Lance of Earth and Sky (The Chaos Knight Book Two) (18 page)

A slender dark-barked spruce stood in the center of the north field.

Vidarian went to the tree, his thoughts and his feet heavy. “Calphille?” he said, when he reached it. She didn't answer, and so he sat on the ground, leaning against the trunk.

For a few moments he watched the palace bustle, what little of it he could see from the field. His eyes wanted to go up and into the sky, and eventually he closed them.

At length the tree shivered, and he jerked out of his half-sleep, then pushed himself to his feet and brushed dust from his trouser legs.

Once she was human again, Calphille looked at him, waiting for him to speak.

“How could he not know?”

She turned away, but not angrily. “It just—never came up.” When he didn't answer, she turned back to him. “You know how the court is. Once we'd discussed it there'd be no escaping it. I thought that once he admitted that he cared for me…”

“He called you his consort,” Vidarian said.

Calphille blushed, dark skin turning darker for a moment. “He'd never done that before. I—don't know if it was to warn off Tepeki, or…” She shook her head. “I should go. I should return to my people.” She turned her face southward, eyes hard and shining. “I should never have left them.”

“He's right about one thing. It's my fault for bringing you here.”

“You didn't
bring
me. I came with you.” She knelt and traced her fingertips through the dirt and dry grass. “I wanted to know this place.”

“You're supposed to be here,” he said.

“Maybe I'm supposed to be there, seeing to the awakening of my brothers and sisters.” Her voice cracked as she said it, guilt welling out like maple sap, or blood.

“And how would you do that?” He tried to say it gently, treated each word as if it were made of porcelain, and breathed a little easier when no explosion came. Slowly, gingerly, he took her hand, pressing it between his own. She looked at him, and there was her wildness again, her uncertainty. “Destiny and I have not always been on speaking terms,” he said, and waited for her to smile before he did so himself. “But yours is obvious. It's with him. He knows it. We all knew it as soon as you saw each other.” It was sentimental, and he knew it, but it was also the truth, and one he thought she needed.

“I didn't come to your human palace in search of a mate,” she said.

“Why did you come, then?”

She flushed again. “To learn what had happened. To bring alliances back to my people.”

“And that is what you will have done,” he said. “And more. You are an ambassador to everyone that you've met here. And to Lirien. What you are to him is important. It's changed him…”

Her jaw firmed. “
What
I am.”

“Calphille, I didn't mean—”

“Please go,” she said. And before Vidarian could say another word, she changed. Slender arms lifted toward the sky, then stretched, sprouted branches, bloomed with hairlike evergreen needles. Her toes spread outward, growing into roots as thick as his wrist and pushing down into the turned earth. The tree was there in her place once more.

The Sky Knight arena was just beyond the south field, between Vidarian and his rooms. Now that they'd returned to the palace, a thousand tasks weighed on his conscience: he needed to find out more about the metal body Oneira had offered Ruby, he needed to find out more about and from Iridan, and his gut ached to know the status of the war with Qui. Admiral Allingworth and the emperor had both made it quite clear that they preferred Vidarian in the palace, but that hardly meant he had to remain uninformed.

Inside the arena, Rai barked, which meant that Brannon and his sister were likely there as well. Vidarian owed him thanks, and some kind of payment, for watching the pup while the
Wind Maiden
had journeyed. Part of him wished Rai had been there with him, but a more practical part was glad he had missed the journey.

A booming familiar voice, giving laughing commands, told Vidarian that the young apprentices were not alone. Caladan had returned from his dispatch. His voice was a relief—now the children would have the benefit of real Sky Knight training, instead of the gryphons' best analogies.

“Greetings, Sir Caladan. Excellent to see you again.” When they'd met, there had been some friction over Isri, which surely lingered; relief swept through him when the knight smiled heartily and extended his gloved hand. Vidarian clasped it, wondering what had provoked the change in humor. The man's eyes were on the young apprentices, who played with their steeds in a chasing game that Vidarian guessed was intended to train agility.

“Beautiful creatures,” Vidarian said. “Particularly the royals.”

“And she has you to thank, I understand,” Caladan said. So thus came the repair.

“We both have Rai to thank,” Vidarian said, gesturing to the capering wolf with his chin. Hearing his name, Rai dashed over, circled around both of them, then galloped back to his game.

“The Knighthood is in your debt,” Caladan said. The chase game had turned on Brannon, who now had to dash in an attempt to catch either of the two girls or their steeds.

“I had a rather different reception at the time,” Vidarian murmured, not wanting to cause difficulty, but feeling for where Caladan stood.

“It's not so bad as you might imagine,” he said, then lowered his voice. “Confidentially, Captain, there may as well be two Knighthoods now. Those of us who adapted—with joy—to the changes in our steeds…and those of us who did not.”

“And how many are the former?”

Caladan sighed. “Not enough.”

“Enough to protect the emperor?”

The knight's eyes turned sharply on him. “From whom?”

Vidarian looked to the apprentices, noting the speed of their steeds' growth, speculating things he did not wish to speculate. What kind of world was it, to think of bringing children into a war?

“Whomever we need to,” he said, finally. Caladan followed his gaze, his chin firm with an argument at first, before it dropped, and he nodded.

V
idarian hadn't the slightest idea how to go about finding someone who could build a mechanical body—but he knew someone who seemed to know more about the palace than many of the people who lived in it.

Since they'd returned to the palace, Ruby had been staying with Oneira and Iridan. Her reasoning was obvious, but stung nonetheless; it was difficult not to wonder how much of her remained whole inside the prism key. Such thoughts didn't help her, but despite the lashing of guilt that accompanied them he couldn't seem to keep them away.

Oneira had been locked in Company meetings from the moment the
Wind Maiden
touched down, and so Vidarian went to the Arboretum to find Iridan. Ruby had a “radius,” and as soon as Vidarian pushed open the Arboretum's massive stone door, he knew she was there.

“Good afternoon, Iridan.” The automaton was bent over a manuscript, but looked up when Vidarian greeted him.

“
Welcome, Captain. I trust you've recovered from our long journey?
”

“I have,” he said only. His instinct was to protest that he was hardly as taxed as he might have been, but that thought, too, was unproductive. “And yourself? I never got a chance to thank you personally for agreeing to come with us. Without you, we certainly would not have been permitted the ship.”

“
Most of my interests are portable
,” Iridan said, brushing the edges of the manuscript with copper fingertips. “
I was not duly inconvenienced, and the travel itself was refreshing.
”

“You're searching for your siblings? Modrian and Arian?”

The lights on Iridan's face brightened. “
That is well remembered, Captain. Yes, I search for them still.
”

“I wish I could be of more assistance to you,” he said, and meant it. “Your world is a foreign landscape to me.”

“
Mm
,” Iridan agreed, managing to lace more meaning into a single syllable than Vidarian had known diplomats to weave into an hour. “
How may I help you today, then, Captain?
”

“I—came to speak with Ruby, actually. Is she here?”

“
She is here—but I'm afraid she's asleep
.”

Vidarian drew back. “Asleep?”

Iridan made a musical sound, a brief rolling flute trill. “
We do sleep. Prism intelligences, that is. But special tools are required. I'm afraid Ruby was quite sleep deprived.
”

“She'll be better when she awakens, then?” He tried not to sound too relieved.

“
Improved, yes.
” There was a cloud of ambiguity around the words, something almost like worry. “
I'll have a note sent when she wakes. In the meantime, perhaps I can help you?
”

Vidarian worked not to frown as he considered how much to confide in Iridan. It was entirely likely that any words he provided would go straight to Oneira. “I'm looking for the history of crafting elemental devices—from comparatively simple ones, such as the relay spheres, even to such intricate and magnificent works as yourself.”

This time the musical sound was a kind of multinote pipe. “
You needn't waste a silver tongue on me, Captain
.” There was amusement, and also a hint of challenge. “
But what you seek is the Animator's Guild. There should be a history of heirs in the Great Library. You could request the volume from their office in the palace. I admit I would be quite curious as to what you find.
”

Vidarian blinked. “Do you mean to say you haven't spoken with them yourself?”

“
The emperor, and my sponsors here, think it would not be wise for me to go abroad in the city
.”

That was not difficult to believe, but somehow the thought was offensive. “You are captive here, then?”

Iridan's lights dimmed momentarily, then brightened again. “
This is my home, Captain. I do not consider it captivity.
”

He bowed slightly. “Of course. I apologize for the rash suggestion.”

“
Think not on it. But I would like to hear what you discover.
”

“I'll return tomorrow and tell you everything I can.”

“
Thank you, Captain.
”

Once he knew what he was looking for, the palace office of the Great Library was simple to find. The attendant, a bored noble's son, had a clear and manifest disinterest in whatever he would request, and so in short order he had a ticket providing claim to the most recent rolls of the Animator's Guild. The book took about an hour to retrieve from the library itself, and during the wait Vidarian thought of attempting to see Calphille, but worried that if he missed the delivery he would not be able to keep his promise to return to Iridan tomorrow. And he doubted that Calphille would have forgiven him, or the emperor, by now as it was.

The Animator's Guild roll proved surprisingly well organized. Assisting in its organization was the sad fact that only a handful of guildfolk remained committed to their craft. With over five centuries between the current practice and the last functioning elemental artifact, it was astonishing that any persisted at all. A striking concentration of them persisted in Rikan, and another tightly knit contingent in Qui—but there was one registered as alive and living in the Imperial City. And the roll provided an address.

Vidarian copied down the address onto two pieces of scrip and returned the book, then went to find Brannon, who would doubtless be with Thalnarra, and Rai. They were in the Sky Knights' training arena, and he left one of the address copies with them. Rai complained bitterly at not being brought along, but Vidarian had a difficult time imagining what he could bring to a delicately raised scholar that might disturb them
more
than a shapechanging wolf covered with electric thorns.

The Animator's name was Khalesh vel'Itai, and he lived in a modest but respectable district on the northeast side of the city. A light cab took him there—lit, as more than half the cabs in the city now were, by elemental lanterns. The effect as they bounced over the cobbles beneath a red sunset was striking and unsettling, a sea of bobbing pale blue lights that called to mind painterly visions of the spirit world.

Above the door at the address listed was a sign that said “Locksmith,” and Vidarian was quite sure the roll must have been out of date. He sighed heavily, and turned to call the cab back—but it was already gone.

The cab's quickness, however, turned out to be fortune; just as he turned back to the sign, looking to the east and west to see if perhaps the numbers had been changed, he caught sight of a small mark on the bottom corner.

It was a flame and gear-wheel insignia, the same as the one on Oneira's book.

He knocked on the door, and was rewarded almost immediately: first by a shout to go away, and second by an opening of the wrought-iron peephole cover.

“Who are you?”

“Khalesh vel'Itai?” Vidarian asked.

“No, that's who
I
am. Who are
you
?”

Vidarian gave a little half bow. “Captain Vidarian Rulorat, good sir, and I come seeking your copious wisdom regarding—”

“Not interested.”

He drew back. “But I—”

The iron peephole cover clanked shut, louder than should have been possible. “
Not interested.
”

“I'm willing to pay you,” Vidarian began, but only earned laughter. “I also come on request,” he said loudly, unable to keep an edge from creeping into his voice, “and on behalf of the automaton Iridan, created over a thousand years ago by the Grand Artificer Parvidian.”

The laughing stopped. There was a silence.

The door opened.

Khalesh vel'Itai stood there, his black-bearded head nearly brushing the doorjamb. He wore a battered leather apron covered with burns, thick wool arm-coverings even in the heat of the afternoon, and gloves that looked to be reinforced with metal and a pattern of tiny glowing gems. “You've met the automaton?” he said.

“I have,” Vidarian said. “He was quite interested to learn the fate of the Animator's Guild.”

Khalesh stuck his head out and looked up and down the street. Then he turned and beckoned with a glowing, gloved hand. “Come in.”

The Animator's house was a rabbit warren of narrow corridors, not by any architectural intent but by virtue of the number of objects he had crammed into the small space. Cabinets and drawers and armoires were everywhere, and coated with mechanical devices of all shapes and sizes.

Khalesh led Vidarian through the maze. They passed several small rooms, one of which had a large, multicolored bird on an iron stand that squawked a welcome with bone-scraping volume. Another was lined with tables laden with glass flasks of at least twenty types of meticulously labeled fluid in a rainbow of colors.

At last they came to a crowded drawing room. It was lined with bookcases on every wall except a narrow vertical band of stone that held a strange and wonderful fireplace. It was elemental fire, and it burned pure and clean—the finest Vidarian had ever seen other than the Living Flames of Sharli at the temple of the fire priestesses.

“Where in the world did you find that?” Vidarian couldn't help but ask.

Khalesh grunted, gesturing Vidarian to a tapestry-upholstered couch as he lifted an iron kettle onto a hook above the flames. “It's been here for generations. Turned itself on some weeks ago out of the blue. Rather startling, you see, as we'd been using that chamber to store books for the last half century or so. Lost a few to the flames, Lady bless.”

Yet another little thing for Vidarian to feel guilty about. The surge in elemental magic that had accompanied the gate had awakened the blue lanterns now carried by the cabs, and must have lit this fireplace as well. He decided not to mention it. “How long have you been here?”

The big man removed his gloves and set them on a lacquered side table—the gems dimmed as soon as he removed them—and spooned tea into an earthenware pot, touching his fingertips together to count as he did so. “Well, it's thirty-six generations, I think. Before that we were just a low merchant family in Khodu. My clan mothers instructed the family to become Animators—paid for my many-times great-grandmother's instruction—and we have been ever since.”

“Your ancestor was an Animator during the last time Iridan was awake, then,” Vidarian said. “The declining years of the Ascendancy.” He'd only heard it called that recently: more books, courtesy Oneira and the Company.

Khalesh nodded. The kettle rattled with its boil, and he slipped on a glove, picked it up, and poured steaming water into the teapot. Vidarian watched, struck by the speed and heat of the pure blue flame. “She met Iridan, once, family legend says.” He looked up, wordlessly challenging Vidarian's knowledge.

“I've just returned from a skyship journey with him.”

Eyes bright, Khalesh laughed. “A skyship as well. You must be quite the important fellow.”

“I was summoned by the emperor,” Vidarian said, to avoid being more direct, “and it's in his service—as well as on a private errand—that I sought you out. How did your family manage…” He realized what he was about to say was impolitic, and trailed off.

Khalesh laughed again, and poured black-green tea into a pair of silver-rimmed glass cups. “How did we manage to survive, practicing a trade that's been dead a thousand years?” He handed Vidarian a cup and gestured to the silver sugar dish. Vidarian took a piece of caramelized sugar, and Khalesh took one also, putting it directly into his mouth before picking up his glass and taking a sip. “The Guild has always known that Animation is a luxury art. Our creed as guildsmen and women is to protect the old knowledge at all costs, during times of waking and sleep for our charges, and in the meantime earn our bread through simpler mechanical devices.” He pointed around the room, which, though less cluttered than the others, still contained everything from laundry pulleys to padlocks to devices for which Vidarian had no names. “But you mustn't tease me, Captain. You enter my house with a promise of news of the automaton.”