Read The Gathering Flame Online
Authors: Debra Doyle,James D. Macdonald
The Gathering Flame (41 page)
(GALCENIAN DATING 970 A.F.; ENTIBORAN REGNAL YEAR 34 VERATINA)
T
HE GUARDS had changed again. Errec Ransome sat on the stone bench outside his prison house and watched them at a distance. His eyes were closed, as if he were enjoying the warm sun after a long night, but with his inward vision he sought the presence of his adversaries in the tangles of Power.
HE GUARDS had changed again. Errec Ransome sat on the stone bench outside his prison house and watched them at a distance. His eyes were closed, as if he were enjoying the warm sun after a long night, but with his inward vision he sought the presence of his adversaries in the tangles of Power.
The Mage who had touched him earlier was going somewhere, and Errec was going with him, his consciousness hidden in the shadows that bordered the other’s mind. He had reached out and inserted himself there, using a technique that his instructors on Galcen had spoken of, but that they had considered too dangerous to practice among friends.
An enemy, Errec presumed, was different.
So he watched and waited. After a while he realized that the man in whose mind he rode was going to a meeting with others of his kind. Perhaps, Errec reflected, he himself would become the first Adept ever to watch the Mages at work—or at least, the first to do so and remain faithful to the Guild. He supposed that Master Guislen had seen the Mages’ rituals, and perhaps even participated in them, before he betrayed the Guildhouse at Amalind Grange.
Errec suppressed the stirring of anger that followed upon that thought. Now was not the time for emotions that might draw attention to his presence. Later, if all went well, he could pay back Guislen’s treachery as it deserved.
For now, Errec could only hope that his understanding of the Mages’ beliefs and practices was good enough, snatched as it had been from stray thoughts as they moved through the unguarded minds of his captors. The man whose mind he occupied had reached the meeting place, and the time had come to put his captured knowledge to the test.
The Mages—eight of them—stood together in candlelit darkness, in a room where the stone floor had a circle inlaid with white marble in its center. And Errec made his move, turning the Mage’s mind under his own, forcing the man’s consciousness into those shadows where he himself had lurked, and pushing himself out, to look through the other’s eyes, to hear with his ears, to speak with his tongue. This was nothing he had learned on Galcen, but it flowed from those lessons nevertheless: what, after all, was the interrogator’s craft, but making another mind yield up its secrets unwillingly?
His attack was swift, and reached swift success. After that, his concentration went to maintaining the masquerade. It would not be long now. Only a small part of his strength was being used to keep his host’s mind in the darkness.
The leader of the group of Mages began to speak. It didn’t take Errec long to recognize the words as a ritual invocation marking the start of that day’s workings. As soon as the man had finished, Errec stepped forward. He formed his thoughts into the proper shapes, then released enough of the mind he had captured to put those shapes into words that the Mages would understand.
“My lord,” he said through his captive’s mouth, and pointed at the leader with his captive’s hand. “My lord, I challenge you for this Circle.”
He couldn’t see the other’s face—a mask of black plastic obscured it completely—but the Magelord’s surprise was evident none the less.
“This is not proper,” the man said. “There is a time—”
“I challenge you,” Errec said again.
This was the crucial moment. If he had misread what his guards’ minds had told him, if the leader of the Circle refused the challenge, all his efforts would have to be undone before they left any traces. Let the Mages suspect for even a moment that he could enter and subvert their minds so easily, and he’d never have another chance.
He thought he heard the First of the Circle give a faint sigh. “Very well, if you insist. Power honorably wagered and honorably lost will strengthen us all. So be it.”
“So be it,” Errec let the body he occupied make answer, and the First stepped forward to meet him inside the white marble circle.
The Magelord raised his ebony staff in a brief salute—and then, almost in the same movement, lashed out in a blow that came close to striking home. Errec struggled to keep control of his borrowed body; he needed its reflexes and skills to keep alive, and to make at least a creditable showing with the unfamiliar fighting style.
The staff that hung at his side was shorter than those he had trained with, meant for use in one hand, not in two. He let the body he occupied bring it up into a clumsy blow. The First deflected it, parried it and went into another attack. This time the blow struck home. Darkness cascaded from it, and Errec felt the body around him begin to die.
He sent his mind arcing across the moment of physical contact as he had done before. Practice had made the transfer easier; between one heartbeat and another the First was his.
The Magelord had opened himself to receive the influx of power from the dying man, and Errec was able to possess him utterly. The man whose body he had occupied only a second before crumpled to the floor in a puddle of black robes, and Errec lifted up the staff that had killed him.
Then he reached out further with his mind. He could feel the presence of the others in the Circle, touching what they thought was the mind of their leader, their minds linked in purpose and ready for whatever single directed effort he should desire. Behind the black mask, Ransome smiled.
He was an Adept, trained to work alone and trained to channel the flow of Power. He drew that energy into him now from the ambient universe—more energy than he could possibly hold without being consumed—and let it flow out along the threads that linked the Circle into one unit of mind and will.
Green light flared in the darkness, sparks and auroras and tongues of flame, as the Circle-Mages fought against the Power that flowed into them. They were too weak to hold it, too untrained to channel it, and Errec fed them more and more of it as their bodies convulsed and their minds burned up in fire.
In the end, no one remained alive but him. And the man whose body he had possessed, of course, but that would not matter for long. Errec left the dead where they lay, and let his borrowed body walk away from the darkened room.
He found a comm link—the design was unfamiliar, but the Magelord whose body he occupied understood it, and knew the proper codes for Errec’s purpose. The link buzzed its alarm at the other end of the connection, and Errec spoke through the Magelord’s mouth to the one who answered.
“Release the prisoner.”
“My lord?” The guard sounded confused. “Is that right?”
“It is my command,” Errec said. “I have seen that it is necessary.”
“But—our luck?”
“The universe changes, and luck changes with it.”
Errec forced out the words with an effort. The Magelord was strong, and he was fighting back from the shadows where Errec had pushed him. Errec turned more of his concentration to keeping the Mage from regaining control of his own body.
The pause must have been noticeable even at the other end of the comm link. “My lord! Are you well?”
“Yes,” said Errec. “Lower the force field. Let the prisoner go.”
“It shall be done.”
Errec closed down the link without saying more. The man whose body he inhabited owned a hovercar, or at least a vehicle similar to one. Errec went there, and collapsed his borrowed limbs onto the cushioned seats.
Then, quite deliberately, he forced the Magelord’s body to swallow its own tongue.
He remained with the body until it had stopped convulsing, then went back to his proper self, sitting on the stone bench in his prison compound. The warm sun of midmorning beat down on his face. He opened his eyes and saw that he wasn’t alone any longer. Shadowy figures stood all around him, silent and insubstantial: the Circle he had broken, linked to him still.
. “Will you be with me long?” he asked aloud. He stood and shrugged. “No matter.”
Errec walked over to where the force field had marked the boundary of his garden, and found that it was gone. He stepped across the invisible line that had held him captive for so long, and began walking. He knew that he had to be well away from his former prison before he could pause to eat or sleep.
Already he knew that the next time he did sleep, the dreams would be bad.
ENTIBORAN REGNAL YEAR 3 PERADA
P
ERADA SAT motionless as Hafrey departed from the hall of light. Tillijen and Meinuxet followed him, leaving her alone with Nivome do’Evaan. She hurt all over—a physical ache in her back and shoulders, the legacy of adrenaline summoned up by anger and left unspent—and felt in no mood to cope all over again with the Minister of Internal Security. She had already reprimanded him as strongly as she dared, but nothing in his face and bearing suggested that he had accepted the defeat. He looked more like a man who had cleared away one more obstacle to the ultimate victory.
ERADA SAT motionless as Hafrey departed from the hall of light. Tillijen and Meinuxet followed him, leaving her alone with Nivome do’Evaan. She hurt all over—a physical ache in her back and shoulders, the legacy of adrenaline summoned up by anger and left unspent—and felt in no mood to cope all over again with the Minister of Internal Security. She had already reprimanded him as strongly as she dared, but nothing in his face and bearing suggested that he had accepted the defeat. He looked more like a man who had cleared away one more obstacle to the ultimate victory.
I wish I knew how much of this disaster he set up on purpose, she thought. If he hadn’t taken it on himself to change those locks …
But he was there, and he had to be dealt with. Perada summoned up what remained of her resolve.
“Gentlesir Nivome, I gave you leave to go.”
He made a formal bow. “And I am Your Dignity’s servant in all things. But there are matters which we must discuss.”
“Forgive me, Gentlesir—but the day so far has been a tiring one. I’m in no mood to hear about conspiracies and crop failures.”
“Nevertheless,” he said, “I beg the favor of Your Dignity’s attention for a moment longer.”
She saw how he stood there, solid and unmovable, and she had to concede defeat. “Go on.”
“Your Dignity, I know you are reluctant to take active measures at this time, but the question of an heir to the Iron Crown becomes even more pressing now that House Rosselin’s placeholder is lost.”
“Not lost,” she said—feeling a perverse urge to defend Jos Metadi’s actions if Nivome do’Evaan was going to condemn them. “Off-planet. Which is nothing against custom—
I
went to school on Galcen, as you recall.”
I
went to school on Galcen, as you recall.”
“I recall it, Your Dignity. And so, I’m afraid, do Your Dignity’s subjects.
“What do you mean?” Perada had the sinking feeling that she’d lost a trick in the recent exchange. Dealing with Nivome was like that, always—too much like playing a cutthroat game of cards. She would have enjoyed it, in the same way that a good starpilot might enjoy a tricky bit of realspace running, if she hadn’t known exactly what prize the Minister of Internal Security was playing for.
“People talk,” Nivome said. “And the talk about Your Dignity is that your late mother made a serious mistake in sending you away from Entibor for your education.”
Anger flared, the hot rush of it flooding her nerves and making her skin feel tight. She kept her face and hands motionless, and felt her muscles knot with the effort.
“My mother did it to keep me safe, Gentlesir Nivome. If she’d kept me with her on Entibor, I’d be dead.”
And I never wondered until now, she thought, whether or not the choice was a hard one for Mamma to make. If I’d had more time to think … if I hadn’t been so angry … would I have come to do the same thing for Ari?
Nivome remained implacable. “Unfortunately, Your Dignity, the only thing that most of your subjects understand is that the present Domina of Entibor spent over ten years on Galcen, picking up who knows what sort of dangerous off-planet ideas.”
“Such as?”
“Such as your disregard for the necessity of a proper heir, produced in good time.”
She looked at him as coldly as she could manage. “I’ve heard this tune before, Gentlesir Nivome. It bores me.”
“This time, Your Dignity, you
will
hear me out to the end!” Nivome’s voice was almost a shout; it rattled the windowpanes in their diamond-shaped leadings. He pushed on without waiting for her to reply. “Until now the populace could forgive your eccentricities—given your age and good health, and the visible presence of a consort and a well-formed and vigorous placeholder—but the time for that is past. Crops are failing in the provinces; your placeholder has vanished; the Consort—if he still is the Consort!—has fled in disgrace; and
still
Your Dignity refuses to do your duty by the planet and people of Entibor and give them an heir to the Iron Crown!”
will
hear me out to the end!” Nivome’s voice was almost a shout; it rattled the windowpanes in their diamond-shaped leadings. He pushed on without waiting for her to reply. “Until now the populace could forgive your eccentricities—given your age and good health, and the visible presence of a consort and a well-formed and vigorous placeholder—but the time for that is past. Crops are failing in the provinces; your placeholder has vanished; the Consort—if he still is the Consort!—has fled in disgrace; and
still
Your Dignity refuses to do your duty by the planet and people of Entibor and give them an heir to the Iron Crown!”
He stopped, but the words seemed to keep on vibrating in the silence that followed.
I’ve misjudged him
, Perada thought.
Not all of this is ambition. Most of it, but not all.
, Perada thought.
Not all of this is ambition. Most of it, but not all.
“I see,” she said. “What, exactly, do you suggest that I do about the problem?”
“Dismiss the Consort,” he told her. “Take another, more suited to the needs of the time. And allow yourself to become impregnated, so that the people will have reassurance that you are at least attempting to follow proper custom.”
Perada looked at the Minister of Internal Security and tried to consider him with an objective eye. A big man—strong, intelligent, and by his own lights, loyal—and extremely male.
Veratina liked him, everyone says. Liked him a lot.
But even Veratina never made him Consort.
“Am I to understand,” she said, “that you are offering yourself as a candidate for both endeavors?”
“You know from your own experience that I am capable.”
“So would be almost any man on Entibor. The talent isn’t unique.”
“Almost any man on-planet might be capable,” he said. “But perhaps not willing, once it becomes known that the Ministry of Internal Security has taken an interest in the proceedings.”
“Do you make threats, Gentlesir?”
“Never, Your Dignity … but the ministry cannot escape its reputation.”
“I understand.”
For what felt like a long time, nobody spoke. Perada didn’t look again at Nivome; she watched the dust motes drifting in the sunlight over the polished tabletop, and wished that she were anyplace else but Entibor. Pleyver maybe, or back at school on Galcen. Or in the captain’s cabin on
Warhammer
, with no obligations to bind her and the galaxy to play in. Finally she let out her breath in a long sigh.
Warhammer
, with no obligations to bind her and the galaxy to play in. Finally she let out her breath in a long sigh.
“Very well,” she said. “Come back tomorrow morning, Gentlesir Nivome, and I will give you my answer at the hour of public audience.”
Galaret Lachiel had an office at Central HQ—a suite of rooms that she’d inherited from Admiral Pallit—but she spent as little time there as possible. She preferred the familiar cramped office aboard her flagship, the Entiboran dreadnought
Diamond Verity
, where her old friend and ally from the Parezulan sector, Trestig Brehant, was flag captain. Gala remembered how little she’d cared for dirtside admirals back when she’d been a sector commander—and these days, with a shooting war going on in-system, establishing a shipboard presence was essential.
Diamond Verity
, where her old friend and ally from the Parezulan sector, Trestig Brehant, was flag captain. Gala remembered how little she’d cared for dirtside admirals back when she’d been a sector commander—and these days, with a shooting war going on in-system, establishing a shipboard presence was essential.
For that reason she had breakfasted, conspicuously, in the officers’ mess aboard the
Diamond
, and was now sitting with Tres Brehant in her pocket-sized shipboard office, drinking cha’a and catching up on the political gossip. Considering everything that had happened in the past few hours, Gala was faintly surprised that she remained fleet admiral. So far, however, nobody from the palace or from Internal Security had bothered to check on her involvement in
Warhammer
’s informal departure. The Fleet was regarded as politically conservative—an impression, according to Tres, that had been reinforced by Pallit’s attempted coup—and Gala intended to keep the dirtside factions thinking that way as long as possible.
Diamond
, and was now sitting with Tres Brehant in her pocket-sized shipboard office, drinking cha’a and catching up on the political gossip. Considering everything that had happened in the past few hours, Gala was faintly surprised that she remained fleet admiral. So far, however, nobody from the palace or from Internal Security had bothered to check on her involvement in
Warhammer
’s informal departure. The Fleet was regarded as politically conservative—an impression, according to Tres, that had been reinforced by Pallit’s attempted coup—and Gala intended to keep the dirtside factions thinking that way as long as possible.
“I don’t play politics” is the most potent political game of all,
she thought.
General Metadi played it for as long as he possibly could, and General Metadi is a very smart man.
she thought.
General Metadi played it for as long as he possibly could, and General Metadi is a very smart man.
Aloud, she said, “So the General’s away, and with any kind of luck the Selvaurs will keep their end of the agreement.”
“With any kind of luck.” Brehant’s eyes gleamed. “Enough good, heavy ships to seriously chew up a Mage armada … that’s how they’ve gotten away with murder for so long, you know, by having more ships in any one place than the people they’re attacking. They’ve left Gyffer strictly alone, and they’ve barely touched Galcen.”
“That may not last,” Gala said, “if those Galcenian ships in-system make the Mages angry enough. Count on it, Tres—one strike at the home planet, and our allies are gone before the news gets out.”
The buzzer on the office door broke into the conversation, and the door opened to admit a messenger with a clipboard full of printout flimsies. “Situation reports from the outer system, Admiral. And the morning news summary from Central HQ.”
Gala took the clipboard and started reading through the stack of flimsies. Brehant waited until after the messenger had left and she’d reached the bottom of the stack before asking, “What’s the news?”
She put the clipboard down on her desk, next to the holocube of her family’s beach hut in the Immering Isles. “Reports from all over the system have the Mages pulling away from Entibor.”
“Well, that’s something good, at least.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“No?”
“Take a look at this.” She pulled out the last flimsy in the stack and passed it over for him to read. “Six plague deaths in Elicond Province this morning. That’s according to the public files. The analyst at Central HQ puts the actual death count at more than sixty.”
“I see that,” he said. “Do you buy it?”
“Put it together with the crop failures, Tres. Sudden, catastrophic … we’re looking at something that was engineered. Like Sapne.”
“Lords of Life, I hope not.” Brehant chewed his mustache thoughtfully. “Everybody always claims it was Mageworlds sorcery that brought the plagues to Sapne—”
“Not sorcery. Damned good biochem. Better than ours.”
“All right, biochem. Bad stuff whichever way you look at it. But I never did understand what the Mages got out of the whole deal.”
“An example,” she said. “Think about it. After Sapne, most of the single-world polities quit putting up any resistance—whenever the raiders hit, they’d just try to absorb the losses as best they could. Ilarna was building up its fleet and starting to look for alliances, and Ilarna got hit hard and ripped open while their warships were still blueprints in a shipyard comp file. And now it’s Entibor’s turn.”
Gala watched as Brehant absorbed the implications of her statement. She could tell when the full impact hit him—he turned as pale as his dark skin would permit.
“So you think that the Mage ships are leaving—”
“—because there isn’t any work left here for them to do. Entibor’s going to be the example that convinces Galcen and Gyffer and Maraghai.”
Brehant’s shoulder’s slumped. “You know, people are going to ask why we bothered to fight the Mages in the first place.”
“Because we’re the only fleet that’s even come close to hurting the bastards, dammit!”
“I know, I know. But if the homeworld’s a write-off, what are we going to do?”
I wish I knew
, thought Gala. She picked up the holocube of the beach hut and put it down again.
I thought I was in luck the day Jos Metadi pulled me out of detention and gave me the whole ball of string to play with. Maybe I’d have been better off if he’d left me there.
, thought Gala. She picked up the holocube of the beach hut and put it down again.
I thought I was in luck the day Jos Metadi pulled me out of detention and gave me the whole ball of string to play with. Maybe I’d have been better off if he’d left me there.
“We fight the Mages wherever we can find them,” she said at last. “And we keep the plague out of the Fleet.”
Brehant nodded. “I understand. Your orders, Admiral?”
“Lift all ships. No personnel transfer between vessels, effective immediately. The Fleet will operate out of Parezul for the duration, and anybody who’s dirtside at noon tomorrow headquarters time, stays on-planet for good.”
Perada waited until Nivome had left the hall of light before she buried her face in her hands. She wished she had the energy left to howl and scream and pull her hair out of its braids.
Tomorrow. I have to give him the answer tomorrow. And there’s only one answer left to give.
Tomorrow. I have to give him the answer tomorrow. And there’s only one answer left to give.
“Don’t do it.”
The voice was a familiar one. Perada jerked up her head and stared. Errec Ransome was only a few feet away, plainly visible in the sun-filled room.
Warhammer
’s copilot had changed since the last time she’d seen him, when he’d paid a brief, restrained visit to the palace shortly after Ari’s birth. Today he wore a plain black tunic and trousers instead of his usual coverall, and for the first time since she’d met him on Innish-Kyl, he carried an Adept’s staff—no makeshift this time, but a length of polished wood tall enough for him to lean on as he stood. Belatedly, she realized that he had entered the palace without disturbing any guards, human or electronic.
’s copilot had changed since the last time she’d seen him, when he’d paid a brief, restrained visit to the palace shortly after Ari’s birth. Today he wore a plain black tunic and trousers instead of his usual coverall, and for the first time since she’d met him on Innish-Kyl, he carried an Adept’s staff—no makeshift this time, but a length of polished wood tall enough for him to lean on as he stood. Belatedly, she realized that he had entered the palace without disturbing any guards, human or electronic.
“Errec,” she said. “How long have you been standing there listening?”
The half-accusation didn’t seem to disturb him. “Long enough,” he said. “The Minister of Internal Security is trying to force your hand. Don’t let him.”
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