The Long Look, page 20
part #1 of The Laws of Power Series
Everywhere Koric heard the sound of water. Dripping onto the ends of the spires of stone from the barely visible ceiling, gurgling slowly as it flowed past them in a small river near the center of the room. Koric shivered in the damp.
"We’d better cross here," Tymon said. "From the shape of the room I’m guessing there’ll be a pool or a natural cistern of some kind near the other end."
Even though the stream was closer to a brook than a river where they stood, it was still too wide to jump across. Tymon waded slowly into the water, feeling ahead with one foot for drop offs. Koric stepped in behind him and the shock of cold water on his legs made his teeth chatter. In a moment they were through it and dripped their way along the riverside toward the front of the cavern.
Koric kept casting worried glances at the torch. "Master Tymon, the torch won’t last too much longer."
"Hmm."
Koric wasn’t sure if that meant agreement or just unconcern. Tymon finally came to a place where the bank sloped up sharply for a few feet and climbed it, holding the torch high. Toward the end of the cave there was another rise in the cavern floor, forming a shelf several feet wide along the far wall, where it disappeared into a side passage.
Tymon nodded in that direction. "It probably doesn’t go very far, though that might be corrected, if necessary."
Koric started to say something, realized that Tymon wasn’t really talking to him at all. He simply waited until Tymon finally nodded and turned, smiling.
"It’s perfect," he said. "Almost like a stage. I couldn’t have arranged it better if I’d hired a master draftsman."
Koric just stared for a moment, before deciding he could talk again. "Perfect? I don’t understand. Are the princes here or not?"
Tymon frowned. "Of course they’re here. Didn’t you see them? They’re down by the pool...well, lake, really."
Koric looked down to a place where dark water turned the floor of the cavern into an underground lake. By the shore he saw two forms, still easily and quickly recognizable once he’d had them pointed out to him. Bones. Human bones, still holding their shape where they fell.
"His Late Majesty had no real reason to lie, so I expected no less. No scavengers or predators to disperse the remains. I’d expect mummification if the air had been a little drier here. As it is..." Tymon had a new thought. "Come with me."
He went down to the side of the lake and Koric followed. "I thought the point was to find the princes?"
Tymon stopped for a moment, then turned to look back at the natural theater he had found. "No, Koric. There is something about the legend that may yet fit into all this, but that wasn’t why we came. We were here to find a place like this. That is where it is, and what it is, well, that’s just fortunate. It will help."
Koric felt totally lost. It wasn't the first time since entering the Blackpits he had felt that way. "Help what?"
"Create the lie. A really grand one. Perhaps my best. We’ll see."
"Why do we have to lie?"
"To get to the truth, of course. What better reason is there?"
Koric had to admit he didn’t know, since he didn’t understand the answer. He started to ask about it but Tymon had already turned back toward the natural theater he’d found there under the earth, deep in thought. Koric glanced back toward the shore of the lake, then away, then back when something faint, nearly indiscernible, caught his attention.
"Did you hear that, Master Tymon?"
Silence.
"Tymon?"
Koric didn’t get an answer. He realized with a growing sense of unease that he wasn’t sure if he’d spoken aloud or not. He also wasn’t sure if Tymon—or anyone—was there to hear. There was a distance surrounding him, separating him from everything he had taken for granted as a part of his "here" and "now." Koric found himself walking toward the one thing that remained—the shore of the lake itself. He saw, but did not know how he saw. There was no light as such, but rather a sort of yielding darkness that flowed around him, always parting as he walked toward it, like a fog.
This isn’t the cave.
It was and it wasn’t. Koric still felt that sense of distance, dreamlike and frightening. He also heard voices, faint but getting louder. Shouts. Screams. Silence. Soon he wasn’t just hearing, he was feeling. A rush of confused emotions like a wave of nausea swept over him, almost overpowering even fragmented as they were. Koric felt rage, despair, darkness, silence. Finally he felt himself dying, but that wasn’t the worst of it.
Koric felt that he had died, and still the rage, the despair and the silence remained. He looked down at the bones of the princes of Wylandia. From the marks on nearby rock he could see that the direction and flow of the currents in the pool and the feeder streams had changed now and again over the years. The spot was dry now, but in times past water had flowed over the bones repeatedly, leaving a thin casing of rock crystal and minerals in its wake. In the light that was not light Koric saw the bones glimmer and sparkle.
Beautiful.
YES.
She came out of the fog of distance, clothed in rainbows. Her hair was a tumble of storm clouds and her voice a boom of thunder that shook the bowels of the earth.
SO. WHOSE LITTLE BOY ARE YOU?
Ω
14 the humor of the gods
"Well, Highness," Lady Margate said, "here we are again."
There was a note of weary resignation in her voice.
Princess Ashesa was in her not very good squire disguise again, only this time Lady Margate found her before she’d reached the stables. She did this mainly by entering the princess’s chambers in a hurry and unannounced.
Ashesa glared. "Do you have spies everywhere or are you just some minor goddess with omniscience and time to waste? Frankly I’m beginning to wonder."
"Highness, I thought you might do something like this sooner or later. You certainly don’t expect me to be surprised, do you?"
Ashesa’s anger didn’t last. She sighed. "Margy, I can’t just sit here and do nothing. You know that."
"You were planning to warn Tymon, weren’t you?"
"Certainly not ... and what if I were?" Ashesa asked, a little defensively.
"I can think of several things that apply, you back in your cell in the tower being the least of them. Let that be, since I’m not here to stop you as such. You’re aware of what Galan’s up to, aren’t you?"
Ashesa looked grim. "I have heard rumors, yes."
"Then you should realize that it is this that needs attention, not your former kidnapper. How did you plan to find him, by the way? Assuming he doesn’t wish to be found, which is no doubt usually the case."
Ashesa blushed. "I hadn’t worked that part out completely." Which was mostly true, though she did have a strong hunch.
"If it’s action and purpose you must have, then I propose an alternative." She handed a parchment scroll to the princess. "Look at this."
Ashesa unrolled the scroll, stared at he glyphs for a moment then quickly rolled it back up. "What is this? Oh. Galan’s book."
"You’ve seen it?"
"Once, when he didn’t know I’d come into the room. He put the book away then. Hid it, more like. I-I didn’t like it."
"That seems to be the consensus, to anyone not ridden by obsession. If you want a mission, Highness, I propose this one: take these samples to the monastery at Kuldun. Maybe one of the Brothers there can tell us what they mean, or at least what they are. For Galan’s sake. Perhaps for everyone."
Ashesa’s smile put the candles to shame. This was a bit of luck that might suit her plans very well. "That’s why you came here in such a hurry?"
Lady Margate nodded, looking unhappy. "I was going to ask if you’d brought your squire’s disguise, but I see you did. If it doesn’t really conceal your sex, at least it may hide your identity. I don’t like this in the least, Highness, but who else could we trust with this?"
"I’ll leave immediately."
Lady Margate went to the door and called out to someone Ashesa couldn’t see. Ashesa heard loud footsteps. Two armed and armored men came in the door and bowed respectfully. "A slight correction, Highness," Lady Margate said, "You and your escort will leave immediately."
Ashesa put her hands on her hips. "Margy—"
"Oh, come now, Highness. Did you really think I’d forget?"
§
Tymon sat down on the stone bench, looking weary. "Amaet, did you have to frighten the poor lad out of his wits?"
ARE YOU QUESTIONING ME, MORTAL?
Amaet stood by the shore of that quiet place in Tymon’s dreams. Shining waters flowed around their island. Sometimes Tymon imagined he saw something breaking the surface of the water here and there, though whether trout or leviathan he didn’t want to guess.
He sighed. "I’m asking. It’s not quite the same."
THEN I ANSWER: YES. AND IT WAS FUN.
Tymon raised an eyebrow. "Just ‘fun’?"
THERE WAS ONE MORE THING: I REVEALED MYSELF IN MY POWER AND HE WAS AFRAID. THAT IS THE SIGN OF A MAN WITH MORE WIT THAN WILLOW IN HIS SKULL. I CONSIDER THAT WORTH KNOWING, MAGICIAN. DON’T YOU?
Tymon thought about it. "Yes. Considering."
CONSIDERING WHAT YOU SHARE. HE HAS THE LONG LOOK, DOES HE NOT?
"You know he does in at least some measure. Else he would never have found you."
YOU ONLY RECENTLY REDISCOVERED YOUR OWN TALENT. HOW LONG HAVE YOU KNOWN ABOUT KORIC?
"I didn’t know, until it came upon him in the cave. Now I know how Seb feels. No matter. I strongly suspected, after he managed to avoid that assassin in the pass. I knew I was too late even as I saw the vision; by rights he should have died on Aktos’ knife. He received a warning that didn’t come from me," he finished, "nor, I gather, from you."
YOU MIGHT BE SURPRISED HOW FEW MORTALS IMPINGE ON OUR CONSCIOUSNESS, MAGICIAN.
"Unlikely. Nor at how seldom that counts as a blessing when it happens," Tymon said, too weary for tact.
Amaet just smiled. MORE WIT THAN WILLOW IN YOUR SKULL, TOO. FORTUNATE, SINCE YOU’RE ABOUT TO NEED IT VERY MUCH INDEED.
Tymon sighed again. "I know of what you speak, so I will not ask of that. I do want to know the answer to one other question, if you will grant me such."
Amaet was not so easily readable as most humans were, but Tymon was fairly certain he saw curiosity there.
ASK, she said.
"Was that you at the Oracle of Yanasha?"
YOUR QUESTION IS VERY IMPRECISE. I WAS THERE, IF THAT IS WHAT YOU MEAN.
Tymon nodded. "As I suspected. You are Yanasha."
Amaet was smiling again, and Tymon sensed that she was very close to laughter. NO.
"Then why were you at the Oracle? I sensed you, even if you never identified yourself to me."
WE WERE ALL THERE, MORTAL.
Tymon frowned. "All? You mean all the Powers? Why?"
WE ARE ALL YANASHA.
§
"Sir Tals, how much longer will our attendance be required?"
Duke Laras had finally cornered Tals as he was about on one of numerous errands. Tals had been dreading this, since he had just the one answer to give. "Your Grace, Prince Galan is very concerned with bringing this sorcerer to justice. As such he’s called on all his allies and servants to give what assistance they can."
"Which I am more than willing to give," Laras said, though the words kept trying to stick in his throat, "and told His Highness as much. Yet I have business elsewhere before the coronation—as, indeed, do most of the other peers twiddling their thumbs here. Surely he understands that?"
"All I can say is what I’ve told you, Your Grace. You’re of course welcome to take it up with His Highness when his...meditations, are complete."
"And when will that be?"
"Your Grace, I wish I knew. Now, I really must take my leave."
Tals bowed and then turned away. Laras watched him go. Laras didn’t understand what was going on around the Prince. It was certainly nothing he had expected, but Laras knew that whatever it was, it was dangerous. Sir Tals was afraid, and he wasn’t alone. Laras, for want of a good alternative, had come with little escort, half-expecting to be thrown in irons the moment he entered the council chambers. To his considerable surprise, Galan had greeted him warmly and with all courtesy. Then he had asked what he knew of Tymon the Black, his activities, if any, within Laras’s sphere of control, or just for good rumors. Laras told what he knew—minus the incident with the cradle—but mostly he kept his own worries and expectations under control as he sized up Prince Galan. It took a surprisingly short amount of time.
He’s telling the truth. He may be concealing all else, but he does not know Tymon the Black.
Laras, who had played the game of Court and Diplomacy almost since he could talk, looked into Galan’s open gaze and, try though he might, could not avoid that one simple fact. Laras felt no relief, however. If Tymon the Black was not in Galan’s employ, then Tymon served the royal house of Borasur for his own reasons, and he knew all there was to know, it seemed, of Laras’ attempted treachery. Tymon had to die, and soon, or House Dyrlos could never be safe. Laras did not think that Tymon was dead, no matter how much Laras wished it true. As for Vor, there had been no word, none at all. Laras did not know what to do.
Damn all, Vor! Where are you?
§
"I’ve been giving some thought to your predicament."
Vor had made his meeting, though not in the way he had expected. After three days Kyre, personal advisor to King Aldair of Wylandia, had come walking—alone—through the pass near Kuldun, and found an increasingly agitated Vor still suffering under the eyeless gaze of Tymon’s golem. Kyre was surprised, to say the least. Now he sat on his haunches a safe distance away from the entrance to the ravine, considering. He was a little older than Vor, and heavier, but anyone who mistook bulk for corpulence would have gotten a rude shock upon pressing the issue.
"No more than I," said Vor, dryly. "I welcome your opinion on the matter."
Kyre smiled. Vor had met the Wylandian only once before, but his one impression at the time did not change now: he did not like it when Kyre smiled. There was a nasty edge to the man’s humor that made Vor uneasy.
"All in good time," Kyre said. "First, I need to know why you requested a meeting with me."
"To discuss matters of mutual benefit between your lord and mine. Which we can still do, if you’ll help get me free of this thing."
Now Kyre chuckled, which was even worse. "Lord Vor, I’m afraid you’re going to have to do better than that. I’ve walked a long way to find you in an odd predicament which, even to the uninitiated, smacks of sorcery. More to the point, it doesn’t speak well of your worth to me or my master. I’m afraid you need to convince me I’m not wasting my time."
Vor eyed the golem. "You seem to have me at a disadvantage," he said.
Kyre shrugged. "You can look at it that way. Or you can decide that even a dog deserves a bone now and then, if it soothes your wounded pride. I care little either way."
Vor took a deep breath, and let it out. He kept his voice absolutely calm. "We have reason to believe that Galan of Borasur is in league with Tymon the Black."
"Reason? Proof would be better."
"What we have is damning enough. Or would be, if presented well."
"Which I’m sure you can do. Why haven’t you?"
Vor considered his words carefully. "Because the sword we hold cuts both ways, and I’d not have my master harmed in Galan’s downfall."
"Well said, but beside the matter: what is it to Wylandia who rules in Borasur?"
"Are you telling me Wylandia could not benefit from trading alliances with Borasur? Ports to ship your grain and ore and horses and wool without interference?"
"Morushe is halfway between Wylandia and Borasur," Kyre pointed out, "and, come to that, we’re halfway to agreement with Morushe as it is."
"With hefty tariffs to pay, I wager. No, Lord. Morushe is a walnut between two stones," replied Vor. "Or would be. Do you still think I have nothing to offer?"
Kyre considered. "Possibilities only. Still, worth considering. His Majesty must have matters cast in the proper light, of course," Kyre said.
"King Aldair’s distrust of both diplomacy and intrigue is well known," Vor said. "Yet I believe we could persuade him. I believe we could use that very distrust to persuade him. Are you interested or no?"
Kyre made his decision. "I am. Now, as to your situation. Surely you noticed that section of loose rock to the right of and above your jailor? I think it could be persuaded as well, don’t you?"
Vor glared. "Of course! Yet if I so much as picked up a pebble to throw my jailor would splatter me all along the side of this wall!"
Kyre picked up a large stone. "Well, then. Fortunate for us both that I’m not you."
§
"How are you feeling?" Tymon asked.
They were back in their camp on one of the slopes of the Blackpits, where Tymon had carried Koric after his collapse. Since then he had kept watch over the sleeping young man for the better part of a day. In was later in the afternoon when Koric finally sat up on his blankets and took the mug of spiced cider that Tymon offered. "I feel terrible," he said.
Tymon had no reason to doubt it. Koric looked as if he’d been pummeled by experts, and his gaze had a slightly unfocused aspect to it that worried Tymon. After a few stiff sips of the potent cider, Koric’s world apparently came into better focus. He shivered.
"Are you cold?" Tymon asked.
Koric shook his head, though he wrapped the blankets around himself. "I ... I went away, I think. I saw something." Koric shivered again.
"So I gathered," Tymon said. "Exactly what did you see?"
The question seemed to confuse the boy. "I don’t know. A woman...a goddess? It wasn’t the way I’d imagined such a thing to be." He reddened, then finished, "If I had imagined such, that is."
"If you haven’t you’re a rare creature indeed," Tymon said dryly. "That it wasn’t what you expected, well, few things are. Yet you survived, and that’s something."
