Sarun only fixed me with a dour look; it was Rekyn who answered, “Jareth and Yraele have a daughter, no?” I said, “Avralle, yes.”
“Who is,” Rekyn went on, “now fourteen years of age.”
I saw it in the instant. It had not occurred to me before, because I had not thought Gahan should die so soon. I gasped and blurted out, “And in two more shall be of marriageable age.”
“Indeed,” Rekyn said. “And is Jareth regent for those two years, he might well persuade Taerl to choose his daughter for a wife.”
“Which should bind Jareth closer still,” I murmured.
“Closer?” Sarun interrupted with a snarl. “By the God, it should in all effect give him Kherbryn. He’d be Lord Protector in all but name. Perhaps that, too, does his ambition run higher than his courage.”
“And there are enough object to Jareth that some,” Rekyn turned sharp eyes on the young aeldor, “might oppose him.”
“Civil war?” I looked from one to the other. “When the Sky Lords threaten the Great Coming?”
“Not all see so far ahead as you,” said Rekyn. “There are some might well forget the greater threat.”
“I think,” said Sarun, “that which is the greater threat-Jareth or the Sky Lords-is a matter of some debate.”
I asked, “Why did Gahan name him regent?”
“That shall likely remain a mystery.” Rekyn’s voice was tired, and as she went to fill her cup, she groaned, stretching her back as if too long asaddle. “Gahan was on his deathbed when he named Jareth. Perhaps he could think of no other. Perhaps-”
Sarun’s laughter cut her off. It sounded to me like the barking of an angry hound. “Jareth came south fast enough once he’d word. By the God, he must have killed horses to reach Kherbryn so swift!”
“Perhaps Yraele persuaded Gahan,” Rekyn went on. “She’s ambitious for her husband. However it came about, the fact remains.”
“Perhaps Jareth had Gahan poisoned.”
Sarun ignored Rekyn’s gasp. He could not ignore her words, for they came furnace-hot and sharp as edged steel. “Hold such thoughts to yourself, Sarun. For Cambar’s sake! For the sake of Gwennet and Bardaen; for your unborn! Were that voiced abroad, how long do you think you’d live?”
Sarun shrugged, though he now wore a somewhat shamefaced expression. He took up his dagger again, running a thumb along the edge. “I’ll not voice them,” he muttered. “But I’ll wager I’m not the only one to hold them. For the God’s sake, Rekyn-can you tell me you’ve not wondered? Gahan dead so sudden, and Jareth come arunning? Perhaps magic was used on Gahan, to slay him or persuade him.”
“No sorcerer would stoop so low!” Now the commur-mage’s voice was a whiplash. “I know not what killed the Lord Protector, but there’s no sorcerer come out of Durbrecht would soil themselves so.”
Sarun looked chastened. Indeed, I found Rekyn frightening then. I said, “But Taerl shall be Lord Protector, Jareth only Regent. And that no longer than it takes Taerl to attain his twenty-one years.”
“For three of which Jareth shall stand at his shoulder,” Sarun said, but softer now. “Whispering in his ear; and perhaps in two, his whispering shall persuade Taerl to wed Avralle. What do you know of Taerl, Daviot?”
I was a moment taken aback. I frowned, harvesting memories. Then I said, “Not very much, save he’s Gahan’s son by Elvyre, who is six years dead. He spent two years in Mardbrecht; two in Durbrecht. It’s said he’s a quiet fellow, with a great love of horses.”
“He’s young and feckless,” said Sarun. “He’d sooner ride than govern. Oh”-this with a glance at Rekyn that said he did not forget her warnings-“I’d not speak against him. Were Gahan yet alive, I’d not doubt the boy should be whipped into shape, and I’d pledge fealty when the time came. But now? Do the Sky Lords come, Jareth will command; and Jareth’s not the man for that task. In the God’s name, I like this situation not at all.”
“I suspect your sentiments are shared throughout Dharbek.” Rekyn spoke dryly. “Indeed, I’d wager this very conversation echoes up and down the land. But still it remains that Jareth is named regent. The why of it may be questioned, but there is no doubt at all that Gahan named him. And with what we face, accord is needed, not argument.”
Sarun nodded, but his face was sour. “Think you Jareth shall command us well?” he asked. “Do we face the Great Coming as you sorcerers believe, shall Jareth lead us or sit safe in Kherbryn?”
“Do the Sky Lords come as I believe,” Rekyn said, “then I think Jareth shall be no safer in Kherbryn than any other place. I think there shall be nowhere safe in Dharbek.”
I sat listening with half an ear, offering no further comment. They spoke somewhat in circles now, of factions and rivalries, of blood lines and marriage treaties, of who should support Jareth and who oppose. Did it come to open war, I thought Sarun should lead Cambar’s men in rebellion, so fervent was his dislike. I was not sure Rekyn would support him. I thought that-just as the commur-mage had said-there must be keeps throughout all Dharbek ringing to the same words. I thought this death could not have come at a worse time. Gahan was popular; better, he was wise. He was a leader, which it appeared Taerl could not yet be. And was Sarun’s animosity shared, then Jareth’s appointment seemed more likely to foment dissent than promote union. I felt an awful fear that the Sky Lords should mount their Great Coming against a land torn by civil strife.
I heard Rekyn ask a question and let go my musings.
“You understand, Daviot, that what’s been said here must remain between us? You’ll not speak of it elsewhere?”
Almost, I smiled: I grew well versed in the keeping of secrets. I said, “I understand: I’d not betray you. But when I return to Durbrecht? The College will have an accounting of me then, and I’ll be asked what mood pertains where I’ve been. Am I to hold silence then?”
Neither spoke immediately, and when an answer came, it came from Rekyn. It seemed Sarun deferred to her in such matters. “I think,” she said slowly, as if each word unwound her thoughts, “that you had best speak openly then. Your College and mine both have say and sway in Dharbek’s affairs, and perhaps it were better the mood of the holds be known. But not until you return, eh?”
I was glad to find my bed that night, though sleep was harder found. I lay on sweat-damp sheets, the air thick, the light of the now-full moon seeming warm as if the sun yet held sway. How long I lay awake I was not sure, but I did eventually sleep, for the dream came back.
It came distorted, without its usual strange coherence, so that when I woke, I retained only fragments, as if my memory failed me. I was once more in the wood, but there was no mist, and I looked across a sun-washed sea to distant islands. Then the sky grew black, and dread possessed me. I heard the weird singing of elementals, and through the darkness came the red cylinders of the Sky Lords’ boats. I cowered, and the sky was black no longer but the color of blood. Beams rose from the islands, clawing at the skyboats. Where they struck, the skyboats blazed and fell, but there were so many that each gap was on the instant filled. They covered the heavens from horizon to horizon. I heard Rwyan scream my name, and I stood on a beach of bleached white stone, my love beside me.
She said, “Daviot, hurry! We’ve little time. Save we act, all’s lost.”
I turned to ask her what she meant, but a great wave rose up, that I saw was made by the beating of a dragon’s wings. A shadow passed over me, and my head rang with the creature’s scream.
It landed on a cliff where black pines grew, Whitefish village below. Then cliff became city wall and the village became Durbrecht. The city burned, the walls lay ruined, and where the College of the Mnemonikos should have stood was an open place, at its center a splendid catafalque surrounded by mourners. I glimpsed Urt amidst the rubble, Rwyan at his side, and took a step toward them, then was frozen by the dragon’s scream.
I stared up, unable to disobey the imperative in that cry. The dragon perched on its hindquarters, a jet-armored Kho’rabi clutched in one sword-taloned paw. The Kho’rabi swung a useless blade against skin impervious to his blows. The dragon raised the struggling man. I watched aghast as the great head dropped, jaws opening, and the dragon bit the Kho’rabi. The body fell separated, and the dragon opened its jaws wide, again emitting that piercing scream. I was suddenly surrounded by Kho’rabi, but they ignored me, raising long bows to send black arrows volleying at the dragon. The missiles made no impression on the sleek blue hide, and the dragon seemed not to notice them, save it spread its wings and beat them three times, which sent the Sky Lords tumbling like windblown leaves. I could not understand why I was not blown away, but I stood untouched and alone as the beast folded its vast wings and fixed me with its yellow stare.
It seemed less terrible, albeit indifferent to the corpses strewn about its taloned feet. I thought its look benign. It seemed to call me, and I beckoned Rwyan and Urt on as I began to climb the broken wall. I knew that could I reach it, the beast must give me answers, though I did not know the questions I should ask. I scrambled upward, but as I approached the dragon, the sky was filled again with the Kho’rabi vessels, and it spread its wings, readying to fly. I shouted, begging it to wait, but it launched itself, and the beating of its wings tumbled me down. I heard Rwyan say, “Daviot, we must-”-And I woke.
The sheet was tangled at my feet, and sweat drenched me. My head ached and my limbs were heavy as I rose, stumbling to the pitcher. The water was tepid, but I drank and doused my head, and then stood, my chest heaving, against the sill, staring out. It was not yet full dawn, but the sky already possessed a leaden intensity, and the air was hot as noon on a midsummer day. The keep’s thick stone was warm as an oven’s. The yard below was silent, but I could still hear the sound of the dragon’s wings. The chamber seemed suddenly too small. I turned from the window and washed, then pulled on shirt and breeks, my boots, and went out.
Changed servants moved sleepily about the hall. I thought they seemed less troubled by the heat than Truemen, though their movements were leisurely. I asked a cat-bred woman if I might have tea, making sure she caught sight of my bracelet. She showed no more sign of recognition than Tal, but she brought me tea and fruit and bread, for which I thanked her.
I broke my fast and sat awhile as the warband appeared. Of Rekyn or Sarun, there was no sign, but Andolyne came in holding Bardaen’s hand. The dowager gave me the day’s greetings and took a place with a weary sigh, favoring me with a wan smile.
“Oh, but this heat, Daviot,” she murmured. “I can hardly bear it, but poor Gwennet …”
“She’s close?” I asked, and Andolyne nodded, answering me, “Garat stays by her. He says any day now.” She shook her head. “Sad times, no? That a babe be born with Gahan dead and the Great Coming likely.”
“Sad times indeed,” I agreed. “But all well …”
Bardaen set to tugging at my sleeve then, demanding a story, and I took him on my knee, giving him the tale of Dryff and the Boar of Draggonek. By the time that was told, the hall had filled and Rekyn found me. I looked at her with brows raised in question, and she nodded, ruffling Bardaen’s hair. By unspoken consent, we said nothing of Gahan or what had passed in Sarun’s chamber, but talked instead of calmer days. She’d have a full accounting of all my time in Durbrecht and after, and I found myself recalling memories tucked away in the drawers of that mnemonic chest that dead Martus had described. I went into no great detail about my friendship with Urt or my too-brief time with Rwyan, and I said nothing at all of Lan’s bracelet or that sighting of Kho’rabi and Changed together. It saddened me that I should be less than honest with so old a friend, but I thought Rekyn’s first duty was to Dharbek and to Cambar, and that did I reveal my secrets, she would likely see no choice but to report them to her College. I felt trapped in my own dissemblance.
If Rekyn sensed my concealments, she gave no sign but suggested we walk into the town. She would, she promised, bring me to the cottage that Delia shared with Kaene. I agreed, though first I’d see my horse was well-this heat was no kinder to animals than to men, and we had a long journey ahead of us, was I to make my way north up the coast and then along the Treppanek to Durbrecht.
We went to the stables, where a Changed ostler with a bandage about his forearm advised me my mare was indeed as foul-tempered as I had warned. I looked her over (it seemed by now she tolerated me somewhat or had decided to call a truce) and found her fit enough. Rekyn eyed her and said softly, “’Twas Andyrt first put you on a horse, no?”
I said, “It was; and by the God, I ached after.”
She chuckled at that, as I’d hoped she should, and shook her head, murmuring, “Old grief. Best left behind.”
I nodded, saying no more. Mnemonikos are not alone in harboring memories. Ours are just clearer, held with a precision, a clarity, that is ofttimes heartbreaking.