I said, “No.” I did not know whether I confirmed her words or denied them.
She said, “It were better I die than live mindless. Better I die than betray Dharbek.”
I said, “It were better you live whole.”
She nodded gravely. How could she be so calm? She said, “Aye, and if I can, I shall. But if that’s not to be, I ask this boon of you.”
I said, “I’d give my life willing for yours, Rwyan. But this? I doubt I could strike that blow.”
Urgent, she said, “You must, be it needed. You will, do you love me.”
It was hard to meet the implacable gaze of those great green eyes. They bored into me, alight with determination. Under my hands her bones seemed suddenly fragile. I saw the slender column of her neck and knew that I might snap it with a blow; might drive a fist against her face to send fragmented shards of bone into her skull. Keran had taught me well. I felt my breath come short, in gasps that seared my throat. It was as though a hand clamped hard about my heart. Blood pounded in my head, drumming loud in my ears. I thought my tears must flow sanguine. I burned and was chill, together. Had I not loved her so well, I’d have hated her for the imposition of this awful burden. Had I not loved her so strong, I’d have refused her.
I said hoarse and hollow, the words torn slowly out, “Do you truly ask it, then so be it.”
She said, “I do truly ask it.”
I said, “But not yet. Not now.”
She said, “No. Not whilst hope exists. But does the time come.”
I said, “Then I’ll do it.”
She drew my head down, and kissed me gently, and whispered, “My brave, strong Daviot. My love.”
Brave? I was a coward then. I asked the God I’d cursed and doubted that this burden be taken from me. That he work one of those miracles the Church promises, to take us both from this place, safe and together. Almost, I asked that I might die first. But not quite, for that should have been betrayal, and Rwyan taught me momentarily to be strong. Had she the strength to ask this of me, should I be so weak as to fail her? Almost. Oh, almost. But not quite. It was as if I drew strength from her; as if that pure purpose that invested her being bled into me. I held her close and kissed her fierce. Both our mouths were wet with tears.
When we at last drew apart, I said, “I cannot vouch for Urt’s loyalty, but did you not think the Raethe stood divided as to our fate?” I felt not much conviction. I thought that if factions did exist within the Council, then it was as likely Urt argued simply to thwart Allanyn as to aid us. That what we’d witnessed was some internecine struggle for power. I found it hard then to believe he was still my good true friend; but still I said, “Be that so, then perhaps he’s some plan to save us.”
Rwyan said, “To save us? Think you he’d betray his own kind?”
“Perhaps not that,” I answered. “But perhaps there’s some way he might save us without betraying the Changed.”
I wanted to believe. At the same time, I feared such hope-did I grasp it as my heart dictated, I thought I should lose that resolve Rwyan gave me. I feared I should succumb to hope and delay my blow until it was too late and thus betray my love. I dared not hope; I could not say that to Rwyan. So instead I said, “I pray it be so.”
When the sun was some time passed overhead and shadows lengthened outside, we were summoned.
Four gifted Changed escorted us through curving corridors lit by magic to a blank door. They halted there, and though none knocked or called out, the door swung open. We went through, descending a flight of wide stairs to the bowels of the hall, where an arch opened onto a large, circular chamber.
This was lit by that same occult radiance, and I stared about, wide-eyed with wonder.
Not least at sight of Tezdal.
I had seen him only in the plain garb of Dharbek or that simple gear Ayl had given us. Neither had I seen a Sky Lord undressed of all his armor. Now this man I named my friend stood before me in the clothing of his Ahn homeland.
His hair was oiled and dressed, drawn back tight from his swarthy face to fall in a long tail behind. He wore a shirt of what I took to be black silk, a crimson sash about his waist, a long dagger sheathed there in a silver scabbard. Sable breeks belled over calf-high boots of soft crimson hide, and over all this he wore a sleeveless crimson robe that descended to his ankles, all sewn with glyphs of rainbow threads that flickered and shone in the light. Lord Tezdal, the Changed had named him, and he looked the lord now, save that his face wore an expression of confusion and some embarrassment as he greeted us.
No less grand were the Sky Lords standing close.
Better than a score of them there were, and all garbed in similar magnificence. I saw that all their shirts and breeks and boots were of the same black and crimson hues, but each robe was a different color, with different symbols. They studied us with cold curiosity. Two fingered daggers, as if they’d as soon draw the blades and slay us as leave us witnesses to the ceremony. When Tezdal greeted us as friends, they favored him with disapproving glances.
I looked for Urt and found Allanyn instead. Her eyes sparkled with malice, and I thought that did the Sky Lords attack, she’d not attempt to stay them; rather aid them. She stood with others of the gifted Changed. Beside the Sky Lords, their homely garb was drab, their brightest colors those circlets they wore in evidence of their talent.
I looked about the chamber and felt an unnamable power. I felt my skin prickled, like tiny nails scraping. My mouth was dry. Overhead the vault curved, only the floor flat, all white. Toward its center stood a ring of slim white columns, natural as stalagmites, save for their uniformity. Each rose an arm’s length from its neighbor, and atop each column rested a crystal, larger mates to the stone Rwyan had worn. They pulsed as if invested with arcane life, shimmering a spectrum of pale colors. I thought of those jellyfish that drift shining in the ocean and poison whatever comes within the aegis of their filaments. At the center of that circle stood a construction like a bier, draped with a golden cloth. I had never before set foot in any place of magic, but I should have known this for such a location, even had Rwyan not clutched my hand so that I felt her tremble, or seen the crystals.
Our escort moved to join their fellows, and from the group stepped Geran.
“We’d restore Lord Tezdal his memory,” he said. “Do you witness this and know our power. As you value your lives and his, do not interfere.”
I nodded. Rwyan said, “Are these all your crystals?”
“No.” Geran made a small negative movement of his head. “This valley is rich with them.”
Rwyan nodded as if a belief were confirmed and murmured, “I thought as much.”
“So do you stand here,” Geran said. “Silent.”
He turned away, devoid of any doubt but that we should obey. I caught Tezdal’s eye. I thought him none too happy. I smiled encouragement. No matter the situation, I counted him a friend; and thought it a dreadful thing to have no memory.
The Sky Lords grouped close around him, murmuring in their own language. They brought him to the bier, and he climbed onto the platform, stretching out with arms folded across his chest. They stood a moment there, intoning what I thought must be a prayer, then went to join the Changed sorcerers.
All found a place about the columns, all reaching out so that their fingers rested lightly on the crystals. The stones shone brighter with that contact. I felt Rwyan’s grip tighten and glanced sidelong at her face. Her expression frightened me, for it was one of longing and loathing combined. She shuddered, her lips drawn taut, as if she fought some private impulse. Her eyes shone, intent on the pulsing jewels. I loosed her hand and put my arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. She was heated, as if a fever gripped her. I remembered all she’d told me of the crystals and thought they called her. I moved behind her, both my arms around her waist: I thought I might need hold her back. She moaned softly and clutched my wrists, pressing against me. In other circumstances I’d have found that contact erotic; here I felt only awe, and more than a little fear.
No word was spoken, but I sensed communion. Pale light, almost lost under the radiance of the walls, began to shroud each figure. It came from the crystals, flickering tentative at first over hands, climbing arms, flowing swifter, liquid over bodies until all were encompassed in that faint nimbus. Some strained rigid, others stood limp. Some heads flung back as if in ecstasy, others drooped, slack-jawed. I saw Allanyn’s eyes close, her wide mouth stretched in a smile. A thin trickle of saliva ran down her pointed chin. The light coming from the walls dimmed as the nimbus gained strength. I thought the crystals drew power from the sorcerers in equal measure to their call on the stones, A radiance that was all colors and none bathed the figures and flowed inward, over Tezdal. I saw him shudder, his body tensing. His eyes sprang wide, then closed. He made a sound that was part sigh and part cry, loud in the chamber’s silence. He relaxed, and the glow grew stronger still, until it hid him from my sight, shimmering like pale flame.
How long we stood watching this ceremony, I’ve no idea. Time had no meaning in this vault. It was as though the crystals imposed their own chronology, dismissing those measurements that we breathing, blooded creatures set to mark their own pace. I know only that the glow dimmed, then was gone, swift as snuffed candle’s flame, and it was as if I woke.
I felt Rwyan let go her hold on my wrists and lean against me with a sigh, as if she were exhausted. I exhaled a gusty breath, staring at the bier.
Tezdal lay still, only the slow rise and fall of his chest to announce he lived. Around him hung faint light. I was reminded of that shimmering that surrounded the Sky Lords’ vessels. I saw that from each crystal there extended a pale tendril of radiance. I looked to the sorcerers.
They came slowly from their task, the Kho’rabi wizards swifter than the Changed. Allanyn was the slowest. She seemed reluctant to leave go the stones she touched. When she did, it was with a shudder, her eyes glazed, focusing only gradually. She licked her lips and wiped a sleeve across the spittle decking her chin. When she saw me watching, her lips pursed a moment. I thought she’d speak, but all she did was smile and turn away. Still there was something triumphant in her look.
Geran came toward us. His long equine face was grave, his eyes somewhat dulled. I thought him wearied.
He said, “So it’s done. Or nearly.”
Rwyan straightened in my arms. “I see only Tezdal, sleeping,” she said.
The spokesman smiled. “Lady, you know great magic was practiced this day.”
She gave him back, “Magic, surely. Great magic? Of that I see no evidence.”
The horse-faced Changed shrugged. “What we’ve done here shall be clear enough in time. Lord Tezdal shall sleep awhile, but when he wakes, he’ll have back his memory.”
“And know himself a Sky Lord.” Allanyn approached us from the side, all her spiteful composure regained. “Know you for his enemies.”