The Silent Tempest (Book 2) (32 page)

“Watching you interact with your offspring
has also made me realize that what happened in the arena a few days ago was a
terrible wrong. I do not expect you to believe me, but I campaigned against
that match, even though I had no control over the Mordan or the Illeniels.”

Tyrion was stunned. It was difficult for
him to decide what to feel. He still feared, no
hated
, the She’Har,
Thillmarius more than any of them, but now he was hearing something he had
never expected.
Is he mocking me?
That was unlikely, though. The
She’Har were notoriously honest. They could lie if necessary, but a fake
apology was far too subtle for them. The She’Har really was trying to
apologize.

“Lyralliantha’s pronouncement,” added
Thillmarius, “that you were her kianthi, changed your status, but the debate has
gone far beyond that.”

“The debate among your elders?”

The lore-warden nodded, “Not just among
mine, but the elders of all the groves. Last month I proposed that my people
change their definitions of both baratti and She’Har to create a new category
for your people.”

“Please explain, Thillmarius,” said
Tyrion. “Nothing has changed, why this sudden change of heart?”

“Our understanding has changed, Tyrion.
When we first came to this world, we had only three major categories for
defining life. The first category was inhabited by just ourselves, living,
intelligent, self-aware life that can manipulate and control aythar. We
considered this to be the highest form of life, the only sort of life with what
your ancestors would have called a ‘soul’. The second category was all other
life, the baratti, animals, living things that possessed aythar but could not
manipulate it. Humans fit neatly within this category when we first arrived,
therefore we had no qualms about taking this world for our own.”

“You saw their cities, you’ve studied
their science,” Tyrion pointed out. “How could you think them animals?”

Thillmarius nodded, “We knew they were
intelligent, but we did not believe your kind to be truly alive in the same way
that we are. We thought of you as living machines.”

Tyrion found himself grinding his teeth
and consciously forced himself to relax. “What was the third category?”

“The Great Enemy that pursues us across
the stars, across the dimensions,” answered Thillmarius, “but they are not
pertinent to this discussion.”

“Could they come here?”

The Prathion smiled, “No. We are safe
here. The Illeniel and Mordan elders devised an unbreakable defense for this
dimension before we came to this world. The Mordan and Centyr were able to
make it work as the Illeniel elders planned. There will be no more pursuit.”

Tyrion had about a dozen questions, but he
focused on the most basic first, “Why are they a different category? What’s
different about them?”

“That is not something I am at liberty to
discuss,” Thillmarius informed him, “nor is it pertinent to this conversation.
What is important here, is that we now believe your species is truly
self-aware, truly alive.”

Tyrion shook his head, “How could that
take you so long to figure out? Anyone could have told you that.”

The lore-warden pursed his lips, thinking
carefully. After a brief pause, he continued, “This is difficult to explain.
Did you know that it is possible to create a machine that can think?”

His experience with machines didn’t go
much past wagons and looms, but he remembered the ancient human city that
Thillmarius had once shown him, along with the descriptions of the fantastic
things they had devised. It still seemed strange, though. “That doesn’t
really make sense.”

“Nevertheless, it is true,” said
Thillmarius. “Your people had already done so when we arrived. The main point
is that it is possible to create a machine from simple materials—metal, stone,
glass. One can create a machine that can think and converse, but it is not
alive, it is not truly self-aware. It may have the ‘seeming’ of a She’Har, or
in your case, of a human. It can be made so perfectly that it would be
impossible for you or me to tell the difference, but it is still just a
machine.”

Tyrion imagined a doll that could talk,
and the idea gave him chills. “That’s just—disturbing.”

“Just so,” agreed Thillmarius. “That is
how we thought of your people.”

“What?! How could you mistake us for
machines?”

“But you are, dear human. You are a
fantastic, naturally occurring machine, but instead of metal and gears you are
built of blood and bone,” said Thillmarius. The look on Tyrion’s face made him
hurry to add, “And so are the She’Har, whether you are talking about our
elders, or our children, such as myself. We are fantastic biological
machines.”

It felt as if he was mentally drowning.
The concept that Thillmarius was trying to convey had twisted his mind into
knots. “Your argument is circular, Thillmarius. There is no way to know
whether your kind or mine are truly alive according to what you say.”

“But there is,” said Thillmarius.
“Awareness is a property of aythar, even the grass at your feet possesses it in
some small quantity. Animals and such things possess it in even greater
amounts. The humans we first encountered on this world had it as well, but
they were unable to manipulate it. They were unable even to sense its
presence. That is why we thought them to be animals, or in the words we just
discussed, minimally aware biological machines. Creatures possessing
intelligence but no true self-awareness, no real soul. Therefore we saw fit to
do with you as we wished.”

“That’s inane. I have much more aythar
than you,” reminded Tyrion, “but I would not be so foolish as to think you were
not truly intelligent.”

Thillmarius nodded, “Intelligence isn’t
the point, though. We thought there was some threshold of true awareness.
Intelligence can be produced even in a true machine without any aythar. The
criteria that we thought pivotal was the ability to manipulate aythar at a high
level, what we call spellweaving.

“After we produced our first ‘human’
children, She’Har adapted to this world, we proceeded to experiment with true
humans. The result was the human slaves you see today in Ellentrea and the
other slave cities. They were identical to the wild humans we first fought,
but with the addition of a few genetic changes they were able to perceive and
manipulate aythar. We had made them mages, just as you are. At that time, we
thought that might make them truly self-aware and sentient,” continued the
lore-warden.

“But they were cruel and savage brutes.
Their intelligence was lower than that of your distant ancestors, and they had
no inkling of compassion or empathy. We decided that they must be animals
still, albeit intelligent ones. At that point we conjectured that spellweaving
must be the crucial difference.”

“We still cannot spellweave,” noted
Tyrion. “Has something changed your mind?”

“You, Tyrion,” said Thillmarius. “You
changed my mind. Your suffering was apparent from the beginning, but I thought
it no different from our other slaves at first. But then you began to show
signs of something deeper, your music for one thing, although others debated
that the ancient humans had that as well. Your compassion and concern for you
children and their empathy for one another were also strong factors in the
debate. Even that was not enough to convince many of the elders, though.

“Your success in the arena is what first
restarted the debate. Your children’s success is pushing it to the point at
which few of the elders will be able to deny it,” said Thillmarius.

“Why would violence and killing change
their minds? Your slaves have been doing that for centuries now.”

“It was also your primitive spellweaving,”
said the lore-warden. “This ‘enchanting’ as you call it. That was pivotal,
but the obvious superiority of your wild upbringing, and the superiority of
your children, who were similarly raised, has made the difference. Now my
people can no longer ignore what has been in front of them for so long. Not
only are your kind aware, but it is the actions of my people that have made
them seem so primitive. We have not just taken your world, but in our attempt
to create a sentient, self-aware human race, we were actually making you
worse. We have not been experimenting with animals, we have been torturing a
fellow sentient race.”

Thillmarius stared deeply into his eyes,
“This is what I believe, although I was ignorant at first. The Illeniels
believed this all along, but my grove, and the others, did not. Now they are
starting to change their minds. I am trying to make them see, but some do not
want to listen.”

“Why is that so hard for them to believe?”

The Prathion looked at the ground,
“Because changing that perception, paints my people as tyrants and monsters.
If they accept the notion that your kind are like us, then we have perpetrated
a great crime against another truly self-aware species. We have been
murderers, torturers, and violators of the worst kind.

“I would ask for your forgiveness,
Tyrion. I have harmed you, and I continued to harm you even after I began to
have doubts. I cannot make up for the wrongs I have done, but I will do my
best to create a better world for your children.”

The anger that had simmered for so long
beneath the surface in Tyrion began to rise once more. Thillmarius’ admission
of guilt did nothing to assuage it, in fact, it only seemed to fan the flames.
“The hatred I feel for you and your people goes far beyond what a word like ‘forgiveness’
could ever hope to cure,” he told the lore-warden.

Thillmarius bowed his head, “I can only
accept that, Tyrion, for I believe you have good cause to feel that way, but I
should tell you, that it is your ‘love’ that has brought the greatest change.”

“Love?!” He hadn’t even thought the
Prathion knew the word.

“Yes, love. When Lyralliantha declared
that you were her kianthi, she was invoking love. Our people have never been
highly emotional, but once, in our distant past, we knew the meaning of love.
The kianthi were our partners, and we felt love. They were responsible for the
expansion of our race when we were struggling just to stay alive. The elders
know this, and the lore-wardens know this, but Lyralliantha did not. We
remember what once was, even though it is no longer present in our people. One
reason she was chosen to take the loshti, was because the elders suspected she
had rediscovered this. If she becomes a lore-warden, she will be able to
compare the past to what she has found with you in the present.”

Tyrion shook his head, caught between
anger and confusion, but Thillmarius went on, “I reopened the debate about your
kind some years ago, but it was going nowhere. When Lyralliantha said that you
were her kianthi, her words set fire to the elders’ thoughts. The other groves
could no longer ignore my protests, they could no longer ignore the philosophy
of the Illeniel Grove. They had to open their eyes.”

“So what happens now?” asked Tyrion.

“Nothing,” said the Prathion. “The debate
still goes on. Some refuse to be convinced, but with each victory your
children produce, they demonstrate their superiority to our slaves. That is
proof that our methods of keeping your people were not only improper, but that
we were harming them, making them worse rather than better.”

“Of course,” said Tyrion with a sarcastic
chuckle, “the answer is always more killing. Haven’t the She’Har had enough
blood?”

“We have not won the argument yet,” said
Thillmarius sadly. “I think time is enough now, but until the elders of the
other groves concede, there will continue to be matches. Every fight your
children win makes the case for humanity even stronger.”

“If nothing has changed, why are you
telling me this?” said Tyrion bitterly. “Do you think it will make me think
better of you? I still despise you.”

“No,” said the lore-warden. “But I
thought it might give you hope, and from what I have seen, hope is a better
motivator for your people than fear could ever be.”

Tyrion smoothed his features, trying to
hide his anger once more. “I will think on your words. Logic will rule my
actions for the sake of my children, but I will not lie to you Thillmarius, my
heart will always ache to burn you and your people to ash.”

Before the next arena day had arrived,
both Piper and Blake awakened to their powers. It worried Tyrion because they
had barely two days to learn the basics before their blooding matches, but as
it turned out he needn’t have worried. His other children were united in their
dedication to make sure that Piper and Blake were as ready as possible, and
while both of them were emotionally marked by their first kills, they survived
without incident.

The others performed well in their
fights. Even Ian, who had embarrassed them so badly the week before, managed
his match without difficulty, remaining focused on winning rather than his
‘other’ proclivities.

Ryan demonstrated his cleverness during
his fight, showing even more confidence than before and controlling his fight
from start to finish, but Brigid’s match was the most spectacular of the
bunch. She was fully recovered now, and her strength and the intensity of her
focus enabled her to take her opponent apart with brutal efficiency.

By the end of the day there was no doubt,
Tyrion’s children had eliminated the other competitors without giving the
opposition even the illusion that they might prevail.

He was glad they had succeeded, but their
success made him even more apprehensive. He knew from personal experience what
happened once the She’Har thought the matches were too easy. The young men and
women of Colne were learning rapidly, and their constant practice with each
other, alongside their uncommon strength, meant their skill was increasing at a
much greater pace than Tyrion’s had.

At this rate it won’t be long
before they want them to face more than one foe at a time.

They were strong enough for that, of that
he had no doubt, but the dynamics of fighting while outnumbered were
different. Such fights required strong tactics and most importantly, immense
confidence. Risks had to be taken. Losing the initiative in such a situation
would result in the enemy combining against the outnumbered mage, and that
would likely prove fatal.

Brigid was the only one he could be sure
would win against such odds. The others were still developing their nerve and
determination.

But he could give them advantages he had
never had.

“From tomorrow on we will be changing the
schedule. In the mornings you will break into five groups—three groups of
three, and two groups of two. The groups of two will work on one on one
tactics, while the groups of three will practice with one against two. Layla
will be supervising as usual, and she will participate in one of the groups to
help you get better used to Prathion tactics.” Tyrion was addressing them
around the evening fire as they rested after their day in the arena and digested
the contents of a heavy meal.

David raised his hand, and Tyrion nodded
for him to speak. “Begging your pardon, sir, but why two on one? The arena
matches are always one on one.”

“Normally that is true,” he responded,
“but while I was fighting in the arena they decided to change things when it
appeared that my fights were no longer challenging. I had to fight two at once,
and by the end of my time I was routinely battling four at a time.”

Piper sat at the end of one of the wooden
logs, and her eyes were still haunted by the memory of her first kill.
Tyrion’s words alarmed her, “Four?!”

Emma remained practical in her outlook.
“It makes sense I suppose,” she sighed. “We’ll just have to work harder to
make sure we have the skill to manage it.”

Tyrion gestured toward Brigid. “You have
many things that I lacked. Training was unheard of then, and I was without
even the most basic knowledge that those raised in Ellentrea already had. You
have my experience and each other to practice with and learn from. I will also
give you the tattoos that you see on Brigid’s arms, those and more.” He waved
his hand downward, indicating the rest of his body. “The enchantment created
by these tattoos will give you defenses that no ordinary mage can hope to
pierce, except with weapons created by similar magic.” He activated the force
blade enchantment along one of his arms.

“These will make you nearly invincible,
but you must use them sparingly. Draw the fights out and make them seem harder
than they are, otherwise they will be pitting you against more than one
opponent sooner rather than later,” Tyrion explained.

Ryan whistled appreciatively, and David’s
eyes lit with anticipation, but Abby frowned. “Do we really have to mark
ourselves with such garish symbols?”

Tyrion started to reply, but Brigid broke
her silence and spoke first, “If you want to live, Abigail, then yes, you need
them.” Brigid rose from her seat, her slender form casting long shadows in the
firelight as she spoke with intensity, “We need every weapon possible. Someday
we will face more than just weak slaves, and it takes powerful blades to cut
through She’Har spellweaving.”

Some of the others looked uncomfortable at
her mention of the She’Har, but they didn’t object. All of them had fought
now, even if they didn’t like the prospect. Tyrion chose then to interrupt,
“Let us not speak of such things in open air, for now we need only focus on
making you stronger. After the morning practices, I will spend the afternoons
working with you one by one to complete the same tattoos that I have on me
now. Everyone else will work with Ryan to complete the expansions to the new
outbuildings. You must each learn the rudiments of enchanting, so that you can
bind and strengthen the stones the same way I have done with my house.”

They talked for a while longer, but when
everyone grew tired and began to seek their beds Ryan approached him again.
“When will we be able to send the wagon to Colne?” He was anxious to make
contact and begin trading. Tyrion suspected he also hoped to see his parents.

“We can’t yet,” said Tyrion. “The collars
make it impossible until Lyralliantha returns. She can set them to allow for
travel.”

“Can’t you just…,” Ryan gestured with his
fingers as if he were holding a pair of scissors, “…snip, snip.”

Tyrion sighed, “I could, but then you
would be at risk again until you returned. I would also have to make more excuses
to Byovar and hope that he would do me the favor of putting a new one on you
before the next arena day.”

“You don’t have one anymore,” pointed out
the boy.

He nodded, “I’ve been given a special
privilege, and my hope is that someday you will all be able to be free of them,
but that is not today.”

“We really need a lot of things from
there,” prodded Ryan.

Tyrion took a different course, “I know
you’d like to see your parents, Ryan, but have you thought of the other news
you would have to deliver if you went?”

The young man’s face was confused for a
moment before sudden realization struck him, “You mean Gabriel, and…”

“…Haley, and Jack,” finished Tyrion.

“We don’t have to tell them right away,”
suggested the boy.

“I’ve told enough lies,” said Tyrion. “It
would be cruel to keep them in the dark.”

“It will be cruel to tell them.”

He shook his head negatively, “No, I’ve
been down that road, better to get it out sooner. Let them grieve and move
on.”

Ryan opened his mouth and then closed it
again, trying and failing to find a suitable response.

“I will make a trip this week, alone if
necessary,” said Tyrion. “That way I can bear the ill news. You and Tad can
make the next trip, assuming Lyralliantha has returned and will set your
collars as I hope she will.”

“Yes, sir,” said Ryan, not bothering to
conceal his disappointment.

***

Two days later Tyrion made the trip to
Colne, but he did not go alone. Kate rode beside him on the driver’s seat.
She watched the trail ahead of them anxiously as the roof of her old home
gradually rose into sight.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” asked
Tyrion for perhaps the dozenth time.

She nodded affirmatively even as she
answered, “No, but I need to see my son.”

“I could come in with you,” he offered yet
again.

“That wouldn’t help. Go to town, take
care of your business.” She turned to give him a stern look, “And please,
please, don’t murder anyone.”

He held up his hands, “I didn’t hurt
anyone last time.”

“Only because…,” her words cut off
suddenly as she saw her son, Aaron. He was hiking up the trail carrying water
to the house. The boy spied her at almost the same time, dropping the bucket
and running toward them.

Tyrion watched Kate’s face as it lit with
joy, her eyes already welling with tears as she climbed down from the seat.
“You don’t have to come back with…”

“You be here,” she told him firmly. “If
you try to leave without me, I’ll just walk back. I know where you live now.”

He nodded but her attention was not on him
any longer, Aaron had reached her, and the two of them were hugging fiercely.
After a moment, the boy looked up at him from his mother’s shoulder, glaring
daggers in his direction.

Tyrion looked away and flicked the reins
to get the horses moving again. He ignored the boy’s stare.
Don’t waste
your time kid,
he thought,
I’ve been hated by those far better at it
than you.

A little more than an hour later he rolled
into Colne. The first people to recognize him got off the street quickly,
shutting themselves inside their houses. A few children ran, warning others.
Within minutes the town looked almost deserted, or it would have, if he hadn’t
been able to sense the townsfolk huddling in their homes.

Tom Hayes waited in front of his store.
Tyrion had to give him credit for his courage.

“How is Tad?” asked Tom. Alice was coming
out now, to stand beside her husband.

Tyrion dipped his head in greeting. “Your
son is well. His magic has awakened. He will be a powerful mage.”

“Is he getting enough to eat?” put in
Alice.

“Actually,” began Tyrion, “That’s why I’ve
come today.”

“If you keep robbing me, I’ll have to
close the store,” said Tom bitterly. “We’re already in debt to every farmer
and tradesman for miles around.”

“I am not insensitive to your plight,”
said Tyrion. “I’ve brought iron to trade, enough to make amends for what I’ve
cost you in the past, and more besides.”

“Iron?” said Alice curiously.

“We normally trade with Lincoln to get
iron,” declared the storekeeper.

Tyrion pulled back the canvas that hid the
bed of the wagon, displaying neat rows of heavy iron bar stock. The weight of
it was such that the wagon was only half loaded, otherwise the horses would
have been unable to draw the wagon. Tom’s eyes widened slightly.

“That’s more than Colne could use in a
year. What would you have me do with it?” complained Tom.

“It was Tad’s suggestion,” Tyrion informed
him. “Rather than trading Lincoln for iron, you could trade iron
to
them.
They have a far greater need for it he tells me.”

“That would upset the miners there, not to
mention the foundry,” said the store keeper, rubbing his chin. “How much of
this do you have?”

As much as you want,
thought Tyrion.
The earth is full of it.
“I could get
more easily. Cut stone would be simple to acquire as well, but transporting it
is even more burdensome.”

“We don’t see much demand for stone around
here,” said Tom, but his face was thoughtful.

“That might change if it were cheap and in
good supply,” hinted Tyrion.

Tom bobbed his head, “That might be. Come
inside and let’s discuss it. I assume you’ve brought a list of what you need?”

Tyrion smiled and patted his chest, his
list was folded and tucked inside his leather armor.

The three of them talked for almost an
hour. He spent some of that time reassuring both of them that their son was
doing well, the rest of it was used to discuss their business plans. Tom and
Alice were in a considerably better mood by the time they finished.

“I’ll organize the shipment,” said Tom,
rubbing his hands together. “It will take at least five wagons, but I think I
can borrow enough to handle it. I have some things on hand that you want, but
the rest will have to wait.”

“Thank you for bringing word about Tad,”
added Alice. She and her husband smiled at one another for a moment.

They realize I’m going to make
them rich.

A knock on the door distracted them then.
Mona Evans stood outside, looking anxious. Alice spoke to her briefly, trying
to discourage her from entering, but the woman forced her way inside.

“Where is my son? Is he alive?” demanded Gabriel’s
mother once she spotted Tyrion.

He rose and walked toward her, noting the
trembling in her hands as he drew near.
She’s scared to death, but even
that’s not enough to keep her away,
marveled Tyrion. “Your son is dead,”
he told her sadly.