The Realms of the Gods (7 page)

Grinning, Daine went inside. The stew smelled wonderful. Stirring it, the girl realized that she was half listening for a courier to arrive, wanting her or her friends to arm themselves and come quickly. There were no horns calling for riders to mount and ride out. There was no thunder of message drums, pounding signals to those who
had no mages to pass on the latest news. Her parents' house breathed rest and quiet.

I wish I could stay, she thought wistfully. I never realized how tired I've been, till now. And I can't stay—neither of us can.

THREE

DREAMS

As she moved the stew off the fire, she heard an assortment of sounds from one of the other rooms. She grinned: Numair had a habit of talking aloud as he fixed information of interest in his memory. Walking to an open door, she looked inside. Bent half double, the mage stood at the window as he tried to shave, using a mirror propped on the sill. That's the trouble with being so tall, she thought, not for the first time. The things most folk can make use of, like windowsills, are that much farther away from him.

When he took the razor from his skin, she asked, “Need help?”

His dark eyes lit in welcome. “It's good to see you on your feet.”

“It's good to be on them.” Getting the mirror, she held it for him. “Have you talked to Da or Ma about sending us home?”

He smiled crookedly, and wet his razor again. “Let us say rather that I have
attempted
to do so. They are amazingly elusive on the subject. The best I've gotten so far is that we may discuss it once you have recovered.”

“I've recovered,” she assured him. She knew that wasn't entirely true, but the images she had seen in the sunbird's display worried her.

“Daine,” he said, then stopped. She waited. Something was troubling him; she could hear it in his voice. “Perhaps—perhaps you should stay here when I return. This is your home. You'd be safe here.”

She put down the mirror, outraged. “How can you say that?
Tortall
is my home!”

“You'd be with Sarra—I know you've missed her. You'd get to know your father.” He put the mirror back on the sill and scraped the remaining bristles from his chin. “Look at it from my perspective.” He wouldn't meet her eyes, but his soft voice was pleading. “I was powerless against the Skinners. There are so many foes in this war, and too many are strange. I would like to know that
you,
at least, had a chance to survive.”

“I'll make my own chances, if you please.” Standing, she fought sudden dizziness. Carefully, she sat on the bed as Numair rinsed and dried his face.

“Will you at least consider it?” he asked, draping the towel over the window ledge.

“No.”

“Daine . . .” Picking up the mirror, he examined his face. His dark brows twitched together; he shoved the mirror under her nose. “What do you see?”

Instead of her reflection, the glass showed battle. Sir Raoul of the King's Own, Buri of the Queen's Riders, and a mixed company of the Own and Riders fought in a temple square. Ranged against them were Carthaki warriors in crimson leather. Overhead, creatures swooped down to attack the Tortallans with long-handled
axes. Daine gasped: These were some kind of bat-winged, flying apes, their long, black fur streaked with gray.

The image vanished. Numair put the mirror down with fingers that shook. Quietly, the girl described what she had seen in the sunbirds' dazzling flight.

“In the Divine Realms, we observe mortal affairs,” said Broad Foot, waddling into the room. “Liquid is the most reliable, but flame and mirrors work. Mortals who visit tell us that in their sleeping, just before they wake, they hear what is said as well.”

“Is it possible to observe specific people and events?” inquired Numair.

“Yes,” replied the duckmole. “It is how Sarra could observe you, Daine. With practice, you could master it in a week or so, and hear as well as see what goes on in the mortal realms.”

Numair picked up the mirror and sat on the bed.

“We'll finish our chat
later
,” Daine told him, standing. “I'm not done with you!” He was not listening. With a sigh, she left him, trying not to use the furniture for support.

The animal god followed her into her room. “Are you well?”

“Just tired is all.” Sitting on the bed, she rubbed her face. “Maybe climbing that bluff wasn't the cleverest thing to do my first day out of bed.”

The duckmole vanished from the floor, reappearing beside her on the coverlet. Careful not to bump him, Daine lay back. “Of all times for him to go protective on me. Maybe he ate something that was bad for him.” She closed her eyes.

“Maybe he loves you,” Broad Foot said.

She didn't hear. She was already asleep.

In her dream, a pale wolf approached. Instead of the
plumed tail that her kind bore proudly, the wolf's was thin and whiplike. “Rattail!” Daine ran to meet the chief female of the pack that had helped to avenge Sarra's murder. It didn't seem to matter that Rattail was dead, or that a nasty female named Frostfur had taken her place in the pack.

When she was close, the wolf turned and trotted away.

“Wait!” Daine shouted, and followed.

Rattail led her down a long, dark hall, stopping at a closed door. When the girl caught up, the wolf held her paw to her muzzle, as if to say “Hush!” Daine knelt and pressed her ear to the door.

“Gainel, Uusoae's power worries you too much.” While Daine had never heard that booming voice before, she knew that the speaker was Mithros the Sun Lord, chief of the gods. “We have always contained her. She has not the power to break through the barrier between her and us.”

“If she's got no power, how is she holding her own against you for the first time in a thousand years?” Daine stifled a gasp. That was Carthak's patron, the Graveyard Hag. “She's using tricks we've never seen before, and I don't like it. You're fighting her the way you always have. What if she's found a new way to overset us—a way that we've never encountered and don't know how to defeat?”

“She will not consume us,” Mithros said flatly. “She cannot fight us all, and she has no allies in any realm but her own.”

The dream faded as Daine opened her eyes. She was still tired; her legs and back felt limp. Her nose worked as well as ever, though. She breathed deeply, enjoying the flood of good smells in the air. One was stew, the other bread. She was
hungry.

Her dress should have been wrinkled from her nap,
but when she flapped her skirts, the creases vanished. Quickly she splashed water on her face and combed her hair, then went outside, hearing voices from the garden.

There was a bit of sunlight left, but globes of witch-fire hung over the table, growing brighter as night fell. Three men stood when she arrived. Sarra, Broad Foot, Queenclaw, and the badger nodded to her. Weiryn gestured to the new male. “Daughter, this is Gainel, Master of Dream, and one of the Great Gods. Gainel, my daughter, Veralidaine.”

The girl looked up into a pale face framed by an unruly mane of dark hair. The eyes were shadowy pits that stretched into infinity. Staring into them, she thought that she saw the movement of stars in the distance—or was it Rattail? Cold hands took hers, jolting her back to the present. The god brushed Daine's fingers with a polite kiss.

“He says it is a pleasure to meet you,” Weiryn told her. “You must excuse him—as the Dream King, he's only permitted to speak to mortals in dreams. We gods hear him”— Weiryn tapped his skull— “but you won't.”

Daine curtsied to the god. “I'm honored, Your Majesty.”

Gainel smiled, and took a seat at Sarra's right. Numair was at Weiryn's left; a place had been left for Daine between the mage and the duckmole. She stumbled, trying to climb over the bench. Numair caught her and braced her arm until she was seated.

As utensils clattered and plates were handed around, there was no way to avoid noticing that the company included a duck-beaver creature; a man crowned with antlers; and a lanky, pallid man who seemed to fade into the growing shadows even while his face shone under witchlights. More than anything Daine had observed since she and Numair were yanked out of that orchard, that dinner table said that Sarra Beneksri was not the Ma she had lived with in Galla.

The animal gods, her parents, and Gainel spoke mind to mind—she could see it in the way they turned their heads, moved their hands, or leaned forward. Daine concentrated on her food. She was fascinated by the variety. She hadn't seen a cow, wheat field or grape arbor, but there was wine, bread, and cheese as well as the hare. Even knowing that the hare god lived on in a fresh body, she couldn't bring herself to have its meat. When the wine pitcher came to her, she passed it to Numair without pouring any for herself. If the food and water of the Divine Realms made her senses reel, she didn't want to think what liquor might do.

Numair asked Weiryn a question, keeping his voice low.

“Petition the Great Gods, for all the good it will do.” Weiryn's reply could be heard by all. “They are too busy fighting Uusoae to ferry mortals back home. They won't even reply to mind calls from us lesser gods.”

Numair looked at Gainel. “Forgive me,” he said, “but our friends are hard pressed. Might
you
send us home? You are one of the Great Gods, and you don't look as if you are locked in combat with the Queen of Chaos.”

Gainel smiled, shadowed eyes flickering, and shook his head.

“He says you forget your myths,” Sarra told them. “Of the Great Gods, the Dream King alone cannot enter the mortal realms. He can only send his creatures to do his work there.”

“Forgive me,” Numair said politely. “I
had
forgotten.”

On her foot, caught in a beam of light that fell between her and Numair, something moved. Reshaping her eyes to those of a cat, she looked harder. An inky shadow had thrown a tentacle over her bare foot. Was it the darking that Weiryn had shot?

“Pass the cheese?” asked Broad Foot, nudging her with his head. She obliged, forking slices onto his plate.
As the duckmole happily mashed cheese in his bill, she glanced at her companions. Queenclaw mildly batted a piece of bread to and fro. Her mother seemed to be conversing with Gainel, while Numair tried to learn from Weiryn if a human mage might have better luck in approaching the rulers of the Divine Realms.

“I don't see why you fuss about it so,” Weiryn snapped. “Come the fall equinox,
you
at least will be dragged back to your wars, and I wish you joy of them!”

“They don't
give
me joy, and I didn't ask for them,” Numair said, voice tight. “Would you prefer we let Ozorne and his allies roll over us?”

Daine palmed some cheese. Breaking off a piece, she let her hand drop to hang beside her leg, and offered the tidbit to the creature. Tentacles grabbed the cheese and pulled it into the shadow. Daine offered another morsel. The darking made that vanish, too.