I had rehearsed this often enough: I had so many pretty speeches prepared, so many reasons we should be alone, so many stratagems. All fled me as I gazed at her face, and had she not introduced her friend to Cleton, I think I should have sat unspeaking, content to stare, to drink in her beauty. As it was-as is the way of these matters-our conversation was largely of the commonplace. How did our studies go? How hers? What news of the Sentinels? Did her college believe the Sky Lords were defeated? Too soon she was reminded she must return, and we were parted, with no better a promise of another assignation than before.
I saw her only once more that winter and in much the same circumstances, though I did then succeed, thanks to the aid of Cleton and Chiara, in steering her a little distance away, to the poor privacy of a corner, where I told her I loved her.
She frowned then and asked, “How can that be? You scarce know me, even.”
“But still,” I said, “I do,” and took her hand in both of mine.
I was terribly afraid she would loose my grip; afraid she would laugh or name me foolish. But she did none of that, only faced me with her lovely sightless eyes and pursed her lips as if she struggled with some doubt, or sought words she could not find.
I saw hope in her expression and gathered up my courage and whispered, “I love you, Rwyari. From that first moment I saw you, I have loved you. Shall you tell me you feel nothing for me?”
There are things I have done since that day I suppose men would name brave, but I think that was the bravest thing I have ever done. I felt in those moments I awaited her reply that all my life, all my future, hung suspended from the unspoken thread of her answer. It seemed to me there was no sound within the tavern save the drumbeat pounding of my heart, the tidal wash of my blood as I waited. It seemed a very long time, but I suppose it was only a little while before she lowered her face, gravely, and said softly, “No, I cannot tell you that.”
“You love me!” I fought the urge to shout as I said it. “You love me!”
She said, “Daviot, I cannot, either, tell you that.”
As a bird soaring aloft, free and triumphant, is felled by the hunter’s arrow, so my heart went down in ruin.
She could not see my face, save through the gift of her magic, but she heard my groan, felt the stiffening of my fingers where they rested about her hand. She said, “I do not tell you it is not so … or cannot be. But … Daviot, I’ve met you but these three times. You know nothing of me, nor I of you. And our Colleges … what should they say?”
Fierce, desperate, I answered her, “I care not what they say. I know only that I love you.”
She asked me, “How can you be so sure?”
“I am,” I said. “How, I know not; but I am.”
“Perhaps.” She smiled, and my spirits halted their descending arc. “And perhaps I am, too. But I’ll not tell you so certainly. Not till I know you better.”
So sensible: I did not know whether I loved her the more for it, or cursed her prudence. I knew I’d not relinquish my hope easily. I said, endeavoring a calm I felt not at all, “And how shall that be?”
I felt her fingers stroke my hand then. She answered me, “Not easily, but do we put our minds to it …”
“And all my heart,” I told her.
It was no easy matter, and had I not won Urt’s confidence it should have proven impossible. He it was, hearing me bemoan the difficulties of my thwarted affair to Cleton, who sought me out when I was alone to suggest a means of correspondence at the least, and trysts did the fates smile on us, thanks to that society of his kindred.
As with we of the Mnemonikos, so did the Sorcerous College employ Changed servants. Urt made it his business to seek them out, to learn their names and win their friendship. Rwyan and Chiara were tended by a Changed woman of canine stock whose name was Lyr. Urt made her acquaintance (she was not, he told me, unattractive) and persuaded her to join him as a go-between. Thus were Rwyan and I able to pass messages between us, to better organize those days we were permitted the freedom of the city, that we might meet more frequently-and, with the connivance of our chambermates, more privately.
I was joyous then, for all it dug that rift with Cleton deeper. He aided us because he was my friend and his loyalty was unquestioning, but I quite lost my taste for Thais and during my fourth year in Durbrecht refused to join Cleton on his visits to Allya’s house. I was determined to remain faithful to my love, which Cleton could not at all comprehend. Also, at every opportunity I was in Rwyan’s company, leaving Cleton either alone or with Chiara. I knew we drifted apart, but could not help it: I was in love.
The coin faced about, I was more in Urt’s company, for he was often my guide, bringing me to some clandestine trysting place where Rwyan waited with Lyr. The two Changed would go about whatever business they pursued, leaving Rwyan and I some few precious hours together.
It was our secret, a little portion of time stolen from duty and expectancies, and the sweeter for that. Perhaps, in our youth and innocence, we perceived ourselves as characters in some drama, tragic lovers. I do not know, for then we were too concerned with discovery to speak of the future, top busy with the exploration of one another to think beyond the present. We made the most of what we stole, and in the spring of that year, in a rooming house on the edge of a quarter, given over to the Changed and the poor, we became, truly, lovers. I will not speak of that, for it was a wondrous private thing (as doubtless it is for all who find their desires met and answered), and it told us in ways beyond words that for us there could be no others.
I was happy then as I had never been; but there hung above us that ignored shadow: I was Mnemonikos, she a mage. Soon-just as Cleton had warned-we should be sent out to pursue our callings. I should soon be a Storyman, itinerant, and she delivered to occult duties. We spoke not at all of that, but it lent our lovemaking an urgency that was edged with the poignant knowledge of impending parting.
And with the new year’s advent our meetings were made the harder for the renewal of the Sky Lords’ attacks.
They had not been defeated, as so many chose to believe. Rather, it seemed that twelvemonth respite had been for them a gathering of strength, for they came in terrible numbers, as if the calendar of the years were speeded forward and the Coming begun.
Skyboats were sighted early in the spring, few in numbers at first and destroyed before they reached our shores, but then in greater quantity, progressing deeper inland. We saw them again close to Durbrecht, and though none breached our defenses, the city fell once more into a mood of presentiment. Then, early in the summer, word came from the Sentinels of an armada. The Fend lay dark beneath the shadow of the massed airboats. They were too many even the augmented strength of our magical guardians might hope to defeat them. Durbrecht girded for the onslaught. The koryphon had not allowed his vigilance to slacken, and our walls were soon manned by his soldiers and the levies of the militia. The sorcerers readied. I wondered if Rwyan stood amongst them, within her College or on the city walls, but only briefly, for we of the Mnemonikos College were called to the fight.
I was in class with Telek when the message came, and I saw the herbalist pale as the news was whispered. He nodded and turned to us. “The Sky Lords come in strength,” he said, “and we must fight. Go to your chambers and find your sturdiest gear. Have you weapons, fetch them. You’ll assemble in the quadrangle.”
We hurried to obey. I found myself both excited and afraid as Cleton and I swiftly tugged on sound boots and leather tunics, which were, I thought, poor defense against Kho’rabi steel.
“By the God,” Cleton declared, “but they must come in force are we summoned.”
He seemed not at all afraid, only enthusiastic. I nodded, thinking that my mouth was gone very dry, and therefore wondering why I felt such a desire to spit. I hoped I should not disgrace myself. Urt was there, fussing about us, and I caught his eye. He smiled, which I took for encouragement, and I said, “Do you take care, Urt.”
“I’ve no fear,” he said calmly, at which Cleton chuckled sourly and said, “With the Kho’rabi wizards overhead, I think you should.”
I said, “Likely you’ll be safe enough here. The cellars are sound.”
I think I spoke less to reassure Urt than for want of calming my own pounding heart. He seemed very little disturbed, and had I not been so engaged with my own trepidation, I think I should have wondered at his tranquillity. He said, “Ward yourself well, Daviot,” which prompted a sharp, shocked look from Cleton, for it was the first time he had heard my Changed friend address me by my given name. Urt added, “And you, Master Cleton.”
I essayed an unconfident smile and said, “We shall, fear not.”
Then I went out with Cleton into the crowded corridor, jostling my fellow students as we ran to answer our call to arms.
Of all the folk in Durbrecht not of the warband, we were the best trained in combat. Even the militias, for all they were equipped with armor and the uniforms of war, were largely untrained citizens or aging soldiers, reinforced with officers from Trevid’s squadrons. There was neither sufficient time nor gear to armor us, but we were given what weapons were available-bows, swords, axes, even knives from the kitchens. Keran was our commander, his motley troops divided into squads, each ordered by one of the younger tutors. We numbered no more than a century and one half, but we were avid for our duty. I forgot all my musings, all my talk of parleys and cycles of war, as Keran gathered us in the quadrangle. I was a child of my times. The blood of my Dhar ancestors ran in my veins (and should, I hoped, remain there), and it was that called me now. The Sky Lords came! They threatened my homeland! Against that weight of time’s and blood’s memory, my philosophical musings faded.
Keran sprang to the plinth of a statue that he might look down on us. He wore black leather that shone dull in the sun, as if it had seen much service. It reminded me of Andyrt’s gear. He wore a long sword and his face was grave as he addressed us.
“The Sky Lords approach,” he cried, shouting over the tumult that rose from the streets outside. “They come in numbers greater than any since the last Coming, and Durbrecht’s need of us. We are called to fight for our city and all Dharbek. How shall we answer?”
“We fight!” we roared.
Swords were flourished, bows waved aloft; sunlight glinted off axeheads and spears. We were patriotic, vigorous in our courage, our outrage hot. Keran told us off into companies, and I found myself under Martus’s command. He carried a long-hafted axe and from somewhere had found a dented helmet. His pleasant face was grim as we formed a ragged column and made for the gates.
Keran led us at a trot to the south wall. The streets were emptying as the inhabitants sought the refuge of their homes or took up weapons and straggled after officers of the militia. The bazaars, all the emporiums, were closed, save for those of the herbalists, the apothecaries, and the chirurgeons. I thought they would likely have work enough before too long.
We reached the wall and found ourselves deployed along a length between two of the bolt-throwing engines. It was early in the afternoon and the stone was warm from the sun’s caress. The sky was blue, streaked with high cloud blown out like the manes of running horses. It was a day when larks and swallows should have darted about the ramparts and the fields beyond, but there were none. I looked to the east, where farmland stretched away from the city, and saw folk hurrying for the safety of Durbrecht. To my right, the wide expanse of the Treppanek glittered silvery blue, empty of vessels. I licked my lips and spat; fingered my borrowed sword. I thought of those days-ages past, it seemed now-when I had voiced childhood’s bravery to Andyrt and thought there could be no better life than to be a soldier. He had told me that was largely waiting, and that the waiting was the hardest part. He had been right. I felt a great desire to relieve myself; and a greater fear of embarrassment. I looked to Cleton, who grinned as if he had not a care in the world. Past him, I saw Pyrdon. His freckled face was pale and his eyes were narrowed as he stared at the empty sky. Then it was empty no longer.
It was as though a storm swept toward us from the east. The horizon was dark, as if a great bank of nimbus advanced. I heard Pyrdon muttering and turned my eyes briefly sideways, seeing him make the God’s sign as he prayed. He was not alone. I heard Keran shout, “Courage! Stand firm!” I thought Cleton’s tan a shade lighter. I forgot my need to urinate.
The darkness came on, and through it I saw the spark and flash of magic as the keeps along the Treppanek flung sorcery at the airboats that were the fundament of the shadow.
Someone cried, “So many! How can we defeat them?”
Martus answered, loud so that all his troop should hear it, “With courage. We’ve magic of our own, and stout hearts.”
Darkness and light approached in unison. I saw airboats fall flaming from the solidity of the armada, great balls of awful fire that drifted almost leisurely to the land, or the water. Along the wall, from by a war-engine, a jennym shouted, “They’re not so many. See? They use the darkness like night-come thieves!”
Surely they used the darkness, or it was manifestation of Kho’rabi wizardry, for it came as always before them, and where it fell there was a numbing cold, a horrid sensation of dread that crept into our souls and slowed our blood. I could see now that the jennym spoke true-what had first seemed to be a fleet that filled all the sky was, in fact, only a wave of airboats, perhaps twenty of them. But twenty, their magic said, was ample. How should we stand against so many? Twenty was too many. The sky-borne craft would land their fylie of Kho’rabi knights and those warriors would slaughter us. I stared, a rabbit transfixed by a stoat’s rabid gaze.