Storm Breaking v(ms-3 Page 32

  He winced as he listened to himself; was that any way to speak to a girl he really wanted to be able to kiss?

  "You don't," she said bluntly, peering at him. "You're too pale, and too thin. What have you been doing to yourself?"

  That was so very typical of her that he had to laugh, and relaxed immediately. "As to the first, we've been living underground, and we mostly don't get to see the sun. And as to the second—have you ever tasted Firesong's cooking?" He shuddered melodramatically, and she laughed in return. "Seriously. We're mostly eating as the Shin'a'in do; it's not that bad, just a little odd."

  "And you don't often see a fat Shin'a'in," she said shrewdly. "Things were quiet until Altra showed up with this contraption. We Artificers all wanted to take it apart, of course, but when we were told that the first person to try would be skinned, we gave up on the idea." She grinned. "We'll have to make do with trying to duplicate it from those manuscripts. If we can, we'll send one by fast Herald-courier to Solaris, and then you'll get to talk to her on a regular basis."

  "Must I?" he asked weakly. He was not ready to face Solaris just yet. He wasn't sure he would be for quite a while, actually. Her Radiance was not a comfortable person to speak to, face-to-face. For that matter, she wasn't a comfortable person to communicate with, letter to letter; he always had the feeling that he was reading something intended for an audience rather than a personal letter.

  "First we have to duplicate it," she pointed out, and smiled. "You know, I'm very glad to see you again. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I'd wake up, and I'd wonder if you were—quite real."

  Oddly enough, he knew exactly what she meant. "It's hard to imagine someone being real who's that far away," he agreed. "It's as if they never existed except in your mind."

  She flushed a little, and looked away for a moment. "Anyway," she continued awkwardly, "we've been busy, though it doesn't have anything to do with the important things." She sounded wistful. "There's just nothing we can do right now to help with what you're doing, so we're back to the old projects like bridges and steam boilers."

  "There's nothing wrong with that," he countered. "Don't these things have to be done no matter what disaster might be looming?" He managed a crooked grin. "If everything else falls apart, your bridges will be there to get people across rivers that can't be ferried or forded. Surely that's worth something."

  She shrugged but looked pleased. "At least what we're doing is useful," she admitted. "It's odd, though. The folk around and about Haven have the funniest attitude; you can tell them and tell them that the protection we've given them from the mage-storms is only temporary, but they act as if it's permanent. They aren't doing anything to prepare themselves for the worst, they aren't even thinking about it." Now she sounded and looked very frustrated. "When you ask them why, they just shrug and can't give you an answer, or they say something stupid, fatalistic, or both."

  "I think," he said slowly, "that ordinary folk just can't imagine anything awful happening to them. It always happens to someone else."

  "Well, you'd think after years of war and bandits and all they should know better," she replied acidly. "At any rate, now that things have settled down, they aren't at all interested in asking us about things they can do when the Storms come again, they just want to know how long it is going to take before a bridge will be up. Or if the steam boiler is likely to explode again."

  "I hope you're on bridges," he said, trying not to show alarm. "And not steam boilers."

  "Actually, I'm on metal stress," she replied, running her hand through her hair absently. "I get to make some very interesting and loud noises. We're trying to make tougher alloys, but I don't want to bore you with what we're doing. I spend some time in the forge, because at the moment, work on steam boilers is stalled until we can find a better way to make the boiler itself."

  He sighed, resting his chin on his hands. "It wouldn't bore me, but I'd be lost," he admitted. "Sejanes is trying to teach me some specific kind of exercises for working with magic, and those would probably mean about as much to you."

  "Probably." The conversation died for a moment. "Still, I hope you aren't—I mean, I don't want you to think that—" her face twisted with frustration. "Just, if you're doing something dangerous, don't take more on yourself than you can carry all right?"

  He smiled. "As long as you promise to do the same," he replied, and she laughed.

  "Grain for the gander is good for the goose, hmm? Well, I'll promise to try but my judgment is sometimes faulty."

  "So is mine, so don't hold it against me." His smile took on an ironic edge. "We can't all be infallible Sons of the Sun."

  "Oh, even Solaris admits to fallibility," she chuckled. "Believe it or not."

  "Solaris?" he chuckled. "That would be an entry in the annals, especially if she admitted that she was fallible to you polytheistic barbarians."

  "But she did!" Natoli protested, and as he continued to regard her askance, she looked surprised. "Oh! I'll bet no one told you, any of you! You will not believe what has happened with Grand Duke Tremane!"

  As she outlined the astonishing developments in Hardorn since the arrival of Elspeth and Darkwind, Karal felt his eyes growing larger and larger. No one had seemed to think that any of this was significant enough to pass on to any of the other members of his party—

  Which is probably because they all have their own preoccupations and not a one of them thinks anything is important outside those preoccupations! But you'd think someone would have said something to Sejanes!

  "We have a Herald and a Companion stationed down in Karse in Solaris'—court, I suppose you call it—" she added.

  "Conclave," he corrected.

  "Conclave, then. We sent him down so that we could get information to her by way of his Companion and Talia's Rolan." She laughed. "Actually, it's not just a 'Herald,' it's my father, and he seems to be enjoying himself. Anyway, we sent her word about this, and the reply she sent back was: 'Since he has voluntarily placed himself in the hands of a higher judge of character than myself, I feel impelled to point out that Natoli, An'desha, and Karal were correct in their assessment of his basic character, and I was at least in part swayed by nothing more substantial than emotion.' What do you think of that?" She grinned, as if she had somehow won a great prize. Then again, winning a concession like that from Solaris would have been a great prize, particularly as it was her father who had sent the message on to Haven.

  It's a small thing, but she just proved to her father that she doesn't have to be a Herald to accomplish something important, he realized. And maybe she just proved it to herself as well.

  "I think she didn't use the ecclesiastic plural, which means that she was speaking for Solaris and not for the Son of the Sun," he told her, but he felt very pleased, nevertheless, for the sake of his own people. Historically, it was a tremendous temptation for the Son of the Sun to always think of himself as speaking for Vkandis, until even the most minor personal opinions were incorporated as doctrine. Solaris appeared to have overcome that particular temptation. "Which is not a bad thing."

  "No, it's not." She appeared to have run out of things to say, and another awkward moment of silence descended. "I suppose you'll want to go tell all this to Sejanes.…"

  He did, but he also didn't want to go, even though he didn't really have anything to say. The silence lengthened and became more strained. She glanced to the side, and her expression lightened a little with relief even while it darkened with disappointment. "Oh, here's someone for Master Levy. If Altra will hold the teleson open while you get him—"

  "Of course!" he said, feeling both emotions himself. "Natoli, take care of yourself! And I—I miss all of you."

  He didn't dare say that he missed only her, but he hoped she got that impression from his hesitation. "I—we miss you too," she replied, with a smile more shy than usual, and vanished from the crystal. Karal ran to get Master Levy, who nodded and hurried to the device carrying a sheaf of notes as if he had
been expecting to be summoned back.

  Karal glanced around and couldn't find Sejanes in the upper rooms; he listened carefully and heard the old mage's voice coming thinly from the workshops below. He hurried down the stairs to find Sejanes chatting away comfortably with Lyam, though Tarrn was nowhere in sight.

  "Sir!" he called, "I've got the most amazing news about Duke Tremane!"

  "Well," Sejanes said, chuckling softly. "Well, well, well." He was inordinately pleased with Karal's news, and Karal could not help but wonder why.

  That's an odd way to react, considering that Tremane has acted quite unlike a proper Imperial officer. "I thought you might be upset, sir," he ventured, tilting his head to one side. "Aren't you?"

  "Upset? No, this is rather good news, all things considered," Sejanes replied, and chuckled again. "It seems that my former pupil has learned at long last that there are things that do not always answer to his logic. I am quite glad to hear this, truth be told. This is going to be a very good thing for everyone concerned."

  Karal kept his inquisitive expression, hoping to prompt more information from the mage, and Sejanes enlarged on his statement.

  "I am pleased for Hardorn, for that sad, maltreated land could not have found a better caretaker." He blinked, and his eyes fixed on some distant point beyond Karal. "I am pleased because Tremane could not have found a better trust than Hardorn. He was wasted on the Empire; he has the misfortune to be that rarest of Imperial creatures, a man of high rank who still maintains a shred or two of integrity and compassion. That is not to say, at all, that the military is composed of heartless men; far from that, in fact. He might have done well had he remained within the military, but as Emperor, he would have been a victim of one of three unpleasant fates—eaten alive by those conspiring to use him, murdered, or corrupted."

  "That much I can see," Karal replied. "It's quite logical, but..." He faltered, unsure how to ask what he wanted to know without being rude. Imperials were not—quite—irreligious, but they were hardly as devout as even the average Valdemaran. And when compared with the average Karsite, they were positively atheistic!

  Sejanes seemed to understand what he wanted to know. "Not all citizens of the Empire are so immersed in practicality as you think." His gaze softened and turned inward for a moment. "Those most likely to become cynical, believers in nothing that they cannot see, are the career courtiers. Those least likely—probably the folk who live nearest the land, and those who live by magic. My young protege was poised between the cynic and the believer, and he could have taken either path. He may be the rarest of all, one who can see the truth in both."

  Karal wanted badly to ask just what Sejanes believed in, but he sensed that Sejanes would not tell him now. He might never. That was his right, of course. And it would be horribly impolite of Karal to ask him. If he ever wanted to tell Karal, he would.

  "It is my own opinion, that whatever else has happened, Tremane has discovered that there are those other paths. Perhaps that will open his mind to those other possibilities." He rubbed his eyes for a moment, as if they were tired. "And I am pleased that he has an outside governor in this earth-binding, something to—shall we say—keep him from succumbing to other temptations."

  "He is that weak, then?" asked Lyam, with the careless tone of one to whom Duke Tremane and his men were no more real than the folk in the Chronicles of a thousand years ago.

  They might not be. The Kaled'a'in are so different from the Imperials that they must seem equally unreal to each other.

  "Not weak," Sejanes amended, and his wrinkled brow knitted, as he searched for words.

  He's trying to explain Tremane to a couple of youngsters for whom the Empire is only a name, who cannot even imagine the levels of intrigue that someone like Tremane must negotiate every day. Karal waited for the aged mage to find the right words. And he can't know that the Temple of Vkandis is—or was, anyway—as much a hotbed of conspiracy as any court. I don't think Lyam could ever understand the stresses that Tremane must have been under, but I do. I wonder if Tremane ever got tired of it all, and wished for things to be simpler? "No, he's not weak." Sejanes repeated. "The trouble is that certain habits, certain ways of reacting, become ingrained. It would be all too simple to revert to the ways in which business is conducted in the Empire, without thought for what was good for Hardorn. That, more than anything, would be the temptation; to take the way that is easiest, rather than the one that is best for the people and the land, and doubly so when resources are low."

  Lyam looked baffled, but shrugged, accepting what Sejanes said for the moment.

  Karal nodded. "Trying to do things the way he was used to would probably get him in great difficulties in Hardorn, wouldn't it?" he asked. "It might even break up the peace, and he might not know why that had happened. Now, he hasn't a choice, you see; he'll know what is best and he'll have to do it, or he knows how he'll suffer for it. And you know," he continued, feeling a certain amount of surprise at the insight, "the thing is. since people will know he can't do anything selfishly or maliciously, they're likely to be easier on his mistakes, if you take my meaning. They'll be more likely to forgive and explain."

  Sejanes flashed a mildly surprised but appreciative look at him. "Exactly so. And I am very fond of Tremane; I should like to see him as happy as anyone burdened with power and the ability to wield it can be. He has a strong sense of responsibility, and this may be the one opportunity of his lifetime to exercise that responsibility with people who are likely to appreciate the care he will take." Once again, Sejanes' gaze turned inward. "He had his estate. of course, but those on it were used to being ruled gently. The folk of Hardorn were subjected to every ill imaginable. That will make them grateful to a gentler hand."

  Lyam uttered the breathy equivalent of a laugh, showing very sharp, pointed teeth. "He will be finding himself burdened with more than power, I think. Earth-sense is as jealous a mistress as responsibility."

  "But the earth-sense and his own responsibility will work in harness amicably, rather than pulling him to pieces between them," Sejanes countered. "Had he risen to power in the Empire, he would have spent every day being torn among fear, duty, responsibility, expediency, and the right. I think it might have driven him mad. I know it would have changed him into something I would no longer recognize."

  The hertasi shrugged again. "Good, then. We take what small victories we can. I hope that all this gives him aid if we cannot stop the Storms. He shall need every help he can muster to protect these people who are now depending on him."

  "It might." Karal knew something about earth-sense, though few Sun-priests had it. The ability was much valued among the farmers of the Karsite hills, where the soil was poor and the weather chancy. If you knew that it would be a bad decision to plant corn this year in a particular field, and a good one to plant clover, you might prosper when your neighbors failed. And if you shared your expertise with your neighbors, you might all be able to pay the tithe in goods instead of your own flesh-and-blood, come harvest time. It wasn't exactly a witch-power, and it wasn't exactly one of the things that would get you sent to the Fires, but it also wasn't the sort of thing that you spoke about to the Sun-priests. The Sun-priests in their turn were careful not to ask about it, and all was well.

  "Another small victory, then." Lyam nodded decisively, and seemed to think that a change of subject was in order. "This Natoli, who gave you this word—is she kin to you? Or something else?"

  That was not the subject the young Karsite would have chosen, and Karal felt himself blushing furiously, as Lyam's quick eyes and quicker wit filled in the truth. "Ah—" the little lizard said, not without sympathy, his head bobbing. "She is to you what Jylen is to me, I think." He sighed gustily. "I do miss her company, but I would not have her here. She could not have endured the journey, and I think she would have felt herself useless, which is a bad thing for anyone to feel."

  "Natoli would have felt the same," Karal admitted. "Oh, I feel useless about half t
he time, and it makes me want to bite something. I'd rather not think how she would react."

  "Nor I, Jylen." Lyam laughed. "A trimmer tail there never was, nor a more graceful snout, but neither belong to a maid with an overabundance of patience."

  He shared a glance of fellow-feeling with Karal, and the young Karsite experienced a definite warming in the relationship between them.

  "Well, Sejanes, I will take my leave of you," Lyam told the mage. "And of you, Karal. My stomach has an overly-intimate embrace with my spine, and I think I shall venture Firesong's cooking and see if it is as terrible as you claim. Surely he learned something from his hertasi!"

  "It's not Firesong tonight, it's An'desha," Karal assured him, "And he and the Shin'a'in have agreed to share that particular chore from now on."

  "Thanks to the Hundred Little Gods!" Sejanes exclaimed with clear relief. "Even enduring Shin'a'in butter-tea is preferable to eating what Firesong cooks!"

  "In that case, I will haste my steps!" the hertasi cried. "In case the other starvelings aloft decide to leave me with naught but scrapings!"