Dreamwielder (26 page)

“Very well then,” the Emperor said. “Continue your search. If the guild is back, there must be members still here in the city. Find them, and if you can't get information from them, bring them to me and I will do it myself. I want to know what they're after. I want to know where the prince went.”

“And what of Casstian?”

“I had hoped to make an ally in young Caile and have him take his father's place, but this will perhaps suit us better. Casstian has declared open war with his actions. We will make an example of him just as we did with the Pallma house in Valaróz many years ago. My machines are ready. I will send them south along with the strength of our army to crush Pyrthinia. We'll set Don Bricio upon Casstian's rear to take and hold Kal Pyrthin Bay against retreat, then crush Casstian backward one step at a time. He will see the destruction of his greatest cities before he dies. It is time the world sees what the Empire has become—what we are capable of. And when Casstian is dead and his rebellion with him—when Kal Pyrthin is nothing more than rubble—none will ever dare to defy us again.”

“And our misplaced houndkeeper?” Wulfram asked, indicating Natarios.

“Take him to the High Houndkeeper to put him to work. There are ravens to send and much to do before we march.”

Makarria lowered herself from her handstand and plopped down onto her bed, wishing Siegbjorn would return already. It had been four days since she had separated the linked rings, and that meant four days of solitude in the chamber while Taera continued her training with Roanna. The first day after separating the rings Makarria had been exhausted and slept much of the day, but by the second day she was recuperated and bored already. The subsequent days seemingly stretched on for an eternity. Makarria would try to sleep as late as she could each morning, but inevitably she would wake when Roanna came to fetch Taera and be unable to go back to sleep again. So she would get up, run laps around the room, move the beds around to create obstacles to leap over, do handstands, somersaults, cartwheels, push-ups, try to run up the wall and touch the stone ceiling—anything she could think of to pass the time. She would do that for what seemed like hours, then sit and still have to wait for the guard to deliver her midmorning meal. She would stretch the meal out as long as she could, but then the bulk of the day was upon her, and she would have another eight or more hours to occupy.

After four days, Makarria was absolutely done with it.
There has to be something better I can do to pass the time.
She looked the room over, but it was the same barren chamber with two beds and a lantern by the door. Her dirty plate, spoon, and cup were the only foreign items in the room, but she saw little use in them.
If I had a knife instead of a spoon, then that would be something,
Makarria thought. She got up from her bed and knelt down on the ground where she picked up the wooden spoon and idly rubbed one edge of it on the ground to try and sharpen it. She had sharpened sticks often enough on rocks when she was younger, grinding the tips to a point that was sharp enough to stab soft-shelled crabs in the shallows and tide pools near her home. The floor here in the cave was polished smooth though, and did little in the way of rasping away the edge of the spoon. Makarria plopped back onto her butt with a sigh.
I could always change it another way.
It was almost as if a voice outside her own suggested the idea to her. She had been thinking much of her ability since disconnecting the rings. It was the first time she had changed anything on purpose, and with that knowledge, the possibilities of what she could do had kept her up late each night, but she had pushed the thoughts aside, always telling herself there would be time for it later, when she and Taera were free and safely away from Roanna and Kadar.

Makarria stood up with an exasperated huff and took the spoon with her back to her bed, unable to push the thought of transforming it into a knife aside, even though she knew it was dangerous.
Taera and Roanna won't be back for hours,
she told herself.
No one will ever know.
Still, she hesitated for a long time. Only the thought of being in the tiny chamber all alone with nothing to do but somersaults and cartwheels convinced her to chance it.

Her mind made up, Makarria clutched the wooden spoon in both hands and closed her eyes. She cleared her mind and relaxed her breathing, as she had done before. When her mind was clear and her heartbeat steady, she envisioned the spoon in her hands and imagined its shape changing to that of a dagger. The image formed in her mind easily, but as before, she felt herself grow cold and weary. She could clearly form the image of the dagger, but it was as if the dagger was out of focus, and the closer she came to solidifying it, the more resistance she faced. She stubbornly refocused on the image in her head. There was a brief moment where she felt the resistance almost push her to a stop—like a rope stretching to its limit and holding for a split second before breaking—and then suddenly all resistance was gone and the dagger was there in her mind.

Makarria opened her eyes with a gasp and looked at the wooden utensil in her hands. It was the dagger as she had imagined it: long and slender with a sharp tipped point and an edge along either side of the blade.

“I did it!” she said out loud, unable to contain her excitement. She ran one finger across both edges of the blade and was surprised to find how sharp it really was. Being wood, it would nick easily and lose its edge of course, but it was sharp enough to gut a fish. Or to stab someone. Makarria brandished the dagger and spun, as if striking out at an imaginary assailant. Halfway through her spin a hand snatched her wrist and yanked her to an abrupt halt.

Makarria gasped. The door was open. Lost in her trance, she hadn't even heard Kadar step inside the chamber.

“Show me what you have done,” Kadar said, prying the wooden knife from Makarria's fingers.

Makarria's strength wilted beneath his grip, and she fell to her knees. Waves of pain shot down her arm into her shoulder and chest. “Nothing,” she gasped. “I didn't do anything.”

Kadar let go of her and held the dagger up to stare at it in wonder. Makarria shrank back from him, unable to tear her gaze away from his black teeth.

“It is as I thought,” Kadar said. “You are a clever little girl to keep this secret from me.”

Before Makarria could catch her breath or respond, he yanked her up by the scruff of her tunic and shoved her forward. She struggled to free herself, but it only made it worse as he tightened his grip and caught up strands of her hair in his fist. He pushed her out the door past the guard standing there placidly, and then to the right into the main cavern past the other side chambers. When he reached the chamber where Taera met with Roanna each day, he kicked the door in and threw Makarria bodily to the floor inside.

Roanna jumped to her feet in surprise, and Taera rushed to Makarria's side protectively.

“What are you doing?” Roanna demanded.

Kadar thrust the wooden dagger in front of her face. “See what the little one has been doing. Turning spoons into knives behind our backs. It has been her the whole time.”

Roanna stared at the dagger for a long time. When she spoke it was little more than a whisper. “Impossible.”

“Do not tell me what is and is not possible,” Kadar yelled. He turned to Makarria. “Who are you, girl? What is your name? Who are your parents?” He threw the dagger to the ground and it splintered in half.

“Leave her alone,” Taera said, sliding forward on her knees to protect Makarria from him. “She's no one, just a farm girl.”

“Liar!” Kadar hissed, and he grabbed Taera up by her hair and smacked her across the face. “Liar. How long have you known and kept it secret from us?” He smacked her again and blood trickled from her mouth. “Who is she? Where did you find her?” He raised his hand to strike her again, but Roanna grabbed his arm.

“Enough,” she yelled, but Kadar shoved her away.

“Do not tell me my business, woman. Be gone and take the little one if you must protect someone. She is the one we want.”

Roanna cowered back as Kadar turned his attention to Taera again.

“This one is mine now. She will suffer, and she will answer all my questions before she dies. Leave me.”

Roanna hesitated.

“Leave me, I said!”

Roanna curled her lips and grabbed Makarria by one arm. She yanked her out of the chamber and slammed the door closed behind them. From within the chamber Taera cried out again. Makarria tried to rush back in, but Roanna held her back.

“No!” Makarria screamed. “Leave her alone.”

Roanna slapped her. “Be silent, fool!”

Makarria fell to the ground stunned. Her hands shook, and she felt near vomiting. Taera's screams continued, punctuated intermittently by Kadar's yelling. Makarria closed her eyes, thinking she could dream something to help Taera, but her thoughts were scattered, and she could not concentrate. She crawled to her feet, half expecting Roanna to hit her again, but when she looked up she saw that Roanna was staring at the chamber door, her eyebrows furrowed and her jaw clenched tightly.

Without warning, Roanna barged forward through the door. Fire sprung from her palms, and Kadar flew back from where he knelt hunched over Taera. His robes flared up brightly as his body slid down the wall.

“Go!” Roanna yelled, yanking Taera up from the ground.

Kadar groaned as he flailed about in his burning robes. Roanna hurled fire at him again, but Kadar somehow pushed the flames aside with a sweep of his shoulders and stood, disrobed and free from his burning garments. His eyes flashed with anger, and his black teeth grit across one another audibly.

“Go!” Roanna yelled again, and she flung herself forward at him.

Makarria lunged into the chamber and grabbed Taera by the hand. As they sprinted out, the room lit up behind them with a flash. Makarria turned to the right for a moment, but then remembered Siegbjorn and the airship were gone, so she turned back the other way, dragging Taera along behind her deeper into the cavern. Screams and explosions echoed behind them, and Makarria quickened her pace only to come to a sudden halt as the guard at their chamber door stepped forward to impede their progress.

“Please, help us,” Makarria pleaded. “They're fighting each other.”

The man looked from Makarria to the sobbing Taera to the flashes of light behind them. “You're a friend of Siegbjorn, so you're a friend of mine,” he said with a nervous nod. “Come, this way.”​

Caile stood at the back wall of the large chamber, well behind Talitha, who was the center of attention amongst the
Snjaer Firan
. The two of them had searched for days at the base of the mountain for the entrance to Trumball's cave. They found the remnants of the main entrance easily enough, but it had been collapsed years before and was little more than a rubble-filled crater in the mountainside. Talitha told him there was another entrance, a narrow tunnel higher upon the mountain that joined the main passage a mile or more in, but the terrain had changed much since Talitha had last been there, and the
Snjaer Firan
took great care to keep it hidden. When they found it at last, Caile's relief was short lived. The secret passage was little more than a gopher's tunnel in his estimation. The opening was three feet in diameter at best and utterly dark beyond.

They had unsaddled and set their horses free before continuing on, then climbed in, Talitha leading the way. How far they crawled on their hands and knees in the dark Caile could not guess. It seemed miles, though rationally he knew it must have been much less than that. On several occasions they reached narrow sections of the tunnel where they could barely lift their heads or move and Caile felt as if the mountain was crushing the breath out of him. Talitha seemed to sense his fear though, and each time he felt on the verge of panic, she would speak out to him and encourage him onward.

When they had at last reached the main cavern, Caile was much relieved to be able to stand and walk on his feet again, and even the two days more of walking deeper into the mountain was tolerable beneath the blue light emanating through the glacier above them. They were challenged by a guard on the second day, but when Talitha told the guard her name, they were ushered immediately into the massive cavern harboring the city of Issborg. Caile had gotten little more than a few minutes to marvel at the strange underground city before the both of them were rushed to where they stood now, in what appeared to Caile to be the town hall. It was long and narrow, with an arched ceiling, and carved literally into the face of the cavern wall.

Dozens of fur-clad, hairy men, and only slightly less hairy women crowded around Talitha. It was clear enough to Caile that they knew her and seemed to regard her highly, but they all spoke in a language he had never heard before, and he could discern little more than that. It seemed they were intent on bringing a parade of people to greet her, but she was insistently waving them away and asking questions of the most prominent men and women around her. Eventually, they settled into some sort of hushed conversation around her, and after several minutes of speaking, Talitha waved Caile over to finally join her.

“Your sister is here,” she told him. “In the caves at the far end of the cavern.”

Caile felt a surge of triumph and at hearing the news. “Let's get her then.”

“It's not as simple as that. There are sorcerers holding her. Two of them. One is the woman from Col Sargoth, it seems, but the other hails from the Old World. It is as I feared.”

“Are we safe here?” Caile asked her. “Can these people be trusted? Will they turn us over?”

“They can be trusted,” she assured him. “They will do whatever I ask of them, though I will not throw them into harm's way if I can help it.”

“You're one of them, aren't you?”