Lords of the Sky (34 page)

It came from the south, where the valley wall was broken by a shallow cleft. It was not much distance off, and I saw that it should be hidden from Thornbar by the folding terrain. I wondered what it presaged. Perhaps some other travelers; if so, a sizable group, for it was a big fire. I felt no great need or desire for company, but curiosity prompted me to set down my burden and make my way through the trees to discover who lit the blaze. It occurred to me that brigands were not unknown in these parts, and therefore I approached cautiously. I thought that if it were bandits, I would regain my horse and return to Thornbar with word. If it proved no more than some merchant’s caravan, I would, from sense of duty, make myself known and regale them with a tale or two.

It was neither, but still it was as well I came thieflike.

I could see the fire clearly through the oaks, growing ever larger as I drew nearer. Sparks climbed the sky in fiery echo of the stars. I saw the ground break up before me, forming a rocky bowl, at the bottom of which the blaze was built. Light reflected off the stone, and I counted four figures, which was not many for so large a conflagration. I could see no horses. I halted on the edge of the timber, hugging the shadows. I cursed myself for leaving my staff. I dropped onto my belly and crawled to the rim of the bowl. Boulders and trees hid me as I peered down. I stifled a gasp of surprise as I realized the figures below were not Truemen, neither honest merchants nor ill-purposed outlaws, but Changed. I frowned, wondering what they did, building such a blaze here, and from where they had come. I could think only that they were indentured to Thornbar, to the keep or the town, and had slipped away. For what purpose, I had not the least idea. Perhaps some secret ceremony known only to their kind? I knew from Urt that the Changed met away from the eyes of men, that there were rituals they performed in private—marriages and the like—but not of any that would bring four Changed into the hills by night to build a fire.

Then something turned my gaze skyward. Perhaps it was some sixth sense; perhaps some shifting of the air, a pressure so subtle as to be felt only by instinct. I know only that I looked up and saw an airboat descending. Almost, I rose and fled. Certainly I felt sweat burst hot on my brow, and then immediately cool so that I shivered. I tensed, a hand clamping about a gnarled root. I swallowed, willing my body to blend with the ground, with the shadows. The Kho’rabi wizards were able to sense the presence of magic, that I knew. Could they also sense me? I think that had the airboat not been so close, I should have taken to my heels. But it was, and I knew that if I fled now, the Sky Lords must surely see me and pursue me; and slay me. For a moment I was a child again, returned to the beach of Whitefish village: I longed to void my bowels. Those, too, I willed to silence and stillness.

The skyboat came from the east, silent as a hunting owl. The fire’s glow lit its underside. I thought of burning blood. I could see very clearly the elementals that sported about the craft. They seemed better defined in the fire’s light. I counted faces in the black basket hung beneath: ten, as before,
lit ruddy. I watched the boat come down to hover awhile. It was on a level then with my position, and I thought—I knew!—the Kho’rabi looked directly at me. I held my breath. I sought to make myself one with the rock, a shadow amongst shadows. I closed my eyes an instant, and when they opened, I saw the vessel sink, close by the fire. The basket touched ground, and the occupants sprang clear. The Kho’rabi wizard raised his hands, chanting in that odd, almost-understandable language. Then he joined the others, who faced the four Changed.

They spoke together.

It was a while before that sank in. I huddled, watching them, listening. The fire—a guiding beacon, I realized—lit them clear, and the stone bowl magnified their speech. I heard the Kho’rabi speak and the Changed respond, but long moments passed before that fact registered on my bewildered senses. I could not decipher what they said, and it seemed they had some difficulty, as if one side or the other spoke a learned tongue. But converse they did, which was another oddity in this night of amazements.

They seemed not quite friendly, somewhat wary of one another, but nonetheless it was obvious an alliance existed here. I watched as the Changed prepared food and all sat down to eat; and after, the Changed brought out sacks that were stowed on board the airboat. I had no sense of time’s passing, nor was I any longer aware of my fear. It remained with me, but it was dulled, pressed down into unimportance under the tremendous weight of my curiosity. What I witnessed was unprecedented. I prayed to the God I doubted that I might live to tell the tale.

I heard a wolf howl far away across the hills, the call answered by another that was closer. I heard an owl. Indeed, for some time the bird perched close by, studying me as if uncertain whether I was a living man or carrion. After a while it launched itself, swooping across the bowl. The Kho’rabi were on their feet at that, for all the bird’s passage was almost soundless. Those black-armored warriors, however, came upright on the instant, and I saw that three held nocked bows of dark, lacquered wood. I felt my heart thunder then, watching their eyes scan the slopes. I thought that if they chose to investigate, I would run. Perhaps in the darkness amongst the trees they would miss me. A pessimistic
voice whispered in my ear, telling me I was a fool, that the time to flee was long gone, and were I spotted only death awaited. I farced myself to breathe evenly and did not move. The Kho’rabi wizard said something, answered by one of the Changed, and the bowmen eased their strings and settled back by the fire. The shadows filled, thickening, as the night grew older. I felt my muscles stiffen. The ground felt cold.

Then the Sky Lords returned to their vessel. The Changed saluted. The wizard spoke, and the elementals floating about the airboat stirred. It was like watching a mist lit by firelight. There was a sighing, mournful music, and the airboat rose, straight up into the night. I scarce dared turn my head to watch, and when I did, my neck protested the movement. I saw the airboat hover, turn toward the south, and then it was gone, lost against the sky, a shadow prowling the night. I returned my gaze to the Changed. They stood awhile, watching, then kicked the fire dead and clambered limber over the rocks. For a fearful moment I thought they came my way, but they cleared the bowl east of my position and ran away through the trees.

I waited until I was certain I was alone. Then I rose, groaning as my rigid muscles unlocked. I stretched, working feeling back into my body, and walked slowly to the clearing where the gray mare waited. She lifted her head as I approached and whickered softly. I blessed her for her patience and her silence, but when I moved to stroke her muzzle, she rolled her eyes and bared her yellow teeth. I contented myself with murmured thanks of which she took no notice.

I unstoppered my wineskin and swallowed a long draught. My stomach rumbled, and I found cheese and bread and settled on my blanket. I set my staff close to hand. It was foolish of me, but I no longer cared to light a fire. My mind was racing, and I peered constantly about, wondering if the night hid watching eyes. I decided the mare should give me warning if ambush threatened and did my best to order my thoughts.

My first impulse was to saddle the gray and ride headlong for Thornbar Keep, to bring word to Morfus of Changed treachery. Then I thought that perhaps the Changed I had seen had not come from Thornbar. I thought that it should not matter much, the outcome would be much
the same. Did I go to the aeldor with my tale, what course could he take but to announce betrayal, to inform the Lord Protector and his fellow aeldors that Changed and Sky Lords came together? And for what purpose other than betrayal of Dharbek? That would be his duty, and I did not think Morfus was a man to shirk his duty, nor entertain such doubts as I. Even did he seek to hold it secret, such news—such a fear—would surely not stay hidden long, but would become public knowledge.

And what then? A pogrom? A purging of the Changed? Or their banishment across the Slammerkin to Ur-Dharbek, those—perhaps innocent—who survived? My troubled mind conjured an image of Truemen and Changed locked in bloody strife. I was not sure who would win.

And where, I wondered as the night grew chill and my soul yet colder, should that leave we Truemen? We depended too much on the services of the Changed that our world might continue smooth without them. We relied on their labor: our society would collapse without them. It was an alarming thought.

But so was the notion that all across the land the Changed played the part of spies for the Sky Lords; that the Kho’rabi had eyes and ears throughout Dharbek. That did they mount their Great Coming, the Changed might rise to stab we Truemen in the back.

Fear counterbalanced fear; confusion stood paramount. The bread I chewed threatened to clog my throat: I spat it out and rinsed my mouth with wine. I did not know what to do. My duty as a Trueman was clear—to warn Morfus, to urge he send word to Kherbryn and to Durbrecht. I thought that did I do my duty, I condemned Urt and all his kind to massacre.

Then I wondered if he knew. And with that wondering came a fresh consideration—What if those Changed I had seen were some outlaw group? What if they acted alone? Were that the case, I should be responsible for the suffering of thousands of innocent Changed. I felt a horror of such bloodshed. I felt torn.

I looked to the sky and saw it brightening with dawn’s approach. It was empty of enlightenment. I wished I had not seen that cursed fire; that I had quit Thornbar earlier, or later, or gone another way. I cursed myself and fate, but
what was, was, and all my wishing could not change it. I threw back my head and bellowed a curse.

The rising sun found me squatted on my blanket, oblivious to the dew or the chorus of the birds. Curious rabbits studied me and were ignored. I was no wiser, nor any more decided.

I wished Rwyan or Urt were here, that I might ask them what I should do. I wished there were someone with whom I might share this dreadful burden. Its weight ground me down.

I was still sitting as the sun climbed to its noonday zenith. My mare had given up her demands for oats and set sullenly to cropping the grass. I was, I think, more than a little mad then.

I had no answers, only the prospect of terrible slaughter did I do my duty, the prospect of dreadful bloodshed did I not. I could not convince myself of the rectitude of either course. I felt that down the one path lay betrayal of my people, down the other betrayal of the Changed.

I reached a compromise. Perhaps it was born of cowardice. I know not, only that it seemed to me the sole path I might take and still hold true to my own conscience: I decided I would hold my tongue.

I decided (or perhaps I merely sought to justify my indecision) that the Sky Lords did not yet command such power over the elementals that they could launch their Great Coming. Therefore Dharbek was at least a little while safe. Meanwhile, I would endeavor to discover if the Changed—all of them—did indeed conspire against we Truemen, or if only some faction allied with the Kho’rabi. Should I find such a plot existed, then I would make known all I had seen, all I might by then have learned. I should face awful punishment, but until such time as I could
know,
I would hold silent.

I prayed I did the right thing.

I
rode south with my secret. It was a burden I had rather not carried, but it dwelt with me, an incubus I could not shed save at risk of birthing its mate. In the keeps I told my tales and conversed with commurs-magus and -mage, aeldors and jennyms, soldiers and common folk, as Daviot the Storyman, thinking all the time that I was now Daviot the Betrayer by their lights. Often I was tempted to blurt it out. Often I smiled and spoke and pretended all was well as I felt guilt beat a cold tocsin in my heart. Often I wondered if the sorcerers saw through me, or into me, and only played some arcane game with me, allowing me to mire myself ever deeper in treachery. Nights I lay often awake, the gladiators of doubt and guilt battling in my head. But I said nothing; it was as if a lock lay upon my tongue, keyed by irresolution.

It was a place too small to own a name: no more than seven rough cottages set within a cleared space in the woods, animal pens nearby, and vegetable patches. I saw that there were seven houses as I approached, and I wondered if that was an omen of some kind. Are three and seven not luck’s numbers? I was met by a pack of barking dogs, sizable hounds of assorted colors and a uniformity of large teeth. One—the leader of the pack, I supposed—dared snap at my mare’s fetlocks. Her ears were already flattened, her nostrils flared. She liked dogs no better than any other living thing,
and she sent this particular hound howling into retreat, the rest deciding caution was the better part of valor. I was nearly unseated by her display, and by the time I had her calmed, we had an audience.

They were mostly women, the only males a handful of children who stared wide-eyed at my ferocious steed. One stepped forward, two small faces peering from behind the protection of her skirts.