifrits…has taken
possession of the engineer.

“Ifrits?”

Creatures…beings with great and evil powers. With but one fully
working portal, possession is all that is possible for higher intelligence.
These ifrits can transport Talent-creatures, but those creatures cannot last
long in your world. If the ifrit in Prosp remains there and can construct
another portal while his sibling repairs the one in Tempre, then they can
transport other dark ifrits into your world where they will possess anyone they
wish. They prefer those with Talent, like you or your Wendra.

“But
why?”

Their world is slowly dying. It is dying because they seize and
drink in the lifeforces of all around them, because they use the lifeforces of
a world for everything. Once they have sucked a world dry, they look for
others. Through dreams, visions, they entice beings throughout the endless
worlds circling endless stars to build the Tables, promising great knowledge
and power.

“And
the Cataclysm?”

It was a Cataclysm…we managed to break all the lines of force
that held the portals together…and they sought another world…less
intractable…but it too is now dying, and they are trying to return here.

“Why
can’t you—”

We are an old race, and there are few of us left…fewer every
generation…we no longer possess the power to wrench whole world-threads the way
we once did.

Alucius
could sense the quiet desperation. “What do I do? How can I best them? The
Recorder almost destroyed me.”

You have been through the Table portals with all your being, not
just your mind. You can draw upon the power of the portals and the world, more
strongly than they can now. The portals are tools, nothing more. When you are
stronger, we can help you master yourself.

“Why
me?” Alucius asked once more, feeling the heaviness in his eyes.

Who else? Your race is young, and there are few with Talent.
Except among your herders. Talent is not valued. Among others, it is despised.
In many lands, those with Talent are killed at birth if they are recognized,
later if they are not.

Just
like everyone else, the soarers wanted to use him.

No!
The soarer’s response was like a hot and cold shock,
indignant and with a truth Alucius had trouble ignoring.
You
have promise, much promise, and you could do far better than did we.

“You…you
have this city, and you can soar and—”

There is much you do not know. We have counted more failures than
any would wish. We cannot compel you. We cannot force you. We can only show you
and hope you will see the need.
The soarer’s unspoken words felt softer
at the end, softer, almost pleading, and despairing.

Alucius
had no words, and his eyelids were heavy, so heavy.

Whatever may come, you must rest.

The
green radiant darkness was a welcome relief from all the thoughts that swirled
in and around and through his mind.

Tempre,
Lanachrona

I
n
the cool of the early evening,
the Lord-Protector eased his way into the
bedchamber, peering toward the bed.

“I
am awake, Talryn.”

The
Lord-Protector closed the chamber door behind him and crossed the room,
settling himself into the chair beside the high bed. “How are you feeling,
dearest?”

“I
am better,” replied Alerya.

“But
not so much as I would prefer.”

“You
should have gotten a stronger consort, my dear.” Alerya’s voice betrayed the
effort to speak.

“I
wanted you. I love you for your depth and your thoughts.”

“Would
that…my body were as strong as my thoughts.”

Talryn
leaned forward, reaching out and touching her cheek. “You will get stronger. It
will take time, but you will.”

“You
are tired…and fret much. The war in the west…or the overcaptain…or both?”

“The
war is going as we had thought. The Northern Guard took Klamat and advances
steadily southward. They also are a good hundred vingts to the west of the
Westerhills on the midroad. If all goes not too badly, we should hold Harmony
by the end of fall. It could be earlier.”

“Be
careful.”

“I
have cautioned both Alyniat and Wyerl that we wish to hold the lands, not
ravage them, and to advance only when we can control what we take.” Talryn
moistened his lips. “I am still worried about the overcaptain. He left Suntyl
and Ratyf, and everyone saw him walk out. But he never reached the palace
entry.” Talryn frowned. “That was near-on a week ago. There have been no
reports of unknown officers. No one has found a body. I cannot tell anyone that
one of my officers vanished from the palace. Can you imagine that? Yet sooner
or later, we will have to send some dispatch north to Dekhron. No matter how I
handle it, it will cause trouble. I summon the man to Tempre and commend
him—and he vanishes? Everyone will think the worst.”

“That
is not all bad. They will at least not think you weak. Tell his squad that he
is undertaking some commission for you. Give them furlough. If he does not
return, commend him further and send golds to his widow, then send the squad
back.”

“That
may be what I must do, but he is a good officer, and he saved me from great
difficulty.”

“Have
you asked Enyll to use the Table?”

“No.
I can see no good in that. The overcaptain has enough Talent that the Table
will not show him. If Enyll is somehow behind this, as I fear he is, then it
will reveal clearly that I suspect him. Yet…how could he have caused the man to
vanish, without anyone seeing, without any trace? Every hall is watched, every
door guarded. Does this mean I can trust none of it?”

“You
never could, dearest.” The faintest laugh colored Alerya’s words.

The
Lord-Protector laughed, too loudly. “You are good to remind me of that. But
there are some I can trust, and they would have heard. Eventually, word does
pass.”

Alerya
nodded, waiting for her husband to continue.

“Then,
there’s Waleryn. He has less than good on his mind. He’s wearing that smile
that means nothing except that he’s plotting something.”

“Do
you think it has to do with the overcaptain?” Alerya coughed.

The
Lord-Protector immediately stood and offered her a sip from the goblet on the
bedside table. “You should not talk. I should not talk to you. I would not
weary you.”

“I
can listen…”

“Then…listen
only…I cannot deny that it helps to clear my mind, for me to talk to you, and
to see how you hear what I say.” He leaned forward, half-standing, and kissed
her forehead. “You are still too warm.”

“Your
healer says that I am better…Go on…”

Talryn
opened his mouth, as if to protest, then smiled faintly before speaking.
“Waleryn…I do not think he had anything to do with the overcaptain. He could
not best the man, not by himself, and where there are more than one or two
gathered together, then in time I do hear. I have heard nothing. That does not
mean that Enyll has not hatched something with my dear brother.” He looked at
Alerya. “Rulers should not feel guilty, but I do. I hinted that Enyll might be
a difficulty to be set right. To the overcaptain. He caught my meaning. I
know
he did. Now he has vanished.”

“Then…best…you
be most careful with Enyll…and send Waleryn someplace far from Tempre for the
harvest…and fall…” Alerya paled.

The
Lord-Protector bolted upright and reached for the bell.

“No…be
better…moment…hold my hand…”

Talryn
continued to hold the bell in one hand, holding his consort’s in the other. But
he did not set the bell down as he watched Alerya closely.