There was a pause and she knew the woman was smiling. “How so?”
“A trap is not a trap without bait. My mission here, at your invitation, was an irresistible target for that thing you just banished, as I’m sure you knew it would be.”
“Indeed I did.”
“Good men and women died to get me here. Your people and mine.”
“Good men and women die all the time. So do the bad ones. Surely it’s better to die with a purpose.”
“But far better to live with one.”
“A choice we do not always get to make. Take my people for example, they did not choose for the Merim Her to descend upon our shores like a plague. They did not choose to be hunted like animals for three decades. They did not choose to carve out a home amidst the frozen mountains with the pitiful remnants of what strength was left them.” Lyrna was struck by the absence of anger in the Mahlessa’s words, her tone light and conversational, as if they were two ladies at court discussing the finer points of one of Alucius’s poems.
“I cannot account for the crimes of my ancestors,” she said, her own tone less than conversational. “But I will have to account for the lives lost in pursuit of the peace you offered. My lady Nersa’s parents will find scant comfort in the knowledge that their daughter died in service to your purpose.”
A laugh, very soft, very slight. “I suspect they have little time left for grief or comfort. None of us do.”
She stopped as the tunnel ended, opening out in a huge circular chamber, as least three times the size of the one they had left. There was no well here, the only illumination coming from the green-glowing powder painted onto the floor and ceiling, much brighter than in the tunnel, bright enough to read by in fact. Curiously, whilst the floor and ceiling were bright the walls were dark. Also the air was dry, carrying a faint musty tinge.
“Princess Lyrna Al Nieren,” the Mahlessa said, stepping into the chamber and raising her arms. “I bid you welcome to the memory of the Lonakhim.”
Books, Lyrna realised following her into the chamber, her eyes roaming over the walls, stacked floor to ceiling with countless books and scrolls. She found herself drawn to them immediately. Some were massive, giant tomes requiring many arms to lift, others tiny enough to fit into the palm of her hand. She lifted the nearest volume, only dimly aware that it may have been diplomatic to ask permission first. It was leather-bound, with an intricate design etched into the cover, and, despite its age, the pages were intact and pliant enough to turn easily instead of cracking to dust. The script they held was beautifully rendered, illuminated with gold leaf and coloured inks, but completely indecipherable.
“The Wisdoms of Reltak,” the Mahlessa said. “His only philosophical work. He’s usually more concerned with astronomy. The first Lonakhim scholar to calculate the circumference of the moon. Though Arkiol argues he was out by about twenty feet.”
Lyrna raised her gaze from the book, frowning at the word “scholar” being used in conjunction with “Lonakhim.”
“Oh yes,” the Mahlessa said. “We were not all warriors once. Before your people came, whilst the Seordah wandered their forests, losing themselves in communion with the earth, my people studied, we observed, we crafted great works, we wrote great verse. What you see here is only a fragment, the salvaged remains of our achievement. If we had been left alone, another century perhaps, even the mysteries of this mountain would have been within our grasp. Sadly, for all our wisdom, we never discovered how to smelt iron. A small thing, you might think, but wars are often decided by small things.”
“Did you know him?” Lyrna asked, holding up the book.
The Mahlessa laughed and shook her head. “Even I am not that old. Though I did make the acquaintance of one of his descendants, a many-times-great-grandson. I watched him starve to death during the travail.”
Lyrna returned the book to the stacks. “Who were you, before?”
“Just a girl who had too many nightmares. I still do. I’m looking at one of them right now.” There was no humour now, just serious scrutiny and keen intellect. It had been many years since Lyrna had met an equal, a soul as attuned to nuance and deceit as she was. She was shamed by it, the deaths of so many still weighed on her, but this moment made her grateful for the journey that had brought her here. To look into a face that saw all of her, no need or opportunity for concealment, no charm or tears to deflect unwelcome insight, no prospect of manipulation, just cold reason and the weight of history packed into these books. The novelty of it was a guilty delight.
“Ilvarek,” she said. “A vision. That’s what it means.”
“The closest translation in your language is ‘scrying.’ You know this word?”
“A Dark ability to peer into the future.”
“I do not peer. The future stares at me and I stare back, and when I do I see you.”
“And what am I doing?”
The Mahlessa’s expression clouded. “One of two things.” She moved to a scroll perched atop a stack of books, lifting it and holding it out to Lyrna. “This is for you.”
“A gift?”
“A treaty. The war between our peoples is over. Please accept my congratulations on successfully negotiating this peace.”
Lyrna went to her and took the scroll, unfurling it to find two blocks of finely scribed text, the one above in Realm Tongue, the other in the same alien script as the book. “There are no terms,” she said. “Just a statement that the conflict between us is ended.”
“What more would you want?”
“It’s customary for us to squabble over borders, tributes and such.”
“Borders are always changing, and I’ll take your role in bringing down the false Mahlessa as more than sufficient tribute, one I’ll reward with a gift. You wear a knife do you not?”
Lyrna’s hand went to the chain about her neck. “A trinket only. It poses no threat. I can’t even throw it properly.”
“Not yet.” The Mahlessa held out her hand, Lyrna noticed she still held the small bottle in her other hand. “Give it to me.”
Kiral’s scream and the stench of the bottle’s contents were still vivid, so Lyrna hesitated before lifting the chain over her head and placing the knife in the Mahlessa’s open palm.
“You wonder what this is,” she said, taking hold of the knife by the handle and lifting the bottle until it was poised over the blade. “The Lonak scholars were not just poets and mathematicians, they were also chemists. Centuries ago they concocted a substance that would produce the most pure and absolute pain a human can endure and still live, though only if a tiny amount is used.” She tipped the bottle and a single drop of dark viscous liquid fell onto the blade, the foul vapour rising again, making Lyrna step back and cover her nose. The liquid spread across the steel, the vapour fading, then seemed to disappear, like water seeping into cloth.
“Here.” The Mahlessa held the knife out to Lyrna. “It wont hurt you. When mixed with steel it only comes to life if it touches blood.”
“Why would I need such a thing?” Lyrna asked, making no move to take the knife.
“To do one of the two things I see you do.”
It was clear she would say no more on the subject. Tentatively, Lyrna reached out and touched a finger to the knife, feeling only cool metal.
“Never be without it,” the Mahlessa said as Lyrna took the knife and pulled the chain over her head.
“I will always keep it, in any case,” Lyrna replied. “It’s the only gift I’ve ever cherished.”
The Mahlessa’s gaze remained serious but there was surprise there too. “You are not what I was expecting. The ilvarek painted a very different picture.”
“Was I taller?” Lyrna asked with a small laugh.
“No, you were ambitious. You cared nothing for the lives lost reaching this place, just more pieces on your Keschet board. This meeting was to have made you furious, the truth of the ilvarek provoking hatred, making you swear vile retribution and tear up the treaty you hold in your hands. Something has changed in you, Lyrna Al Nieren. Was it guilt I wonder, some crime committed out of the ilvarek’s sight? So terrible the guilt forged a new facet to your soul.”