CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
As Eslêntecrë hove into sight over the starboard bow, Ahearn turned to Firinne, who’d joined them on the fo’c’sle for a final, private conversation. “We thank the gods for you, Captain. Not sure what would have become of us if you hadn’t been in T’Oridrea.”
“Oh, you’d have managed,” she said lightly, deflecting the gratitude. “You lot always seem to.”
Well, there’s some truth in that, but… “I know you’ll hush me if I say aught about bein’ in yer debt. So let’s leave it at this: mayhap one day, we’ll be able to make our appreciation known by doing you a useful service.”
She glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes. “Be careful what you offer, Master Swordsman. Or more importantly, to whom. It’s rightly said that it’s a mixed blessing, having Dunarrans for companions. Whether we meant to or not, we’ve made a daunting number of enemies along the way.” She frowned. “And these days, it’s become just as tricky making friends among Dunarrans themselves. Associating with the wrong one of us can get you in trouble with the temples, the Propretoriate, or—gods forbid!—both.”
“Then why did you decide to help us yet again?” Umkhira asked, head canted forward in an ur zhog posture of respect. “Surely by aiding Varcaxtan and those who travel with him, you are making your own position more difficult.”
She shrugged. “The temples—or more precisely, the hieroxi of several of the most prominent creeds—have become drunk with delusions of control.” She shrugged again. “The Propretoriate evidently feels it necessary to indulge their overreach. I, and others, are not disposed to follow their example.”
As Umkhira leaned back in surprise at this explanation, Ahearn leaned in. “But won’t those secular superiors of yours hang you by your heels if you don’t fall in line?”
Firinne shook her head. “Many above me, all the way up to propretors themselves, have similar feelings about the present state of affairs in the Consentium.” She smiled slyly. “About which I know nothing, of course.”
“Of course you don’t,” Elweyr said with a similar smile. “But it sounds as though the secular authorities are not willing to confront the temples about their abuse of power.”
It was Varcaxtan who shook his head. “You’d think there’d be clear laws that define the proper domains of both temple and government, that set forth their powers and limits.”
Cerven was so surprised that he stammered. “Y-you mean there are none?”
Varcaxtan shrugged; Firinne nodded.
“That was always the Uulamantre’s greatest concern regarding Dunarra,” the dragon said with a nod.
Firinne shot a curious glance at the immense, hirsute, but oddly eloquent barbarian warrior whom she knew only as R’aonsun. “You, sir, seem unusually well informed on a debate of which most persons are wholly unaware.”
It wasn’t the first time during their voyage to Mirroskye that the dragon had forgotten the behavior and diction appropriate to its avatar, which sported a good number of expressly tribal tattoos. Therefore, it was also not the first time that he replied with an innocuous generality that could not be probed without seeming rude. “I suppose it comes of traveling with such learned comrades, Captain. Dunarrans and aeosti and young scribes: it seems I am learning a dozen new things every day.”
Firinne squinted as she nodded. “I’m sure it has been most enlightening, ‘sir,’” she responded in a voice that was not only guarded, but suspicious. As her slight emphasis on “sir” suggested, she had discerned oddities in how he was addressed before the group—and he—had settled on referring to him according to the sex of his avatar. “And now,” Firinne said, pushing away from the rail, “I must bid you farewell yet again. I must confer with the pilot on—”
“Captain,” Varcaxtan interrupted, “you’ll forgive me for saying that you haven’t answered Ahearn’s question: What happens to you if you’re questioned about encountering me? I know you’ll keep your oath, so you won’t deny you did. And then what keeps you from, as Ahearn put it, being hung by your heels?”
Firinne crossed her arms. “Subpretor Varcaxtan, is it fair to say that, although you are evidently hoping to find your wife, you are also mourning her?”
Varcaxtan frowned. “I suppose I’m doing both, yes.”
“Then that is what I shall tell anyone who asks about what you might be doing and why I helped you. That you are mourning your wife and adrift in the world—deny it, if you can!—and sailed to Far Amitryea hoping to find a kindred soul in your adoptive nephew Druadaen. But with him missing as well, you took ship back to Ar Navir without any fixed path before you.”
Ahearn stared at her. “Is this something they teach all you Dunarrans in school, then?”
“What?” they asked.
“How to make every word you speak the truth and yet not reveal what yer about?”
They both smiled. “No,” Firinne supplied, “we learn that as we grow in age and authority.” She frowned. “More so now than in the past, unfortunately.” She glanced at Varcaxtan. “So, does that story meet with your approval and calm your worries on my behalf?”
He nodded. “It does. And if I don’t return at all, well, they’ll be happy enough to think the worst.”
“Which is?”
“That I died seeking my darling Indryllis.” In the silence that followed, Ahearn could almost hear the unuttered coda, which might yet prove to be the case.
Firinne nodded sadly. “That is true, I suppose.”
Ahearn shook his head. “It’s strange to think of one countryman having that in their heart for another.”
The dragon was careful to use a broad accent as he observed, “My tribe holds that temples, even more than states, are likely to justify any means to any end, if they deem that end crucial.” The dragon almost winced at every word he uttered which was at odds with his apparent origins, each of which earned another curious glance from Firinne.
Umkhira frowned. “Surely you mean ‘that any deity deems crucial,’ yes?”
S’ythreni saved the dragon the trouble of struggling to find sufficiently simple words. “There’s no way to know how much of what sacrists say is the result of divining their deity’s wishes… or because it’s what they presume it wishes.”
“Y’mean, there’s no telling how much they’re makin’ up as they go along?” Ahearn asked, further simplifying the matter.
Firinne grinned. “So refreshingly forthright. Alas, Master Ahearn, you would make a very poor Dunarran.”
“You’ll forgive me if I take that as a compliment, ma’am. Now, what about you, Captain? Where are you off to next?”
“Porsyolti, Davyara-Nadia’s only major port.” She frowned. “I just hope the young patriot we’re taking there doesn’t get himself strung up.”
“He’s a rebel, then?”
Firinne glanced at S’ythreni. “I suppose your aeosti friend could explain the circumstances far better than I could. Besides, I must go: we’re training a new pilot. This is her first time bringing Swiftsure through the shallows.” She nodded and started aft, shouting orders to the sailhandlers.
Ahearn turned to his aeosti companion. “So… is that young Davyaran dandy a rebel?”
She shrugged. “From his point of view—which I share—he considers the so-called Loyalists in Zodera the traitors, inasmuch as the new Great Sazha murdered the old one.”
Ahearn frowned. “Now, High Ears, there must be more to his troubles than that, or the captain herself would have answered. But she pointed at you: why?”
S’ythreni sighed and looked up from under lowered brows. “When that petit noble at the rope-pub returns home, he and his Ballashan lackeys will look for the Davyaran, and not just because we emptied his pockets to pay the pub-keep. It’s because the young fool stood up to defend me.”
Ahearn shook his head. “I still don’t see—”
“After the new ruler’s men were done putting the whole court to the sword, they went on to kill most of Mirroskye’s envoys and their retainers. The survivors fled for home and the regicidal brutes gave chase, following them over the border.” Her eyes were as grim as her voice. “Those pursuers never returned. One was a nephew of Kohejh Nadia himself.” She shrugged. “So the new rulers—Family Nadia and their sycophants—have a score to settle with us. And inasmuch as the Davyarans were always good neighbors and half their own nobles wound up on the impaler’s spike, they feel that we share the same side of a blood feud.”
Umkhira’s eyes were wide. “Then that young warrior is very mad to return. Or very brave. I can hardly decide which.”
“Nor can I,” S’ythreni agreed. “Then again, I am hardly in the position of passing judgment on the sanity of others, given that I may soon stand before the Great Pool again.” She shook her head at herself and stared beyond the risers that were now battering into the Swiftsure’s prow: they had entered the shallows that lay northwest of Eslêntecrë.
Ahearn leaned toward her. “Okay, I’ll bite: what’s this Great Pool you and Tharêdæath mutter about? I thought it was just another word for Mirroskye.”
“No, the Great Pool isn’t Mirroskye,” S’ythreni confirmed, “but it is its heart. Or maybe more akin to its soul.”
“Well, that’s beautiful poetry, High Ears—but no kind of answer. I’m guessing that this Great Pool is an actual body of water, yeh? A wading pond, at the very least?”
S’ythreni rolled her eyes. “Actually, it’s a lake in the shape of a perfect circle, almost ten leagues across, and at the center of the oldest part of Mirroskye. But it’s also the name for the council that has always gathered there.”
“So, it’s the Iavarain capital, then?”
S’ythreni’s jaw tightened, but before she could utter a snappish reply, Cerven interceded. “The Great Pool is not a city. It is where the eldest of the Uulamantre meet when they feel the need to confer.”
“And they’re so fond o’ this pool… why? For its lovely views? Or because it’s a good spot for cogitatin’?”
“No,” S’ythreni snapped, “for prophesy. And more. The Pool’s surface reveals… many things.”
Ahearn started. “You can’t be serious, High Ears!” He looked around the group. “I mean, don’t you all find it a bit tiresome? Every time we turn around, it’s another mantic mirror or looking glass or mystic pool.” He scoffed. “You’d think that whatever cosmic power is behind the creation of such things would at least have some taste for variety, eh?”
Even the dragon had to suppress a grin at that, before he joined the others at the rail to watch the slender towers and spires of Eslêntecrë push further above the horizon.
Still adjusting to the extreme docility of the mare with which he’d been provided, Ahearn turned to look at the silhouette of the city behind them. “I’ve never seen a port as strange as that one,” he muttered to Elweyr as their horses started forward, bringing up the rear.
“Mm-hmm,” the thaumancer agreed absently, his eyes and focus concentrated upon the two riders just ahead of them: Cerven and Varcaxtan.
“Well, don’t you agree? Hardly any ships at all, and only that Irrylaish galleoncete was larger than Swiftsure. Tidy wharfs, little noise, smaller crowds—be damned, the place looks like a plague emptied it.” After a few seconds of silence, Elweyr nodded. Annoyed at his lack of attention, Ahearn continued more loudly. “I don’t even know why they bothered to build a city at all. Aye, the towers are impressive—don’t see why they don’t tip over in a high wind!—but other than that, I ask you: what is it but a collection of warehouses and shops and a handful of inns? Where are the people, man? Where are all the houses? I’m a tinker’s bastard if we walked more than one hundred yards before comin’ out t’other side of it!”
Elweyr didn’t even nod this time; he was too busy measuring the growing distance between them and the two riders ahead.
Thoroughly irked, Ahearn ended by observing, “And what about those naked lads with butterfly wings chasing the long-legged land whales? Now that was a sight.”
Elweyr nodded, then shook his head as if a fly was trapped in his ear. “Wha—what did you say?”
“Well, welcome back to the world, you owl-eyed goon! What’s got you fixated on the Dunarran and his would-be protégé?”
“Trying to determine if they can still hear us. Now, listen,” Elweyr interrupted in a conspiratorial tone, “did you overhear the port recorder when Cerven presented himself?”
“I was too far back to make out much of what was said, particularly when they slipped into Iavarain. Can’t follow it.”
“Well, they started with the standard, ‘What do you here, eh’hathsha?’”
“Aye, that’s what they called me, too. All of us except Varcaxtan and S’ythreni. What’s ‘Eh’hathsha’?”
“It’s a generic term for any thinking being or entity. But that’s not what was important.” Elweyr paused. “He answered them in their own language.”
“Well, we know he has the knowledge of it.”
“Knowledge is one thing. Perfect fluency and accent is another. So much so that one of them apologized and started addressing him as ur’athsha.”
Ahearn managed not to roll his eyes. “And that means… ?”
“Something like ‘recognized person.’” Seeing Ahearn’s widening eyes, Elweyr shook his head. “No, no. It doesn’t mean he’s Iavarain himself. But it does mean they acknowledge that he is ‘known’ to the Iavarain, that he has ‘walked among’ them.”
“Well, maybe one of his many mentors was aeostun.”
Elweyr shook his head. “Learning the language, even from an aeostun mentor, is not enough for them to address him as ur’athsha.”
“Well,” said Ahearn, trying to change the very dull subject, “while you were picking apart the niceties of a language I don’t speak, I almost laughed aloud when R’aonsun approached and gave its name. That fussy high-eared recorder was ready to laugh… until that old wyrm got close and leaned over.” Ahearn chuckled. “Then he—or she?—was suddenly as careful and quiet as a mouse among cats. I wonder: is that a bit of Iavan mancery, seeing past appearances?”
“No, not exactly. It’s more—damn it, Ahearn, don’t change the subject. Did you or didn’t you hear any of Cerven’s answer when the recorder asked about his background?”
“No: what did I miss? Did he share the titles of the one hundred books he loves best? Seriously, though, that lot waiting in line behind us—the ones from Irrylain—were too loud. I could hardly hear myself think.”
“Which is indistinguishable from the silence of the tomb, I’m sure,” Elweyr grumbled with dark impatience. “Now shut up and listen to me. Our young companion gave his full name: Cerven Ux Reeve.” Elweyr uttered those last two words with slow gravity.
Whatever made them portentous was unknown to Ahearn. “Well, based on yer pregnant pause—worthy of triplets, by the way—I gather I’m supposed to know why that name is important. Pity that I don’t.”
“He’s not just Amitryean. His family is Old Amitryean.”
Ahearn frowned. “I thought they were extinct. Or just legend.”
Elweyr shook his head. “I doubt it, given what he said about his mentors.”
“So you think one of those mentors was aeostun? And that’s how he learned Iavarain?”
Elweyr frowned. “If so, I don’t think he was just being mentored.”
“Why?”
“Because when asked about his family, he only mentioned a sister. No one else.”
Ahearn sat straight in the saddle. “You mean… yeh think he lost his parents?”
“Sounded like it, given the words he used and his tone of voice.”
Ahearn no longer saw the narrow sward of ankle-high grass that passed for a road through the forest. All he could see were his own parents, laughing as they worked a lateen rig, telling him that, when he was ten, he’d have to lend a hand—which was the last thing they ever said to him and the last time he saw them. “Gods, the lad is… he’s… ”
“Like you. Late-orphaned.”
Ahearn swallowed. “Like Druadaen, too.” He glanced at Elweyr, who upon escaping from the Gur Grehar as a teen, had returned to find that his own parents had disappeared without a trace. “And not so very different from yerself, either.” Ahearn looked up into the sky, let his puzzlement rise into the vast emptiness: it’s naught but chance, so many of us being stripped of kin… but damned if it doesn’t feel like there’s intent in it.
Without guidance, the mare followed the other horses, unhurried and sure, to wherever their hosts were leading them.