Sartor (2 page)

“Ugh.” Lilah grimaced. “It was exactly as
nasty as you think, but it’s over. And I like to keep my promises.
Especially a fun one, like coming back to this valley and seeing you.”

Lilah stole a doubtful glance at Atan, who was tall for fifteen.
The Sartoran princess was a plain girl, except for those round, protuberant dark
blue eyes with the droopy lower lid, recognizable as a Landis family
characteristic in far too many books and royal portrait galleries. Atan was also
a mage, and so well read, and
smart
. And she understood why Lilah
hadn’t come, so why did she look so... so tense?

Atan studied Lilah at the same moment, glad to see her
friend again, but wishing she had come at another time.
Any
other time.

Except maybe the two things were related?

Atan said, “I’m glad you are here. Because
another day, and you might have arrived too late.” She spoke the words,
but she heard them from far away, as if someone else said them. She was almost
giddy, and paused to take a deep breath.
I made my decision.

She turned to Tsauderei. “Did you understand me? I
think I must leave as soon as possible.”

And Tsauderei said again, “Yes.”

Lilah’s eyes were round as an owl’s. She too had
that heady sense that this moment was one of importance, but why should she be
surprised? Anything having to do with Sartor seemed to have world importance.
Even if Sartor’s only living princess stood there in old, mended clothes,
with a dash of bread flour on her cheek.

Lilah said slowly, “You’re not talking about
going visiting. But...” She pointed westward, in the direction of
enchanted Sartor.
“There?”

Atan gazed at her sympathetically. Lilah’s foxy face
was blanched under her scattering of freckles. She said, “It’s time
to go and free my kingdom.” And, in a low voice, “I have to try.”

Tsauderei sighed. “Yes, the time has come, since you
are determined.”

“Wait.” Lilah hopped from one foot to the other,
waving her hands, her palms out. “Wait. Where’s the army? Where are
the mages? One thing I learned during that mess of a revolution is that one
person can’t just sort of
take over
a kingdom—not unless you
want disaster. And in Sarendan, we didn’t have Norsunder and its dark
magic spells holding us, it was only my Uncle Dirty-Hands and his army, and
that was bad enough!”

Tsauderei laughed, a wheezy sound. “Ah, Lilah! I have
missed your perspective. You’re right. But what Atan is doing is not in
the nature of replacing a monarch. She is determined to disenchant a kingdom
without a monarch.”

“But—but—
Norsunder!
”

Tsauderei sat back. “Tell her why it must be now, Atan.”

Surprised by this unforeseen turn, Atan spoke to Lilah, but
she was watching her tutor. “What do you know about Norsunder, Lilah?”

Lilah grimaced at the nasty word actually said out loud,
aware of her burning cheeks. “Um. It’s a word you don’t say
in polite company, first of all. Everybody says that evil people like to go to Norsunder
and live forever, but they also take people sometimes, against their will.”

Atan said, “I don’t think anyone lives
forever
,
but it’s true that Norsunder exists outside time, and that the Old
Sartorans who first made it several thousand years ago are apparently still
there.”

Once again she sent a glance Tsauderei’s way. Again he
did not speak.

Atan sighed. So this discussion was yet another lesson, or a
test, or—as had been increasingly common—both.

This test was not for Lilah.

She said, “We can’t go into Sartor with mages or
armies, because anything like that will certainly attract Norsunder’s
notice again.”

Lilah gave a small nod, and as Atan paused to organize her
words, Lilah tried to quell the hunger rumbles in her stomach. She’d
expected warm food after her long (and wonderful) flight over the
mountains—food and fun talk, like summer. But Atan and Tsauderei looked
serious, so serious they’d forgotten about meals.

So she folded her arms across her middle as Atan went on. “Sartor
is bound in a sort of dream-existence, the season a kind of eternal
verge-of-winter because it was late autumn when the spells were cast.”

Atan sent a questioning glance at Tsauderei, who gave a slow
nod of approval.

“The commander currently in charge of Sartor is also
in charge of Norsunder’s temporal base down south,” Atan went on.

Tsauderei spoke at last. “His name is Granon Zydes. He’s
in the middle of internal strife, because of a recent defeat he suffered in
Bereth Ferian, which was also enchanted, and is now free.”

“Bereth Ferian?” Lilah shrugged. “Never
heard of it.”

“Old center of magic and learning. Almost as old as
Sartor, though its history has changed a lot more. But it’s way, way
north, as far north as we are south.”

Lilah waved a hand in dismissal. “Well, who cares
about a place a million years’ journey away?”

Tsauderei’s lips twitched, and Atan got that bubbly
feeling in her middle that could turn into laughter, but she didn’t laugh.
Lilah did not have her head stuffed with knowledge, but young as she was, she
had experience. Atan had knowledge, and the added advantage of three years, but
no experience.

Tsauderei said, “Zydes seldom ventures out from the
base himself. What little we know about the Norsundrian base’s internal
affairs has only come recently, when Savar, a very old colleague of mine,
emerged suddenly from his fastness in Shendoral—you recognize the name?”

Lilah had often looked at old maps of Sartor when she was
studying the language. She nodded. “Big woodland in the center of the
kingdom. There are stories about it being full of magic.”

“Correct. Norsunder’s enchantment has no effect
there. But it is isolated.” Tsauderei gave a brief smile of approval. “So
Norsunder laid lethal spells around it in an effort to keep anyone from coming
or going. Well, Savar managed to break those wards not long ago, at least long
enough to come by magic transfer here, to talk to me. He promised to be back,
but we have not seen or heard from him since.”

Lilah wrung her hands. “So
mages
are in danger
as well as armies?”

Atan said, “We don’t know. We don’t even
know if he’d been caught in some sort of time binding, for we do know
that time, and distance, in Shendoral work strangely.”

“You mean, like a day passes for him and a year for
us?”

“Nothing so measurable,” Tsauderei said. “More
like this: if the Loi, the non-human denizens there, want your journey to last
an hour, even if you’ve spent a week there, it comes to pass. Or the
other way.” To Atan, “Go on. We left off with Granon Zydes, the Norsundrian
commander.”

Atan pressed her trembling fingers between her knees. “In
Norsunder, promotion to command is not by merit, but by defeating others. So
they are not unified. Not at all. That means he has to be busy watching for
treachery, and I hope he hasn’t any time for Sartor, because for him,
just as for the rest of the world, nothing has happened in Sartor for a century.”

Lilah’s slanty brows swooped upward. “So you’re
saying Norsunder isn’t really as powerful as everyone says?”

Atan turned to Tsauderei.

“Tell her the risks,” the old mage said.

“Well, yes they
are
as powerful as everyone
says. More, because we can only see their temporal activities. No one ever sees
the real authors, called the Host of Lords,” Atan explained, wishing she
knew when the test would end—and why Tsauderei had initiated it now, on
the eve of her departure. Oughtn’t there to be final magic lessons?
Except she’d prepared for this day her entire life. If she was not ready,
or capable, a few hasty tutorials before departure would not save her.

While Atan bowed her head, lost in this reverie, Lilah
stared at her in amazement. She couldn’t believe Atan was really going
into danger all on her own. It was a horrible idea! Except who else was there
to go? Tsauderei was too old. He could barely walk any more. And it sounded
like this Savar wasn’t any fireball of leadership either, even if he was
a mage.

“I get what you are saying.” Lilah squirmed
uncomfortably, uneasily aware that she might sound as if she was insulting the
oldest kingdom in the world. But she said it anyway. “Though Norsunder is
powerful, you are hoping they are so busy making evil plans for everybody else,
including each other, and looking out for armies and powerful mages that they
won’t notice you sneaking in to undo their spells.” When Tsauderei
and Atan each nodded, Lilah scratched her head. “I have just one
question. About Shendoral and time being...” She rippled her hands in the
air. “So that’s the kind of magic that made it possible for Sartor
to be under a spell for a century, but you’re only fifteen?”

“Gehlei was Atan’s guard as well as a nursemaid,
you knew that,” Tsauderei said, and on Lilah’s nod,
“Norsunder ordered all the royal children to be assassinated, but Gehlei
defeated the assassin sent to kill Atan. Ran to the mountains. The spell froze
everyone in time just as she reached the border to Sarendan. But the
enchantment has been slowly melting, rather like ice. I found her fifteen years
ago, before Norsunder could. She’d been frozen in time until then, as is
everyone in Sartor. Whoever was left after the battle has not aged a day.”

Lilah said. “So if you sneak in, Norsunder won’t
notice the enchantment breaking, and everybody hopping up after a hundred
years’ sleep?”

Tsauderei said, “Atan’s entry will break the
first part of the time binding. Not all at once. As for Norsunder... the only
reason I am willing to see her go is that Detlev, the Norsundrian commander we
fear most, is currently not even in this world. If he turns his eyes this way, then
we’ll have more trouble than we can handle. No one in my generation has
won against him. This is one reason the world is in such trouble.”

Atan said, “There’s one tower that, like
Shendoral, Norsunder can’t touch, because the protective magic is far
older than the palace itself. The tower’s magic was a gift to my first
ancestors. It’s why Eidervaen—called Ilderven then—was first
built where it was.” Atan winced. “Ooops. Story mode. I hope I’m
not boring you.” She looked up, her countenance contrite.

Lilah exclaimed in surprise, “Of course not! Why
should you think that?” But as soon as the words were out, she knew why. From
the look on Atan’s face, she’d obviously been found boring by
someone. Maybe several someones.

It was unsettling to see the smart, well-trained Atan
looking wry as she said, “Well, if I don’t watch out, I start
spouting history. I’m full of history, magic learning, and not much else.”

Lilah stared at her, and then all the puzzle pieces flew
together, like a broken window repaired by magic. Nothing to
do—Peitar—Bren—everyone busy but her—

Atan not knowing if she was boring or not, which meant she
didn’t have many friends—

At least I can be a friend. I know how to do that
. Surprising
herself at least as much as Atan, Lilah said, “So I think I’d better
come with you.”

Lilah watched Atan’s eyes widen, and the big grin that
glowed all across her face before the worry and concern clouded again.

“Think about it,” Lilah said quickly—and
leaned forward to squish the sickening
what have I done?
feeling inside.
“You said that armies can’t help. Norsunder would sure notice an
army. But not one girl going alone. So why not two, so she doesn’t have
to be alone?” She turned to the mage. “You’re going to be
watching out with magic, right?”

“As much as I can,” Tsauderei said. “But
what would your brother have to say to me, if I let this happen?”

Lilah crossed her arms. “We promised not to nag each
other. I can do what I want.”

Tsauderei laughed. “Saying that and having it be true
are two different things.” Then he drummed his gnarled fingers on his
knees as his bushy brows knit. When he looked up, he said unexpectedly, “Are
you serious about your offer?”

Lilah couldn’t hide her surprise that he was actually
considering it. But then, he’d let Lilah, Bren, his cousin Deon, and
their friend Innon go down into Miraleste as spies in the middle of the
revolution—with a magical protection.

He must be planning to give us something like that now
,
she thought, and looked at Atan’s expression of anxious hope. “I
am.”

Tsauderei said, “You will pardon me?”

He made a sign, whispered under his breath, and before Lilah’s
astonished eyes he vanished.

o0o

Tsauderei performed the transfer magic with the destination
chamber of the royal palace in Miraleste fixed in his mind.

He did not need destination images. It was a courtesy. Unless
there was emergency—or you were on familiar terms—you did not fix
on close proximity to a person, and suddenly appear. The destination chamber was
the equivalent of knocking on a door and giving the porter time to answer and
announce you.

It also gave him time to prepare for what might be a
difficult interview. As the destination chamber page ran off to report
Tsauderei’s arrival to someone, the old mage glanced out the window at
the city, full of people crawling over roofs laying new tiles, or rebuilding
walls. In the other direction, boats sailed peacefully about on the lake. Fall
was well along here, with its colors, its cool, extraordinarily clear air,
through which one could just make out the shapes of the distant mountains
bordering Sartor, far to the west.

Tsauderei contemplated those mountains, his hands clasped
behind his back, until a quick, arrhythmic step behind him brought his
attention round.

He was not pleased to see not-quite-twenty-year-old Peitar
Selenna looking more like forty, but he knew that every ruined house, burned
field, every family with an empty chair, would weigh on Peitar’s
conscience until it was somehow amended, or healed, if only by time.