The Fire Mages' Daughter (14 page)

Nothing happened. She turned one eye on me, as if expecting something, but she didn’t move.

Of course! How stupid of me. Naturally she was waiting for my instructions.

I laughed, excitement bubbling up in my throat. “Fly!” I cried.

At once she stood, rocking me. Then, spreading her great wings either side of me, she crouched and launched herself into the air. With one slow flap, then another, we cleared the parapet surrounding the roof and there far below me was the eastern side of the town, still in darkness, with just a few lights here and there from the bakeries and nightwatchers and an occasional insomniac.

As we rose into the freezing air, I think I screamed in excitement. Or was it fear? I couldn’t tell. It was exhilarating, but terrifying, all at the same time. As the ground fell away beneath me I clung to that strap, my hands clenched around it, a thin band of leather which was all that kept me from certain death.

I felt the question in the eagle’s mind. “To the top of Candle Mountain,” I said, although the wind dragged the words from my mouth and twisted my face. Obediently she turned a little, and rose higher. As she tipped to one side, I screamed again, sure I was about to plummet to the ground.

My cloak flapped free, but I dared not move a hand to pull it across me. I wished I’d brought a scarf against the cold. My face was frozen. No, the mountain was a foolish idea. I had a better one.

“Imperial C-C-City,” I said, almost too cold to form the words.

She understood, twisting downwards again. This time, I was prepared, leaning close to that powerful neck as the muscles bunched and strained beneath my grip. Gods, what a magnificent creature she was! I laughed out loud for joy, and felt her answering pleasure in my mind. We were one, this wonderful bird and I, united in the exhilaration of flight.

As she turned, I saw the glowing walls not far away, so I knew we were heading in the right direction. But beyond them, all was in darkness. No one lived in the Imperial City, and Kingswell’s mages and scholars only entered it during the hours of sun. At night it slept, abandoned and empty, provided with houses and servants and clothes and even food for inhabitants who had died or disappeared thousands of years ago.

I could see nothing, but I guessed the eagle could, for she spiralled confidently down and landed with a small thump on paving slabs. At once lights sprang up around us, some low down, edging paths, and some high on walls and posts, lighting the way for the long-gone citizens. And for us.

We were in the main street, where my mother had taken me. Perhaps some image of it had communicated itself to the eagle’s mind, so that she had known where I wanted to go, even though I’d spoken no words.

I unhooked my feet and slid off my mount’s back. Here the air was mild, like a summer evening. Nearby, a fountain played, tinkling musically. There was a waft of perfume in the air from some unseen flower. I threw back my cloak and breathed deeply.

Then I waited.

My rational mind told me I was doing something incredibly foolish. The magical bird was sure to appear, and I had no magic in me at all, and no mage to protect me. If I were taken, no one would know where I was or what had happened to me. Arran would wake up to find me gone, the guards would swear I never left the apartment – it would be just like Ly-haam’s disappearance. Perhaps they would even blame him. No one would think to look here.

But I’d felt incredible after the last encounter, overflowing with energy, and I wanted so badly to feel that way again. I craved that sensation as I’d once craved my mother’s magic. I hadn’t planned this, but now that I was here, I hadn’t the willpower to leave.

So I stood, a little distance from the eagle, waiting.

And the bird came. I couldn’t see it, but I could feel its magic. Just as I was aware of the magic stored in a mage’s vessel, so I was aware of the much larger reservoir of power in this creature. I turned towards it, like a flower lifting its face to the sun. Closer and closer, and then—

It was like being struck by lightning. Or rather, what I imagine that would be like. A bolt of pure magical power, surging through me, cascading into every part of me. I laughed for sheer joy.

The best of it was, I expected it this time, so it didn’t incapacitate me. My legs were a little shaky, but I managed to walk back to the eagle, those yellow eyes still fixed on me. I wondered if she approved or disapproved, or had no opinion at all. Or whether Ly might be watching – but no, I could detect no trace of him. Still, she might be able to show him what had happened, from her memory. I didn’t care, though.

I laughed again, and, with some difficulty, for my legs wouldn’t quite work as they should do, I mounted her.

“Take me back to the Keep,” I ordered, and with a single bound she was away. As we turned, I saw the lights of the Imperial City still shining below me.

I was lucky, or perhaps my night guards were unusually lax, but they were still loitering round the corner out of sight when I returned to the apartment. I crept in, shutting the door silently behind me. I looked in on Arran, but he was still fast asleep.

There was no way I could sleep. I was far too energised for that. A restless fever had me pacing back and forth, back and forth, like a caged lion, until the first hour bell sounded and I could go through to Arran, and expend some of my surplus energy.

I kissed him out of sleep, and he didn’t seem to mind waking to find me clambering all over him. So much magic roiling through me! It was almost as intense as my first encounter with Ly-haam, but without the terror, the sensation of falling, the compulsion. Every touch on my skin, every kiss, his every movement against me was hot, like flames warming me, leaving me shaking with desire. But where Ly-haam’s flames burned and shrivelled me, these were nothing but pleasure. The sweetness of honey, not the bitterness of a purgative. Everything about Arran was pleasure. And when he pushed himself into me… gods, it was so good! I closed my eyes and let the flames sweep me away to a place I’d never been before.

Afterwards, as we lay gasping for breath, Arran said, “Well! You are on fire this morning, Drina. You can wake me that way any time you like.”

He grinned wolfishly.

That winter was a strange one. With the army preparing for war, the town fell into a panic. Simple foods like flour or carrots were suddenly in short supply, and Yannassia had to release stores from the Keep to prevent prices from shooting up. Yet the farmers came and went as usual with their goods. Many people packed up and left Kingswell altogether, and headed south where they presumed it would be safer. My favourite silk merchant closed her doors and disappeared to some Icthari fastness. It was irritating, especially as no one was supposed to know about the war yet, and the nobles hadn’t even officially approved it.

Yannassia and Zandara were both very calm about it.

“We must continue as always,” Yannassia said. “That will reassure the people that there is no cause for alarm.”

“These rumours and shortages will disappear when they are seen to be without foundation,” Zandara said. “We, of all people, must not panic. Above all, say nothing about our plans.”

I wasn’t sure that was such a good idea. After all, the preparations could hardly be hidden. Every smithy was working long hours to build stocks of swords. Extra fletchers, bowyers and saddlers had been brought in, additional horses acquired, and all the equipment for temporary camps ordered. Half the army would be going, and even if the details were hazy, every soldier knew something was going on, and was bound to pass the news along, in the greatest secrecy, of course. Inevitably, the rumours grew, and fear put the worst possible interpretation on them. Stories flew that we were about to be invaded from all points of the compass.

Nothing could be done about the common soldiery, but the nobles at least could be kept from inflaming the fires of hearsay. With Arran in tow, I attended as many social events as I could, staying on various nobles’ country estates or driving to their town houses. Sometimes, my very presence was enough to dampen down the speculation. Other times, I would be taken aside for discreet questioning. I always told them the truth: that there might well be a campaign, but it was to be on our terms, and we were certainly not about to be invaded. I hinted that this was in the strictest confidence, because they were such a well-trusted member of the court. Naturally, each person I confided in would spread the word to everyone in their social circle. It seemed to help, and we staggered through the winter with the nobility, at least, kept calm.

Winter melted into spring, which blossomed into summer, and still the army sat at home. Preparing, the official word went out. Dithering, was the real reason. The High Commander was new to her role, and more experienced in military theory than real campaigns. Zandara, too, was in an unaccustomed position of leadership. Both had a great deal riding on the outcome of the invasion for their own ambitions, but neither wanted to take that final decisive step.

Yannassia said firmly that it was up to them, and expressed no impatience. I left them to it, for they never listened to me anyway. Zandara had openly ridiculed my report of the eagle’s harness, so I said no more about it, amusing myself with their indecision, as they invented excuse after excuse for the delay. And so the moons drifted away, and still the Clanlands remained free from invasion.

Arran was my rock of support during all this. I found it was very pleasant to have him with me on formal occasions, walking one pace behind me, as was proper. Sometimes one of the other guests would look him up and down, and murmur behind their hands, “Very nice, dear! Lucky you!” and I couldn’t help agreeing with them.

I was proud of him, looking so elegant in his new clothes, running about to fetch refreshments, to find this or that important person I wanted to speak to, and to ensure the carriage was summoned at the right moment. He would hold my hand as we drove home, and whisper nonsense in my ears.

It was wonderful to retreat to our apartment each night, dismiss the servants and unwind from the stresses of the hours of sun. He would pour us each a glass of wine, and then he would listen attentively as I unburdened myself of all my life’s little irritants. He was a very soothing companion. He never expressed any opinions of his own, but he liked to hear mine.

He would beam his roguish smile at me. “I am quite sure you are right, my love. It must be so. And how did he reply when you told him this?” And after an hour or so came the best part of every evening, undressing slowly, surreptitiously watching Arran’s manly form emerge from beneath his fashionable attire, and then snuggling up to him in bed. He wasn’t presumptuous, generally leaving it up to me whether we made love or not. Quite often I was happy just to kiss for a while and then fall asleep wrapped in his arms.

I adored everything about him. I loved having a drusse of my own, someone whose sole function was to make me happy and be my friend and supporter in all things. He was expensive, though. He always wanted more silvers for clothes, or a fancy new sword, or better stabling for his horse, but he was worth it. I didn’t even mind the amount of time he spent training with his guard friends, so long as he was there when I needed him.

Arran was a wonderful diversion, but he wasn’t enough to distract me from my little problem. My mother had gone, and I no longer needed her the way I had for so many years. That unnatural tie at least had been broken.

But I still needed something, some ingestion of magic to fill the terrible emptiness inside me. Ly-haam’s power had worked, but he wasn’t available to me. His eagle was, however. She stayed nearby all winter, and I was constantly aware of her. Mostly she perched up in the crags of Candle Mountain, hunting in the fields to the west when she was hungry. But at night, she often came to the Keep, sitting up on the roof as if waiting for me.

Since I couldn’t detect Ly-haam’s mind connected to hers, I felt safe in sneaking out to see her. And then the temptation to fly was overwhelming. Not just to fly, but to go to the Imperial City and wait for the arrival of the magical bird, that powerful infusion of energy that made me feel so good.

I tried, truly I did, to resist it, but my willpower was weak. I would sneak out at night wearing my warmest winter riding clothes, and up we would go, gliding over the Keep, over the rooftops of the town, over the Shining Wall and into the main street of the Imperial City. I would get my fill of magic, and the eagle would carry me home again. It was foolish, and dangerous, yet even as I understood that, I was helpless to defy my own need.

But one sun I accidentally found another way. I was in a meeting with Yannassia and her senior advisers, a very dull meeting, so my mind was wandering. I was restless, needing another dose of magic and wondering whether I would be able to slip away that night. There were four mages present, and their vessels distracted me. Ever since I’d first been to the Imperial City and been filled with magic, I’d been very aware of the sources of magic that all mages carried. Two of the four had the old-fashioned type of vessel, a carved piece of wood or stone or mineral which could be filled with magic during their secret renewal ceremony. These vessels carried only modest amounts of magic.

But the other two wore the new form of vessel, a series of jade stones set into a belt worn next to the skin. Having several vessels multiplied the amount of magical power the mage could summon, and the jade stones were full of magic. I could count the number of stones each of them used, and I knew from the almost luminous strength of some of them that they’d recently been refilled.

It almost drove me mad. There it was, exactly what I craved, calling to me seductively. I wanted those stones so badly, I almost felt it as a physical pain. The thought of it filled my mind, blotting out every other consideration. I had to sit on my hands to stop myself from reaching towards them.

But if I could control my hands, just about, I couldn’t control my mind. Somehow, I reached out mentally for the magic in the stones. With a perceptible pop inside me, a little burst of magic shifted into me.

I gasped, then immediately changed it to a cough, as Yannassia turned to stare at me.

“Are you all right, Drina?” she asked, concern in her voice. “Take some wine. That will help.”

A servant rushed forward with a glass and decanter, and poured for me. With the fuss over the wine, I managed to regain my composure without attracting too much attention.

The best of it was, the jade stone which had released its magic to me was very little affected. Once the meeting resumed, and the elderly law scribe with the droning voice continued his report, I tried again and took a little magic from a different stone. Then another. And another.

My energy levels were rising, and I stopped myself before I took enough to be noticed. There must have been a smile of triumph on my face, though, for Yannassia looked at me in bewilderment.

“Drina, you are in a strange mood. Do you feel quite well?”

“Perhaps she is pregnant,” Zandara said, turning her pale eyes on me.

“She is certainly
not
pregnant,” Vhar-zhin said, with more force than the situation warranted, it seemed to me. “She would have told us.”

“Of course I’m not,” I said. “And I am quite well, thank you.”

I was very well indeed, if they had but known, positively overflowing with health. But I could no more explain to them than I could swim to the moon.

~~~~~

I’d seen very little of Vhar-zhin since Arran had come back into my life. She’d been strange with me over the business with Lathran, almost hostile, but now it was as if she was avoiding me. When we met at Yannassia’s planning meetings, she said little and scuttled away quickly afterwards. At one time, she would always wait for me and we would have left together, arm in arm. Now, if I lingered to discuss fine points of strategy with Yannassia and Zandara, when I emerged it was only Arran’s smiles which greeted me.

Vhar-zhin and I attended many of the same social functions, but she was surrounded by a gaggle of waiting women, nobles who were haughtier than the Drashona herself, and looked down on me, the drusse-born daughter of a village rat. And I had Arran’s arm to hold on to, and no desire to let go of it. So we encountered each other often, but said little. I was sad about it, for we’d been close for a long time, but we had to grow up and move on. One sun, Vhar-zhin too would have a man to love.

But then came the moonrose festival. One of the great noble houses had a moonrose garden, and held a party every year on the sixth brightmoon, when there was usually a good flowering. Guests wandered amongst the great stems, enjoying the unusually strong perfume, while eating, drinking and gossiping in vast amounts. Beneath the frivolity, the usual business of the nobility could be conducted – arranging alliances between the houses, or making business deals, or political manoeuvring, or simply the discreet exchange of information. The constant, but subtle, vying for position amongst the ruling factions. I could read it like a book.

I had found myself a good station in the shade of a small pavilion, where I could observe the interactions without drawing attention to myself. And of course it gave me an excuse to stand quietly with Arran, whose arm had somehow found its way around my waist.

Vhar-zhin, as well-trained as I by Yannassia, should have realised what I was doing and left me to it, or played rider for me – noticing when my observations were disrupted by other guests, and riding in to sweep them away. Instead, she disrupted me herself.

“Drina! Such an age since we have talked. How are you? Is Arran taking good care of you?” She tittered a little, and her waiting women raised their fans to hide their smiles. In anyone else, I would have been suspicious about such behaviour, but this was Vhar-zhin, and I saw nothing.

“And Arran! How are you?”

He bowed politely to her, although not quite as respectfully as he might have done. His face was wary. I don’t think Vhar-zhin had ever addressed him directly before. I felt the first stirrings of alarm.

He said nothing, and she went on in a rush. “And how is the baby?”

“Baby?” I said, bewildered. “What are you talking about, Vhar?”

Her hands flew to her mouth. “Oh, gods! You did not know! Oh, Drina, I am so sorry, so sorry!” And she turned and fled, her waiting women fluttering in a whisper of silk in her wake.

“Baby?” I said coldly to Arran.

He flushed, shuffling his feet. “It is… a long story.”

“I have all evening. Let us find a quiet spot, and you can enlighten me.”

He trailed miserably behind me. We found a quiet arbour, a secluded spot where in other circumstances I might have hoped for a few kisses, and some tender words. No chance of that now.

“Now then,” I said, sitting, and smoothing out the long coat of my azai. “Tell me of this baby. You have a lover somewhere?”

He licked his lips. “A wife.”

“A
wife!
You are married?” Years of training couldn’t keep the shock from my face.

He nodded.

“How long? When?”

Another pause. “Look, Drina… I…” He reached for my hand, but I moved it out of his reach.

“Just tell me the tale, Arran.”

A stronger nod. “It happened after… after I kissed you. Do you remember? I lost everything, Drina. I was dismissed from the Elite, I had no future, no work…”

“You could have come to me. I would have arranged something.”

“I did not like to beg. I went home for a while, to… to think about things. I was very bitter, though, and… I behaved foolishly. There was a woman I have known for years, a friend. She… comforted me and I got her pregnant. It was stupid, I realise that, but I was not thinking straight. I married her so that she would have the protection of my family. For the child. She should not suffer for my weakness.”