A tall, thin-faced Changed touched my elbow, indicating that I follow him. There were seven of the gifted attended us, and as they herded us away, I caught a glimpse of Urt through the crowd. He met my stare with a bland expression that told me nothing. I saw that he did not wear a circlet.
Folk made way for us as we were led from the audience chamber, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and hostility. On some faces I thought I saw pity. On one I saw unhidden hatred, and for all I’d not seen her clearly until now, I knew this was Allanyn. And that she was an implacable enemy.
She was tall and slender, and had it not been for the malign fire burning in her ocher eyes, I’d have thought her beautiful. Her hair was russet, falling loose about a narrow face dominated by those huge, fierce eyes. Her lips were narrow and mobile, curving in a smile as she studied me. She was undoubtedly feline: she had that sinuous grace, that predatory languor. The yellow gown she wore hid it no better than her smile hid her animosity. I’d not have been surprised had she extended claws. She wore a golden band about her brow.
Lightly, as if she were not at all afraid, Rwyan said, “That one bears us little love, I think.”
“Best ward your tongue, lady.” The thin-faced Changed spoke soft, and not without a hint of sympathy. “Allanyn’s one of our strongest, and she bears no love at all for Truemen.”
Rwyan nodded as if this were a tidbit of knowledge not unsuspected and gave the fellow a cheery smile. “My thanks for the warning,” she murmured. “But does Allanyn govern here or all the Raethe?”
“All have a voice,” said the Changed, his tone low enough that only we might hear, “but Allanyn’s is very loud.”
“Indeed,” said Rwyan, and laughed.
I was uncertain whether she was genuine in her apparent lack of concern, or only put on a brave face. For my own part, I’ll admit I was mightily nervous. I felt little doubt but that Tezdal’s memory should be restored him, nor any more that such demonstration of power should fail to persuade Rwyan. I knew with an awful certainty that she would refuse to give up her secrets willingly but rather fight the Changed to the end. I found her hand and forced a smile I knew was hollow.
We were marched along a windowless corridor that should have been dark but was not. Instead it glowed with a pale radiance that seemed to emanate from the surrounding stone itself. I had not seen its like, but Rwyan smiled as if such a marvel were familiar. Her expression suggested some private confirmation, but when I frowned a question, she only shook her head, indicating I remain silent.
I obeyed: it seemed she was in command now. I marveled that she could be so calm when all I felt was mounting trepidation.
We came to a door that appeared cut from a single slab of stone, and a Changed pushed it open, gesturing that we enter. The door closed behind us, and I looked about.
We stood in a square chamber that was neither quite a cell nor such a room as should be offered guests. Walls and floor and ceiling were all of the same white stone, unadorned. Light came from a single window, falling bright over two chairs of black wood that were the only furnishings. No latch or handle marred the pristine surface of the door, and when I tried to shift it, it remained resolutely sealed.
Rwyan said, “That shall do no good, Daviot. We can only wait.”
I grunted, crossing to the window. The rectangular opening was glassed, without hinges or shutters. I wondered how air might enter, and if we were left here to suffocate. Anger stirred, tainted with panic, and I struck the glass. That only hurt my fist.
Rwyan set a hand on my shoulder and said, “You’ll not break it, my love. We’re prisoners here until they choose to release us.”
I asked, “Your magic?”
And she shook her head. “I’m helpless here. Do you not sense it?”
It was my turn to shake my head. She gestured at the walls. “Magic surrounds us; I feel it on my skin, like a storm building. This place is mortared with crystals that leach my power.”
“But you can see,” I said.
“That little they allow,” she told me, “and no more. They’ve far greater command than I suspected.”
“Then why,” I asked, “are they not destroyed, made mad?”
She shrugged and said, “We’ve spoken of this before, no? These wild Changed are-different…. And mad? Do you believe Allanyn is sane?”
I thought of the rank hate I’d seen in those ocher eyes and shook my head again. Rwyan’s hand descended to fall around my waist. She rested her head on my shoulder. She said, “Do you heed your own advice and be patient. I’d know the fuller measure of their power and of their intentions, before … I decide what I must do. I cannot give them what they ask, not willing.”
Something in her tone chilled me, deep in the marrow of my bones. I thought she must fear that terrible decision, that for her was no decision at all. I turned to face her, my hands on her shoulders, holding her at arm’s length that I might see her clear. I said, “Do you refuse, they’ll take it, and-” I sighed and drew her close, my face buried in her hair.
She said, calm against my chest, “And leave me mindless. I’d not have that.”
I said, “Nor I!”
She moved within my arms, leaning back a little that she might “look” directly at my face. “And surrounded by this power, my own is as nothing. I’ll not be able to match them-neither defy them nor fight them.”
I said, “Then you can only submit.”
“No!” Her hands moved upward to cup my cheeks, to hold steady my head that I look into her eyes. I saw her resolve and felt fear. She said, “But you …”
I said, “Me? What power have I?”
She said, “That given you by your College.”
I choked out a sour laugh. “The power of a Storyman? Shall I recite them a tale to change their minds, then?”
“Not that.” Her eyes held mine transfixed. “But one of those other skills taught you in Durbrecht.”
I did not want to hear what I feared she’d ask: I could not refuse. “Rwyan, don’t ask this of me.”
She said, “I must; and you must agree.”
I groaned. I thought I should choke on the constriction that filled my throat. Or empty my belly over this cursed white magic floor.
As if from far away yet very clear, I heard Rwyan say, “They’ll not watch you so close. You wear that talisman that marks you as their friend. And you’ve the skill.”
I shook my head and mumbled, “No.”
She said, “You’d rather see my mind drained? Left empty, like some discarded bowl of bone?”
I closed my eyes and shook my head and said through gritted teeth, “No.”
She said, “Then does worse come to worst, you must kill me
I opened my eyes and stood a moment blind, stunned and silent. There was a ghastly logic in what she asked, and damnation did I either refuse or agree. I said, “I cannot.”
She said fierce, “You must! Do they use their crystals on me, I shall betray Dharbek, betray what I am. I’ll not go willing to that; neither would I be mindless. Sooner dead!”
I blinked, my cheeks wet. It seemed the room spun. I felt Rwyan’s hands upon my cheeks, and it seemed they burned me. I loved her. I could only admire her courage. And hate her determination. I said again, “I cannot. Rwyan, don’t ask this of me.”
She said, “I must. I’ve no one else.”
That, I could not argue. I had anyway no arguments left; neither hope. I saw only despair ahead. Silently I cursed Ayl for his kidnap. The sorcerers who’d sent Rwyan out with Tezdal, myself; even Rwyan, that she should ask this dreadful duty of me.
Rwyan said, “One blow, Daviot my love. Only that.”
I groaned, shaking my head.