The Towers Of the Sunset (51 page)

CRESLIN AND MEGAERA lead the way down the unrailed gangway. His steps are firm, although each one feels like an act of faith.

“… doesn’t act like he’s blind…”

“… quiet, idiot. He can hear the whispers of yesterday’s gossip.”

Creslin cannot resist. As he reaches the pier, he turns and calls toward the ship. “Not yesterday’s gossip-just this afternoon’s.”

“… ulp…”

“… told you…”

“Stop showing off,” hisses Megaera.

Creslin edges to the eastern side of the old pier to avoid the cart and the guards who stand ready to begin the off-loading. “It was necessary, especially since someone has told them I’m blind. Either that, or it’s painfully obvious.”

“Mmmm… I understand, but I know you.”

“Does it really matter, as long as they still believe I can hold the winds?”

“Probably not.”

“Besides, you could call a storm, one big enough for now, if you had to.”

“They don’t know that, and I’m not sure that sister should.”

“She knows already.” Creslin steps past the horse harnessed to the cart. “The Whites know, and that’s probably how she found out.” He laughs as his steps carry him toward the inn and the horses. “Besides, it was clear enough that the cargoes were for you, not for me. Ryessa fears you far more than she does me.”

“That’s sad.”

“I know.”

“The cargoes are my wedding gifts and dowry, so to speak, only because she fears us.”

Creslin can add nothing, and his head has begun to ache with the concentration required for maintaining his balance and for the occasional use of his order-sense in keeping himself oriented. He matches steps with Megaera but says nothing, even during the ride back to the keep.

The wind gusts in from the northwest now, chill, and even damper than earlier. Kasma’s and Vola’s hooves echo from the stone of the courtyard as they carry the two regents toward the stable.

Creslin leads the way, for by now he knows the stairs by feel and size.

The other four-Klerris, Lydya, Hyel, and Shierra-wait for them in the room that has become their council chamber.

“How did it go?” Shierra asks.

There is silence while the co-regents seat themselves at the table. Then Megaera answers. “They were quite deferential. Although they wanted to show us all they had brought, or at least some of it, we were most gracious and accepted it on faith.”

“Which made them even more nervous, I suspect,” adds Shierra.

“I had that impression.”

“You’ve just added to the image of the mysterious and powerful regents of Reduce.”

“None of this regent or Duke or Tyrant or what - have - you.” Creslin shakes his head, and the blackness seems to swirl. “We’ve done much better as a council, anyway. And that’s what we’re going to remain.”

“But only because you’ve been in charge-” Shierra says.

“Crap! Anyone could have done better.”

“I beg to differ.” Creslin catches the edge in Klerris’s voice and waits.

“I beg to differ,” repeats the Black mage. “The idea of a council is fine, but only if you or Megaera lead it.”

“Fine. Megaera can lead it. She’s better suited to it than I am.” Creslin pauses at the churning in his guts, swallows as he realizes that the feelings are not his, but Megaera’s.

“I am sorry, best-beloved, but I disagree.”

Creslin sets his jaw and waits. Megaera will speak as she wishes.

“Thank you,” she begins. “First, like it or not, most of the world does not follow the Legend. Second, having a council composed half of women will do for Sarronnyn and Southwind. Third, you are the great and renowned Storm Wizard, he who has single-handedly destroyed most of the world’s navies. Fourth, not having you as the head of the council would give rise to rumors that either you are not well or that the council is a charade.”

“They’ll say it’s a farce if I am the head.”

“They’ll consider the council as at least an advisory body rather than a charade,” observes Lydya.

“And it allows for continuity when…”

Creslin and Megaera nod together, leaving Klerris’s statement uncompleted. Neither will survive the other. That is all too clear.

“So, best-beloved, you have to be the head of the council.” Megaera smiles.

“Wonderful. And a blind man shall lead them.”

“For a wizard, it doesn’t matter, and you certainly don’t act as though you’re blind.”

“Except that I’ll never lift a blade again.”

“I rather doubt you will have to.” Lydya’s voice is dry.

Creslin fights back a surge of nausea-Megaera’s. Although the queasiness is diminishing, it is being supplanted by other equally disconcerting feelings, such as an awkwardness, and an increased urgency to relieve himself.

“Who will be on the council?” ventures Hyel.

“For now, the six .of us. There could be others, but we’ll choose them as their advice or knowledge become necessary.”

“I think it’s better with you running the council, best-beloved.”… at least in name…

Creslin sighs. Some things will never change, whether he can see or not.

TO THE EAST of the Black Holding, he can hear the gentle hiss of the
Eastern
Ocean
upon the sands at the base of the cliff. The wind is gentle upon his face, soft still with the cool moisture of the night’s rain.

His sharpened senses tell him where the wall is, although he cannot see it, and he seats himself on the stones he laid, his face warmed by the rising sun. He does not shift his still-sightless eyes toward the source of that warmth, but listens instead to the sea.

Keee-aaaaa…

His lips quirk at the sound of the sea gull circling somewhere above the beach, but he makes no sound… for Megaera still sleeps, and she needs that sleep, both for herself and for the daughter she carries.

The first sea gull is joined by another before both fly from earshot. The breeze fades away, as does the morning warmth, when the clouds from the west reach the eastern horizon.

Shortly the wind, cooler now but not chill, springs from behind him, heralding the cold rains that he knows will fall later in the day.

“Best-beloved?”

Megaera carries something as she steps carefully across the damp terrace stones, but his perceptions are not sharp enough to make out the large object.

“Are you all right?” he asks.

“A little tired, but Aldonya keeps telling me that’s normal.” She seats herself beside him, carefully setting the object on the stones on the side away from him.

“It’s a lovely…”… sorry… I’m stupid…

“It’s all right. Even I can tell that it’s a lovely day. The air smells fresh, and I could even feel the sun before the clouds came.” He shrugs.

“Would you do something for me?”

He frowns. “What? I can sense enough not to fall on my face, and I can dress myself…”

“Creslin…”… no more self-pity…

He cannot help but grin at the acerbic feel of the unspoken words, so like the lady he loves. “All right. No more self-pity. If I can avoid it.”

“You can try.” She extends something toward him.

The smooth feel of the guitar stuns him. “But-”

“You don’t need to see what you play.”

His fingers touch the strings. Why has he avoided the music?

“You had good reasons, but don’t think about them. Just play and sing me a song. Any song.”… please…

Her pain slashes like a knife, and his hands fumble with the neck of the instrument. After a moment, he swallows and lets his fingers find the notes.

… down by the seashore, where the waters foam white, hang your head over; hear the wind’s flight.

The east wind loves sunshine, and the west wind loves night…

When he finishes, Megaera is silent, but the warmth within her is enough to encourage him to touch the strings again.

Ask not the song to be sung, or the bell to be rung, or if my tale is done…

The answer is all-and none.

The answer is all-and none…

As his voice dies away and his fingers release the strings, the guest house appears before him for a moment, stark against white, puffy clouds and patches of blue-green sky. But it is only a moment before the blackness closes around him again. No towers of sunset, no great visions, just a stone guest house, clouds, and sky.

His eyes burn, and he sets the guitar gently on the wall. “Did I… ?”

Megaera’s hand is on his wrist, warm, reassuring. “Best-beloved…”

He swallows.

“The notes-” she continues… were golden!

Her arm goes around his shoulder, and for a time they sit silently.

Finally he asks again, “Was that a vision? I wish I’d been looking at you…”

“It wasn’t a vision.”

He takes a deep breath. “Lydya was right, wasn’t she? About not being able to handle physical chaos? You asked a long time ago why I could use a blade to kill. Now I can’t, can I?”

“No.” Her voice is soft.

“And I never can again, can I? Even if I come to see? Or call the winds for anything but order.”

“Lydya doesn’t think so.”

He laughs, a sound half-joyous, half-bitter. “So… to see you again, to escape darkness. Is that why you brought the guitar?”

She nods.

He reaches for the guitar again, but his hands do not touch the wood before Megaera speaks.

“Best-beloved-”

Her lips are upon his, awkward as the position is for her. Easing away from her, he stands, drawing her up to him. The clouds part, and the surf falls upon the sands, and the sun he cannot yet see falls upon the two who are three… and one.