Crowchanger (Changers of Chandris) (29 page)

“The king marches on the Aerie, ladies and gentlemen. In a short time we may be under attack.”

Murmurs rippled around the table. Elyta, newly raised to the council since the death of Narais, edged closer to Cowin and took his hand in one of hers, the other resting protectively on her stomach. She was pregnant; it did not take an empath to recognise that gesture.

“Surely it won’t come to that?” Flain protested. “He is angry that we helped the Chesammos. It can be settled around the council table, as we have always settled our differences.”

“He will destroy us,” Yinaede muttered. She wrung her hands. Sweat beaded on her upper lip and Jesely wondered if she were having a seeing there and then. The seeing talent was unpredictable. Those blessed—or cursed—with the talent could not choose what to see, nor when to see it, and stress seemed frequently to bring them on.

The other changers debated how to approach Deygan, but Jesely kept a careful eye on Yinaede. Things she saw in her trance might be useful to them later—if any of them survived. He was vaguely aware of raised voices around the table, but only paid full attention when Donmar pounded on the table and bellowed, “Enough!”

The chamber subsided like a roomful of rowdy children reprimanded by a teacher, gazes furtively scanning their fellow councillors, feet shuffling awkwardly beneath the table.

“He will save us,” Yinaede whispered, but the councillors seemed oblivious to a seeing going on in their midst. Jesely noticed Ayriene listening to Yinaede. Did she, like Jesely, wonder if she spoke of Sylas? Stupid thought, but he could not shift it from his mind. But ‘he will destroy us’ followed by ‘he will save us’ was cryptic, to say the least. Who would destroy? Deygan?

“We must shut the gates, Donmar. We must stop him entering.” That was Stretham. The fair Irmos twisted his hand into the front of his shirt, unmindful of the buttons that threatened to pop as he wrenched his fist through the fabric.

“No!” said Jesely, palms flat on the table before him. “If we shut the gates he will destroy the walls with those machines of his.”

“What are they, Jesely?” asked Donmar. “Do we know?”

“Flain has a book,” said Jesely, and Flain pushed the volume across the table to the head of the council.

“This is an old book of warfare, Master. I believe these are the machines. They are called ballistas and are for flinging projectiles—like slingshots, but much larger. Capable of hurling heavy objects—rocks and so on—over long distances.”

“No shortage of rocks on the mountainside,” said Donmar, looking in the direction of the mountain road as if he could see through the walls to the twisting road beyond.

“Shall I order an evacuation?” Hollin had a gift for organisation and logistics and had played a key part in getting supplies out to the Chesammos villages over the past months. “There are many changers who could fly to safety before Deygan has a chance to attack.”

Donmar chewed on the end of his thumb and Jesely eyed him carefully. Once Donmar had made a decision he rarely backed down from it, but he preferred time to fully consider all options. Making decisions under pressure was not his strength. Jesely could see the stress in his shoulders.

“I don’t think that’s wise. If we evacuate the changers we leave the humans behind, and that says to them that we are abandoning them to their fate. We could have widespread panic, even have the human servants and tradesmen turn on us in their fear. The trust between the changers and the people necessary to our functioning would be lost. No, we stay, for as long as possible. If Deygan breaches the walls, then we may have to reconsider.”

Jesely nodded. No sense in making hasty moves while there was a chance of negotiation. If the Aerie let down the people who formed their support system, it might take years to repair the damage.

“Might I make a suggestion, Donmar?”

Donmar seemed relieved that another was prepared to offer ideas.

“Speak, Jesely.”

“If the worst happens and the Aerie falls…” he hesitated, aware of another wave of mutterings and nervous shiftings around the table, “we would need a place to gather—to regroup. I think this should be off the island. If Deygan launches a full attack, he might order a complete purge of the changers on the island.”

“Where do you propose?”

“Maldahur. When Tomas travelled there, he said the potentate of Maldahur was keen to align himself with the Aerie. The people of the area are not of Irenthi origin and have no allegiance or particular sympathy to the Irenthi. In fact I think if origins were studied, the people of Maldahur are probably more closely related to the Chesammos. We may find sanctuary there for a time.”

“Very well,” Donmar said. “If things go so badly for us that we have to leave the Aerie, you are to make for Maldahur. Some few may be capable of flying all the way, although it is beyond the range of most. But it may be possible to buy passage from Adamantara or to fly out to sea and roost on a ship until it is impossible to maintain bird form any longer. How you then appease the captain of the ship is up to you, but the Aerie has always recompensed help more than generously. A captain may be prepared to accept a letter of credit.”

A letter of credit issued by an establishment that may not exist by the time they try to redeem it. Still, it was their best chance, if things went that wrong. Jesely hoped this contingency would not be needed, but it was best to be prepared.

“There is another thing,” said Jesely. “Many of the Aerie, changers and non-changers alike, are blaming this current state of affairs on the Chesammos from Cellondora. It might be an idea to keep them safe somewhere for now, in case any attempt is made to hand them over to Deygan. For similar reasons, they should perhaps be among the first to fly if we leave the Aerie.”

Donmar nodded. In stressful circumstances even changers and their employees could resort to violence, and it was perfectly possibly that the survivors might become victims.

“See to it, Hollin. The Cellondorans must be protected.”

“And the humans, if we fly? What is to happen to them?”

“See if Deygan will give them safe passage,” said Donmar. “They have done him no harm—his quarrel is with the changers. But if he will not listen to reason, have them use the gate beyond the lake. It is a steep path and treacherous, and Deygan and his men may harry them, if they are seen trying to escape that way, but it is their best hope if all other avenues have failed.”

“So do we go to meet him?” Jesely asked.

“I go to meet him,” Donmar said grimly. “If one of us cannot convince him then twelve will not, and it may be that he receives a single ambassador more readily than a group.”

The council erupted in a storm of protest. He must not go alone, they said. Deygan might be more inclined to listen to a single person, but he was also more likely to kill or capture one alone, where a group might command more respect.

None of them expressed what Jesely was thinking: that however many of them went out, the Aerie had no soldiers, no one able to bear arms to protect themselves. If Deygan chose to wipe them out, he could do it with little resistance.

They compromised. Three would walk out to meet the king: Donmar, Jesely, and Ayriene. Jesely spoke against Ayriene’s presence. They should not risk their only healer talent, he said. Ayriene countered him, saying that there should be at least one woman in the group, and she knew Deygan better than most. She exchanged significant glances with Donmar, and again, Jesely realised there were undercurrents he was missing. He wondered what hold Ayriene had over the council leader.

If it all went wrong, Donmar told Hollin, he was to get people to safety by whatever means were at his disposal. Jesely found that he had small hope of a peaceful conclusion. The Aerie and its people faced their greatest peril yet.

Chapter 29

T
he three changers walked in silence down the mountain road. It was one of the few paved roads on Chandris—evidence, if needed, of the Aerie’s former affluence. Ahead of them, Deygan raised a hand and the troops and horsemen came to a halt. Deygan and another rider continued on a few yards before also reining in.

The other rider bore the device of Lucranne on his breastplate. Ayriene was struck by how quickly Casian had risen through the ranks of Deygan’s advisors. Even for the heir of Lucranne, his ascension had been dizzyingly fast. Once more it occurred to her to wonder about his apparent charisma—Jesely seemed immune to it, but so many others had fallen under Casian’s influence that it hardly seemed natural. Sylas too, although that didn’t explain the evident attraction in the other direction.

They stopped a few paces from the king, who dismounted. Casian did so too, holding both sets of reins and positioning himself a respectful few steps behind.

“Your Majesty,” said Donmar, inclining his head. A full bow was not required from the leader of the changers—the difference in rank did not warrant it—but both Jesely and Ayriene gave deeper bows, as was proper.

“Donmar.” Deygan’s acknowledgement was barely there—a dip of the head that could have been a gesture of irritation at a buzzing insect. “Master Jesely. Mistress Ayriene.” She might have imagined it, but she thought he sneered slightly saying her name. His animosity was unconcealed, and she flashed a glance at Casian. Was Sylas safe? Surely if anything had happened to him Casian would not be standing there so calmly, beside the man who meant him harm. She should not have left him. Creator! The boy was her responsibility.

“I have not seen such an array of force since we faced the Lorandans together, Sire.”

Ayriene knew what Donmar was doing, and admired his approach. He reminded Deygan of their shared past—the time they had stood shoulder to shoulder against a common enemy.

A flash of light in the distance. A young changer with burned hands. The Lorandan army repelled.

“Do you have another such among your number? Would you send her against me, if you did? I don’t believe you do, Donmar. I see fear in your eyes. She was unique, that girl of yours, was she not?”

That girl. Shamella. The only changer who could hear multiple kye until Sylas… her son. Ayriene risked a glance at Jesely—wondered how much of this he had put together.

A changer able to hear multiple kye. A weapon? A weapon so fearsome it had wiped out the Lorandan invasion force and which Deygan feared being turned against him. A girl given out to be dead and hidden deep in the desert under a name that was not her own.

“Send him away.” Donmar’s voice was rough as he nodded towards Casian. “I have things to say to you that are for your ears only.”

Deygan raised an eyebrow. “And Jesely and Ayriene are to remain?”

Donmar eyed them. “I can send them back, if you would prefer.”

Deygan’s laugh boomed out across the mountainside. “It is the changers that have been secretive. I have no secrets from your colleagues, but maybe you do.”

“Ayriene was there. She may have guessed by now. And if Jesely does not know, he deserves to be told. I will earn his hate, I expect, but this has gone on too long.”

More than ever, Ayriene was sure this was about Shamella. Did Donmar know Sylas was her son? If he did, would he have allowed him into the Aerie? That increased the risk of exposure of—whatever had happened. Cowin had been admitted, but that was because of his exceptional ability. Had Donmar expected Sylas to be in some way exceptional too? Did that explain Donmar’s impatience with the lad, especially when he admitted to multiple kye like his mother?

“My apprentice,” she said, the words leaving her lips before she could stop herself. “Is he well?”

Deygan turned his gaze on her, his lips and mouth twisted with hate. “Your apprentice,” he almost spat the words, “has done something to my son. Jaevan is almost an imbecile—mute, unresponsive. Hour by hour he draws in on himself more, while your
apprentice
protests his innocence and hides away with his books in a pretence of seeking a cure.” Deygan glared at her, green eyes cold as polished linandra. “He failed at his first attempt to kill Jaevan, but my son is as good as dead now, as far as the succession is concerned. Your Chesammos has done what the rebels tasked him with.”

Shamella saving the island from the Lorandans. Yinaede in the meeting gasping ‘he will save us’. Sylas and Shamella, both hearing more kye than they should.

“No,” she whispered.

“I should have my men seize you now, healer,” said Deygan. “Have you taken back to Banunis to stand trial. But we meet under parley, and I will not break my bond.” He turned back to Donmar. “I would not have it end this way,” he said in a soft voice, so that only the four of them would hear. “I thought that when Respar sent you and the girl to me to repel the Lorandans that this could mean a new understanding between Banunis and the Aerie.”

“It was not the Aerie broke it,” said Donmar, equally quietly, genuine sadness touching his face.

Deygan spread his hands. His voice stayed soft, but there was a hard edge to it. “As you wish. You put me on the throne and you kept me there, as you promised. I am sad our friendship will end this way. Go back to the Aerie. I mean to destroy it and any who resist me. Hand over Ayriene and the Chesammos changers, and I may let the innocent go free.”

Ayriene barely heard him. ‘You and the girl’? Respar had sent Donmar and Shamella to Deygan to offer her ability as a weapon? The seeings had been of Deygan and Donmar in the assembly chamber, then, not Sylas and Casian. And Miralee—Miralee saw the past, not the future? A rare talent, but not unheard-of. They had got it wrong. So terribly, horribly wrong.

“He will save us,” she said to herself in little more than a murmur. But he must not. If Sylas blasted Deygan’s army as his mother had destroyed the Lorandans, how would her troubled apprentice ever find peace?

Jesely was lost in thought, apparently trying to make sense of what he had heard.

“We offered her as a means to soothe the mountain,” Donmar said, as if to himself. “We would have used her as a true stormweaver. It was Deygan twisted her ability—turned it into something it was not intended to be. It was then he turned the Chesammos into a people to be feared and repressed.”

As they returned up the mountain road, the order to advance sounded behind them. Overhead an owl rose into the sky, joined soon after from the Aerie by a hawk of some kind. The two flew for the king’s lines and disappeared among the soldiers.

‘He will save us.’

Ayriene hoped he would not. Not if it meant him being used to kill, as his mother had been. Not if it meant Sylas becoming a weapon.

They returned to the Aerie a more sombre trio than they had set out. Deygan would destroy them, whatever they did; Jesely was sure of that. The resentment brewed over many years had become anger at the safe haven given to the Cellondorans, and now rage at what had happened to Jaevan. But what, exactly,
had
happened to Jaevan?

Jesely remembered the intelligent, engaging young man and offered a prayer to the Lady that it was nothing serious. He ran the words Deygan had used around in his mind: ‘mute,’ ‘unresponsive,’ ‘imbecile.’ It had to be serious; Deygan was not one to overreact.

They made their way to the main building, shouting for the gates to be closed behind them. Unmindful of the stares from the people they passed, they ran inside, up the stairs to the council chamber and sent a young novice scampering to find the other councillors.

“Deygan is determined to destroy us,” Donmar said to a stunned gathering. “Hollin, you must evacuate as many of our human staff as you can.”

“It will not be easy. The path from the back gate is narrow. It will be dangerous if too many try to descend at one time. And we must avoid panic, if we can. If we have people pushing and shoving to get out, that will be a catastrophe in the making.”

“I must leave it to you,” Donmar said. “Tell people as you will, but word will spread, once people notice others leaving by that gate.”

Hollin nodded grimly, then without waiting to hear the rest of the discussion, he rose to go.

“Masters and full changers may leave on the wing. Again, send them off a few at a time if you can, to avoid panic. Cowin, can you see to that?”

The Chesammos changer’s head snapped up. He had been talking softly to his wife, Jesely noted. Elyta was in tears, her hand resting just below her breasts. Yes, she was pregnant, he was sure, and likely scared for the child’s safety as much as for her own.

“Remember to tell them our meeting-place. It could be that Deygan is merely blustering and will back down, in which case they may return here. But if he does as he says and destroys the Aerie, we must make sure that all know the agreed meeting-point.”

Maldahur. A destination that would stoke Deygan’s paranoia all the more. A city in a land no friend to the Irenthi. Jesely could have wished they had chosen another destination, but done was done. They could hardly meet in a country ruled by Irenthi, for fear of another king finishing what Deygan had started.

Jesely’s empath talent was on full alert. He could feel the rising tide of panic among the councillors and from the people outside. Soon it would overwhelm him. He would have to leave or lose his sanity in the cacophony of other people’s thoughts. He put his hands over his ears and Ayriene—blessed Ayriene—spotted what was happening. She laid a hand on his arm.

“If it comes to it, you must go. Sylas trusts you. If you can rescue him from Deygan, do it. Take him with you.”

He patted her hand gratefully, then voiced the concern that had been building in him. “The novices. How do we get the novices out?” There were dozens of novices to get to safety, some of whom had never flown alone.

Donmar’s face paled. “We must send a master with a pipe to Adamantara. He can call, Those at the right part of their marking cycle will respond. Some part way through the cycle may respond to a full master’s call. The rest can go with the servants.”

There was a crash like booming thunder and screams of people in the distance. How had Deygan got the ballistas set up so quickly, damn him? Clattering masonry fell as the first breach in the wall erupted. Then another crash, and another. Three ballistas, then, and a short respite now while the crew dragged more rocks from the mountainside to send hurtling towards them.

“Go,” said Donmar to Ayriene. “There will be people hurt—trapped in rubble, maybe. Go and do what you can. Call any healers and healer apprentices you can find to help. Send me a master—any you trust with getting the novices to safety and who takes a second form large enough to carry a pouch with a pipe.”

She ran towards the sounds of destruction—shouts and screams, people calling to loved ones, and the sickening grating of walls collapsing as now-unstable stonework lost its bid to stay erect.

A few moments later a young man entered the chamber. Deckhan was a new master, but a steady sort—not one to panic. He took an owl as his second form, Jesely remembered.

“Master Donmar, Mistress Ayriene sent me. She said you had a task for me and I should come right away.”

Donmar nodded approvingly at Ayriene’s selection. “You have your pipe with you?”

Deckhan patted his belt pouch. “Always, Master Donmar.”

“I need you to fly to Adamantara. You’ll need to carry the pipe. Take that and a caigani and as much money as you can safely carry in your pouch. When you get there, call and keep on calling. We will send as many of the youngsters to you as we can get transformed. After that, it is up to you. If things go badly here, get them to Maldahur. Sell your pipe if you have to. You may be the only hope our youngsters have.”

A flurry of wings announced the first flight of changers taking to the wing to escape the carnage. Those who were able had taken their second form, trusting the power of hawks, falcons, and owls to take them higher and faster, but there were crows, sparrows, swallows, and others, all straining upwards to escape the attack on their home.

From over the wall Jesely could hear the thrum of many bowstrings, all releasing at once. Arrows fell into the courtyard and people ran for cover; an arrow is no less deadly for not having been aimed directly. Some found a target, the sickening thud as arrow point met flesh seeming to rip a hole in Jesely’s heart. As the first changer bodies hit the ground, their bird forms reverting to human as they died, three thumps in a row told him that the ballistas had unleashed another assault on the walls, one missile sailing higher than the others to break through the vaulted ceiling of the great hall.

This was no mere attack. Deygan meant to raze the Aerie—to make an example of them.

The next projectiles were bundles of rags soaked in pitch and set alight. They flew higher and faster than the rocks. One lodged in the roof of the dormitory block, another hit the library, and the third crashed through the hole in the great hall ceiling to set tapestries and paintings on fire. What little reserve of calm the people had had evaporated with those flaming fireballs. People ran, screaming, some with children in their arms and others with what few possessions they had been able to snatch up. And above them, changers took to the air, some winging their way high enough to be beyond the range of the bowmen, others plummeting to the earth, their flesh pierced with archers’ arrows.