High above, a hawk’s thin cry was wheeled away on the wind, serving only to emphasize the vast silence of the empty valley. A flurry of dust and nameless debris skittered across the roof as a fugitive gust swirled around Aritane’s motionless figure. Jeirran blinked and spat out some fragment, shaking his head a fraction before forcing himself to immobility once more. The breeze vanished and the sun pressed down on his head, striking up from the stones and laying black shadows across the white surface of the roof. The chimney at his back was solid and reassuring but cold and silent where once it had been the warm heart of the rekin. A trickle of perspiration rolled down the side of Jeirran’s face to vanish into his beard. Another followed, this one moving sideways to sting the corner of his eye.
A great crash reverberated around the circular wall of the compound, echoing back and forth with a sound like a hot rock shattered by the shock of cold water. Terror leaped in Jeirran’s eyes for an instant, fear naked as the mask of arrogance and confidence was torn from his face. The noise came again, the rap of wood on stone and Jeirran took a long, trembling breath. It was the gate, wasn’t it? Set swinging by a wind rising up from the valley bottom, that was it, surely?
He looked at Aritane, who was motionless as stone.
Was it the gate? Had someone else come here, Jeirran wondered suddenly. Would Sheltya be using their powers to watch over Aritane? Could some distant gray-bearded Elder have been listening in on their conversation? Was the sound the first warning they had been discovered, that Sheltya were come? One always seemed to be on hand when needed, but were they here now, to frustrate their plot?
Jeirran’s breath came faster. He was sweating copiously, even when a new breeze cooled him. Hands clenched by his sides were shaking, tremors running up his arms to jar the stiffness in his neck and shoulders. The heat and the silence pressed down unforgiving, as if they would pound the rocks to dust.
Aritane lifted her face, dropping her hands in the lap of her dress. Livid spots blossomed on her forehead where her fingertips had been digging into the skin. Jeirran pressed against the stone at his back as she turned her eyes to him. They were featureless pits of blackness, no white, no color, no life within them. He scrambled to his knees, a whimper of nameless terror escaping him.
Aritane blinked and her eyes were normal again. A warm rose softened her cheeks, and elation set her face alight. She drew a deep, shuddering breath. “Oh, Jeirran,” she whispered in tones of wonder. “I found them!”
“I—” He coughed to quell the shaking in his voice. “I knew you could,” he answered more boldly. “So what—”
Aritane shook her head. “Wait, let me compose myself.” She stood, moving stiffly, brushing awkwardly at the dirt on her gown. Hugging her arms to her, she turned to stare out eastward. “They are out there, Jeirran, out beyond the Easterlings, beyond the ocean.” She laughed with pure delight. “They didn’t know me, of course, but they acknowledged my power, my right to come seeking them. They congratulated me on my daring, praised my skills. I can’t recall the last time anyone did that here!”
“So what did you say? What did you tell them? Will they help us?” demanded Jeirran, striding over to stand at her shoulder.
“What?” Aritane’s eyes were distant again.
Jeirran moved to block her view of the valley and the east. “What are they going to do for us?” He laid a hand on her, a breath away from shaking her.
“Oh, Jeirran, you always want everything all at once, don’t you?” Irritation replaced the exhilaration in Aritane’s expression. “I have told them I wish to discuss matters of grave importance and that I will contact them when I am next at leisure.”
“Ari!” Anger roughened Jeirran’s words. “Why the delay, why not simply—”
“Do not question my methods, Jeirran,” she warned him. “This is my task and I know best how to go about it. Believe me, I have no desire to find myself answering to Sheltya before I have allies with the means to back me and defend me.”
“So how long is it likely to be before you have the necessary leisure?” snapped Jeirran crossly.
Consideration furrowed Aritane’s brow. “I think I had better come to visit your wife. I will let those to whom I answer think that she is concerned about her lack of a child. As long as you keep from her bed for a while, that should satisfy any curiosity. If I can have privacy, a decent room and a few comforts for a change, I should be able to concentrate all my energies on discussions with our new friends.” She smiled with a predatory satisfaction.
“Eirys’ mother will not be pleased,” Jeirran scowled. “She’ll start poking her long nose where it’s not wanted.”
“Then you will get your wife to assert herself as mistress of her own hearth,” said Aritane crisply. “It’s about time that girl showed a little backbone.”
“That’s hardly likely,” Jeirran scoffed. “I wasn’t looking for spirit when I wooed her!”
“It’s up to you.” Aritane turned to the steps down into the rekin. “You need me, if you want to pursue this further. Persuade Eirys to start fretting over her barrenness, and then no one will wonder at my visit. I know that you’ve been having words on that subject, haven’t you? And doing your best to swell her belly, whether she’s agreeable or not.” This last remark was tossed casually over her shoulder as she descended.
“How do you know that?” demanded Jeirran, a furious blush staining his cheeks scarlet. He cursed under his breath and rubbed his hands roughly over his face before pursuing his sister. Running down the stairs, he skidded to a halt at the bottom, nailed boot soles grating on the stones. Aritane was nowhere to be seen.
“A pox on your games for the witless, woman,” he shouted into the empty room, dust thick upon the flagstones, unmoved, unmarked save for Jeirran’s footprints.
“Drown you!” He ran out into the center of the fess. “Aritane!” He stormed over to the workshops, but they were as desolate as before. “What do you think you are playing at? Aritane!”
The echoes of his wrathful bellow mocked him as they came bounding back from the impassive walls. As the noise faded, the silence pressed down even more heavily than before.
Jeirran shivered involuntarily before marching down to the gateway. He paused on the threshold to wedge the open door again but halted with a stone in his hand. Muttering under his breath, he moved instead to clear the stones from the base of the other, pulling the two together. With their weight and some trick of construction working to hold them closed, Jeirran turned his back on the gates, untied his pony and beat the reluctant beast into a weary canter.
The Chamber of Planir the Black,
Archmage of Hadrumal,
1st of For-Summer
A hesitant rap on the outside of the door was followed by a more confident knock.
“Enter.” The single occupant of the room was relaxing in a leather-upholstered chair by one of the tall lancets of the window. He did not look up from the closely written letter he was reading. Sunlight brightened the dark wood-paneled room with sparkling fingers playing on the expensive mossy carpet, the polished furniture and the orderly rows of books and scrolls on the numerous shelves. The heavy black oak opened noiselessly on well-tended hinges.
“Archmage.” The newcomer bowed. He was a tall, long-boned man with straight black hair cut off at jaw length, a sallow complexion and circumspect eyes. He cleared his throat. “So we are expecting to hear from ’Sar this morning?”
“Shiv, take a seat.” The Archmage did not lift his eyes from his document. “Larissa will be here in a moment or so.”
Shiv sat at a satiny table where a steel mirror stood on a mahogany pedestal. A silver candlestick stood in front of it, the creamy beeswax with its snowy tuft of wick as yet unmarred by flame. He opened his mouth to speak but cleared his throat instead.