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CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Time and distance seemed strangely fluid once the spires of Eslêntecrë were no longer visible, but Ahearn supposed it was a mile further on when a light rain began misting down. Several minutes later, as the path began to rise into a rockier part of the thickening forest, the three aeostu leading them steered their mounts onto a smaller track to the left. Ahearn frowned; but is it really a “track” when there’s not a bit of bare soil in sight? Just a long, winding carpet of grass?

Whatever its proper label might be, his mare was either familiar with the track or was quite adept anticipating and following the horses ahead. It was nearly walking in their hoofprints as it ambled under the thick boughs that arched overhead. They kept off the rain as well as any tight-woven awning.

Their path soon became perfectly straight, the foliage becoming the walls of a leafy tunnel that smelled like dew on a spring morning. The rain was a soft murmur, the percussive fall of individual drops blending into what sounded vaguely like surf that never ebbed or flowed. Ahearn let out a long sigh, his shoulders and neck less tense than they had been in—how long? He tried to think the last time he felt so relaxed…

He started into wakefulness, roused by a hazy light growing ahead. Looking hastily about, he recognized none of his surroundings. Even the trees had changed; the initial mix of ash and maple had become elm and oak. He wondered how long he’d been drowsing and found out he didn’t really care—at least not as much as getting a better view of the clearing into which their guides were leading them.

The grass widened out into a near-perfect circle, with what appeared to be a low, round hump at the center. But as they left the shadow of the forest, Ahearn saw that it was a round berm, the top above the level of his eyes. The horses, obedient either to habit or an undetected command, dutifully began to walk around it. In the course of that stately progress, Ahearn saw that the ring could be entered through smoothly sloped openings, spaced as evenly as the four points of a compass.

When the last of the horses were alongside the outer wall of the berm, the aeostun guides dismounted. They gestured for Ahearn and the others to follow their actions and then their steps, which led through the nearest opening.

The berm proved to be the outer shell of a small amphitheater. Its three broad, grass-covered tiers were wide enough to accommodate a reclining audience. However, the lowest had several stone chairs sprouting up from the ground at the north point of the berm’s compass rose. Although rough-hewn, their seats were smooth, with a glassy sheen that was only partly a consequence of the rain that was dwindling to a stop. Their guides waved them away from the risers to stand near the center of the orchestra where they discovered a small, perfectly round pool rimmed by close-set stones.

Ahearn, who’d come to stand between Elweyr and S’ythreni, leaned toward the latter. “Now, this surely isn’t the ‘Great’ Pool.”

She sighed. “This is not the time or place for your inane quips, man.”

Ahearn started; the way she’d said “man” had a generic intonation… as if she had said “human.” She’s as serious as that? Well then, best play along…

As he pushed back against his continuing reflex to diffuse the gravity of the moment with artless gibes, Ahearn saw that two Iavarain had entered the amphitheater through the eastern opening. They were half a head taller than their leaner aeostun guides, who, after exchanging nods with the new pair, exited through the west entry.

Their two new warders were certainly equipped for any eventuality. They both wore Iavan sheath armor, each suit worth a prince’s ransom. They had weaponry similar to that which Druadaen preferred, but their single-gripped longswords were a few inches shorter than the Dunarran’s hand-and-a-half. Although they had quivers low-slung on their backs, they did not carry bows. Their helmets were so smooth and seamless that it was tempting to imagine that they’d been poured over the heads they protected. They took up positions on the other side of the small pool, flanking it at the same distance and angle from the center. They did not speak and their eyes appeared half closed.

Varcaxtan stiffened slightly, looked deeper into the forest through the north opening. “Eyes front, now.” Ahearn and Umkhira were the only ones who craned their necks to see who—or maybe what—might be approaching.

Two figures emerged from the leafy shadows. Ahearn recognized one immediately: Tharêdæath. Momentarily startled to see him here, the swordsman realized anew just how much time the shipwreck and resulting detour had cost them. But it was the person with him that commanded Ahearn’s attention.

Very tall and lithe, she—he?—was robed in light linens that made it impossible to guess at the shape of the form wearing it. The eyes that looked out of the almost delicate face were an extremely light gray that made it difficult to distinguish the pupil from the whites. It wore a gold necklace, was joined at the neck by a bright silver link—

Ahearn realized what that “link” actually was when the sai’niin ring pulsed on his finger: they were identical to each other in size, brightness, and depth of reflection. The Iavarain’ s pale eyes met his own and smiled more than did the thin lips as Ahearn realized: no, they’re both Uulamantre.

Their two hosts advanced to the stone chairs at the center of the northeastern tiers. Without turning, the two guards in sheath armor stepped back in unison until they flanked their superiors.

The unknown individual nodded at Tharêdæath who waved Ahearn and the others forward to a point about two yards away. “It is good to see you again,” he said, before wryly adding, “and alive, no less.”

“That outcome stood in some doubt on more than one occasion,” Ahearn confessed.

“So we heard. You are very welcome here.”

Are we? “We are grateful for your help and hospitality.” Austere, thought it might be.

Tharêdæath nodded, turned toward the other Uulamantre without gesturing. “Actually your host is Ilshamësa, child of Enedthræem and ur-Quertheyor.”

“What’s ur- mean?” Ahearn whispered sideways at S’ythreni.

“Slain, not passed,” she almost hissed as their host rose slowly. “Now be silent!”

“I welcome you to Mirroskye, travelers and friends of Tharêdæath.” Ilshamësa intoned, taking a moment to smile faintly at Varcaxtan before continuing. “And it is well that you are home, S’ythreni.” Who did not meet her eyes.

Ilshamësa took in the whole group with a two-handed gesture of inclusion. “I trust you find Eslêntecrë pleasant.”

When Varcaxtan did not make polite answer, Ahearn said, “It was a most handsome city.” If small, he wanted to add, but managed to hold the words frozen behind his smiling teeth.

“‘Was’ handsome?” The Uulamantre seemed confused. “Why do you speak of it in the past tense, eh’hathsha?”

“Well… ”—Ahearn struggled to find a way to correct his host’s misunderstanding—“it’s past tense for us, kind Lady, inasmuch as we’re not still in it.”

Ilshamësa regarded him with a frown. “But you are.”

“We’re… what?”

Realization—or perhaps recollection—brightened her expression. “You are still in Eslêntecrë, albeit at its eastern extents. Only upon leaving the buildings, did you enter the city’s Iavarain precincts.” She gestured in the direction of the bay now miles behind them. “Few of the structures in the port were designed or built by us, which exists solely to facilitate exchange with your various species.” She shrugged. “After all, it is your world, now.” Her falling tone added a sad coda: more’s the pity.

“All respects and regards, Til-Ilshamësa; in addition to its beautiful lines, it is a very cleverly designed gateway to the world,” Cerven murmured. “One must look carefully to see its walls.”

As Ilshamësa’s eyes widened and she bestowed a surprised and interested smile upon Cerven, Ahearn muttered toward Elweyr, “Did you see any walls?”

“Later, Ahearn.”

“Yes,” Ilshamësa said, turning toward the swordsman, as if awakening to a new fact, “you are Ahearn. Tharêdæath has told me of you.” From her tone, he couldn’t tell if that was good news or bad. “It is you to which the quelsuur has affined itself.”

Ahearn started. “Eh? What’s affined itself to me?” He leaned toward Elweyr. “That’s mancery she’s speaking of, yeh?”

Instead of sounding annoyed or impatient, Elweyr’s tone was focused and even wary. “It might be, but I’m not sure.”

Ilshamësa’s eyes were suddenly open again. “The quelsuur is what your kind have called the Relayer,” she said carefully. When Ahearn shook his head in continued perplexity, the Uulamantre jabbed a thin finger at his hand. “You wear the sai’niin link. As a ring. Because it… it chose you.”

“Oh!” Ahearn exclaimed with a smile, and just barely held back a cheeky, Well, then why didn’t you say so? “Yes, it did. I do,” he added lamely. “So I take it that Tharêdæath has also told you why we traveled here?”

“Yes!” she answered, as if his question had been so abrupt as to be startling. “At least, in enough detail to determine our response.”

Ahearn exchanged a quick glance with Elweyr, saw his own reaction in the other’s face. That does not sound promising. But it was also a little confusing. “With all due respect, Lady Ilshamësa, we didn’t travel here with requests, but questions.”

“Yes. We are aware.”

As pronouns go, her “we” sounded like it represented a sizeable group, not just Tharêdæath and Ilshamësa. “So you already know—and have answers for—the questions we mean to ask and the counsel we seek?” He felt S’ythreni’s urgent eyes on him from the left and a calmer but steady stare from Varcaxtan on his right. He looked from one to the other with an expression which he was sure conveyed his reaction to theirs: Well, if ye’ve something to add, spit it out!

Ilshamësa reseated herself as if her body had become quite stiff. “It was not necessary to hear your specific questions or requests for counsel. They are all quite predictable.”

Umkhira spoke before he could. “Iavarain wisdom is legendary, but I did not know it included prophesy that gives foreknowledge of a future conversation!”

Ilshamësa looked at the ur zhog blankly, as if she had not heard the sarcastic tone behind the words. “No prophesy is needed. You believe that, in order to effect the return of your friend, you must locate a suitable osmotium.”

“A what?” Umkhira sputtered.

“A portal between different locations, even worlds,” Tharêdæath supplied quietly, with a concerned glance toward Ilshamësa, whose neck was stiff. Its cords were taut, and a pallor was creeping into her face.

“Yes,” Ilshamësa agreed almost absently, “a portal. Your friend went through the shimmer tended by the current Lady of the Mirror. You have learned that he may not return by that route. You seek an alternative but do not know where to begin your search. So you come here, hoping we have that knowledge and might offer material aid in your quest.” She looked around the group. “Does this not articulate your reasons for coming to Mirroskye?”

As the group exchanged abashed glances, Varcaxtan raised his chin. “It does, Til-Ilshamësa.”

She smiled as if surprised at the formal address. “Then we have foreseen your intents correctly.”

Ahearn nodded, realizing what that meant. “So you’re meeting us here because there’s no reason to bring us to your Great Pool. You’re not going to help us.”


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