The sun had slipped beneath the horizon a short time ago, sinking with steady purpose as if it patiently went through its paces knowing that tomorrow’s battle would come in good time. A glow filled the western sky, in parts strangely colored. As Reivan walked toward it she wondered if a Thinker somewhere knew why the sky at these times could be such improbable colors like green and purple.
Then she reached Imenja and stopped. The Second Voice was staring at the Isthmus, which was bathed in the eerie light of the glowing sky. It stretched away into the gloom toward a barely visible shadow.
Sennon. Northern Ithania.
“They haven’t arrived yet,” Imenja told her.
“Will we cross and take Diamyane?” Reivan asked. The possibility had been discussed in several meetings.
“No. Our advantage lies in remaining here. The Circlians can cross only a few at a time, so we can pick them off easily.”
“And if the White come at the front of the army?”
“Then we Voices will fight them.”
“Making the soldiers unnecessary,” Reivan observed.
Imenja smiled crookedly. “Yes. Which is not a bad thing. War is not kind to unSkilled mortals.”
Reivan shivered. She was an unSkilled mortal. Imenja turned and placed a hand on Reivan’s shoulder.
“Don’t worry. You will be protected.”
“I know.” Reivan nodded, then sighed. “But I will also be useless.”
The glowing sky had dimmed and Imenja’s face was in shadow. Reivan could not see her expression.
“Not to me,” Imenja said, squeezing Reivan’s shoulder. She looked back. “The tent is up. We should join the others.”
They walked back into the camp. What had been a dry, dusty stretch of land was now covered in black pointed shapes, fires flickering like orange stars scattered between. Reivan had regarded the tents in dismay when she first saw them being erected. The five-sided design was an unnecessary complication that some of the domestics were finding hard to work out and the black cloth would trap the heat of the sun. Sometimes she wondered if the Pentadrians took their symbolism too far.
When the sun rose the army wouldn’t be huddling in their overheated tents. They would be spilling blood. Or watching sorcerers throw deadly magic about and hoping they wouldn’t happen to be in the wrong place when it went astray. She thought about what Imenja had said. A fight between only Voices and White sounded too good to be true. But the Servants and priests would not remain out of the battle. They would assist their side with extra magic. Once the Voices defeated the White, or, gods help them, the White defeated the Voices, there would be no point in the Servants or priests continuing the fight. But they might anyway. Just out of loyalty to their gods.
And what then? Reivan asked herself. Once one side is defeated, what will happen to the armies?
She doubted that the Voices would just let the Circlians go home, as the White had done with the Pentadrians after the last battle. She also knew that this would be a fight in which the Voices or White would not let their counterparts live.
Imenja checked her stride, then sighed. Looking up, Reivan saw that they were approaching a large tent. This one was not the plain five-sided shape of the rest, but a star shape. The entrance to the tent was a gap between two of the star’s arms. As she followed Imenja inside she found herself in a five-sided room. In each wall was a door flap. They probably led to the private rooms of the Voices.
A huge carpet covered the floor and several woven reed chairs had been arranged upon it. On small, low tables were bowls of nuts and dried fruit and jugs of water. A Servant traced the symbol of the star as Imenja turned toward him. He lowered his eyes and gestured to a door flap.
Imenja pushed the flap aside, then held it open for Reivan to catch as she moved inside. Carpet covered the floor and trunks lay beside a large bed.
“Where will I sleep?” Reivan asked.
“There should be a tent for you nearby.”
Reivan nodded.
“Are your accommodations to your satisfaction?”
They turned to find Nekaun standing in the doorway, smiling. Reivan’s skin crawled at the sight of him.
“I hardly know I’ve left the Sanctuary,” Imenja said dryly.
Nekaun’s smile widened. “You will tomorrow.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Food has arrived. Come and eat.”
He retreated from the door. Reivan turned back to Imenja and found the woman smiling.
“Good to see he no longer has a hold on you,” she murmured. “Though I wish that hadn’t come about in such a painful way.”
Reivan blinked in surprise, then nodded as she realized Imenja was right. She no longer felt a thrill of admiration and weakness when she saw Nekaun. She no longer craved his attention. Ever since…
She shuddered as she remembered that last time. He had revealed a cruel, malicious side that she was both glad and a little worried that she would never forget. Now when she saw him she felt repulsed.
Imenja moved past, patting Reivan on the shoulder as she did.
“Let’s eat.”
Following her mistress out, Reivan saw that the other Voices and their Companions had arrived. Domestics were carrying platters of steaming food into the room, filling the air with delicious smells. She sat down beside Imenja and began to eat. Dedicated Servants and even a few Thinkers entered. Nekaun made a small speech, telling them that while they feasted the Circlians were wearily making their final march of a long and exhausting journey, only to be defeated tomorrow.
Talk circulated around war. A Dedicated Servant reported that several Circlian supply ships had been sunk. During general chatter Reivan overheard the Thinkers discussing a giant sea creature that had been sighted swimming in the Gulf of Sorrow. They wanted to kill and examine it.
“If you do, we will withdraw our support in this war,” a loud, deep voice with a thick accent boomed.
All turned toward the entrance. Reivan’s heart leapt with recognition. Looking around, she could see the effect the imposing figure of the Elai king was having on those who had never seen an Elai before.
Even if King Ais had been a landwalker, his height, the size of his chest and the gold jewellery he wore would have made him an intimidating figure. His blue-black skin, complete hairlessness, double-lidded eyes and webbed hands and feet just added a strangeness that some might find fascinating and others repellent. The king moved into the room, his eyes narrowing at the Thinkers.
“The ru-al is an ancient and benign creature of the sea, and though we would gain enough food from one creature to feed many, many families we Elai do not hunt them. To kill one for the sake of curiosity would be…” The Elai king shook his head. “It would be both wasteful and cruel.”
“Nobody is going to kill the creature,” Nekaun assured him. He moved forward to meet the king. “Welcome to Avven and the Pentadrian war camp, King Ais. I hope your journey was not difficult.”
As the two leaders continued with formal pleasantries Reivan looked away again. People were listening to and staring at the Elai king in fascination. Nekaun glanced away from the king and frowned, and those who were staring quickly turned away and struck up conversations.
“King Ais has learned Avvenan well,” Imenja noted. Reivan nodded. The Second Voice looked around the room, then turned to Vervel.
“Where is Mirar?” she asked quietly.
Vervel shrugged. “He retired to his tent.”
“The trip wore him out?” Shar asked, smiling. “Or was it Genza? He spent a long time with her.”
Genza regarded the Fifth Voice with one eyebrow raised in disdain. “On a litter. In full view of the army.”
“Lucky for him.”
“Can an immortal get tired?” Vervel asked thoughtfully. Nobody answered.
“Maybe he’s snuck back to the Sanctuary,” Genza said. She turned to face Nekaun as he left the king and moved over to join them. “Is Auraya securely locked up?”
The First Voice smiled nastily. “She is. Don’t worry. Mirar is being watched. And her guards have orders to kill her if anyone tries to interfere.” Imenja looked at him sharply. He returned her gaze, his smile widening. “I’m tempted to tell them to anyway, then bring her body back here to present to the White. That might make them pause.”
The other Voices exchanged glances, but said nothing.
“But you won’t,” Imenja said quietly. “Because she is the reason he is helping us.”
Nekaun shrugged. “Mirar won’t risk spoiling the pleasant relationship our people have with his.”
“And neither should we.”
The First Voice made a disparaging noise. “We don’t need the Dreamweavers.”
The room was quiet. All were listening and watching the two Voices intently. Reivan realized her heart was pounding. Imenja had never challenged him publicly before.
Imenja pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Perhaps we should consult our people before we make such a broad-reaching decision for them. I wouldn’t want us to cause an unnecessary division among them, or deny them access to the Dreamweavers’ superior healing skills. Perhaps we could put it to a vote.”
She looked at the other Voices. They nodded and turned to regard Nekaun expectantly.
His eyebrows lowered and Reivan thought for a moment he would scowl. But he suddenly smiled and spread his hands. “Of course we shall. After the war. For now, let’s concentrate on the matter at hand. Come and meet the Elai king, Ais.”
As the Voices followed him, Reivan remained where she was. She watched Nekaun. Something nagged at her.
Then she saw it. After the war there would be no point in consulting the people about Dreamweavers. Nekaun would already have killed Auraya, or Mirar would have attempted to rescue her and forced Nekaun to carry out his threat.
The Second Voice looked across the room, met her eyes and nodded. It was clear her mistress had read Reivan’s mind, or come to the same conclusion independently. Nekaun knew about Imenja’s promise to Mirar that Auraya would be given to him after the war. Was Nekaun teasing the other Voices with his talk of killing Auraya? Or would Nekaun kill Auraya in defiance of his fellow Voices’ one attempt to interfere in his rule?
Reivan shivered. These days she couldn’t say which was more likely.
Endless days of riding in a platten hadn’t done anything to improve Danjin’s fitness. Sweat ran down his face and soaked his tunic. The rings on his fingers dug into his hands as he gripped the oars. His shoulders ached and he longed to just lie down and pass out.
“Take your time,” Ella had said, patting him on the shoulder. “Take all night if you need to. Just make sure you’re well away by dawn.”
Then she had propelled him and the boat out as far as she could. He had estimated from the twinkle of lights on either side that she had driven him halfway across the Gulf. Once the boat had drifted to a halt he had taken up the oars and begun rowing.
Every hundred or so strokes he paused to catch his breath. Finally reaching the hundredth stroke again—he had lost track of how many hundreds long ago—he turned to look behind. To his relief he had managed to continue in the right direction. The lights of the Pentadrian camp were all to his left. Darkness spread to the right. Behind him he could just make out a thin, pale line: the beach.
And as he watched a tiny blue light appeared and died.
The signal at last! Turning away, he started rowing again, spurred by a dubious excitement. Part of him took some satisfaction that he had been chosen for a task more suited to a younger, more adventurous man.
“Why me?” he had asked Ella.
“You know Auraya well enough to resist if she contacts you through the ring and tries to lure you away. You’re also smart enough to avoid heroics.”
“Like trying to rescue her?”
She had smiled. “Yes. Even with your mind hidden, you’d never get into the Sanctuary or overcome her guards.”
Of course he had considered the possibility. Given the chance to free Auraya, he would have. Not just out of concern and loyalty to her, but for the sake of the Circlians. They needed her strength to tip the balance back in their favor.
But the White hadn’t sent Danjin to free Auraya. They had sent him to meet the other cause of the imbalance of power.
The underneath of the boat scraped against sand. Danjin pulled in the oars and braced himself to stand, then nearly fell into the bottom of the boat as something began to pull it toward the shore. He grabbed the sides and twisted around, expecting to see someone hauling on the prow.
But there was nothing. He was heading toward a man-shaped shadow. The boat stopped a few strides away. Standing up, Danjin stepped over the side. Water chilled his feet and ankles. He looked down and frowned, but not at the soaking of his trousers and boots.
I had better leave on good terms. I’m not sure I could drag this boat back out into deeper water.
He looked up at the figure, took a deep breath and splashed toward it. That he had been betrayed and this was a Servant was the worst possibility, but not the only source of trepidation. Even if this was the right man, and although Danjin had worked with him before, there was much to fear and resent about him.
Stopping a few paces away, Danjin stared at the shadowed face.
“Welcome to Southern Ithania, Danjin Spear,” Mirar said dryly.
A chill ran over Danjin’s skin. The voice was all too familiar, but the tone was something he had never heard before. Leiard had always been dignified and reticent. When he had said anything, it was in a quiet, almost apologetic way.
Though spoken quietly, these words boomed with confidence. But not arrogance, he realized. There was great age and experience in them. This was the voice of Mirar the immortal.
Or maybe I’m hearing what I expect to hear, he thought wryly.
“Thank you, Mirar,” Danjin replied. “Though I have to wonder if you have permission to welcome me on the Pentadrians’ behalf.”
“What they don’t know won’t bother them,” Mirar replied.
Was there a hint of contempt there? Danjin wondered.
“But the sooner I return the less chance my absence will be noticed and wondered about,” Mirar added after a pause. “What have you come to tell me?”
Danjin straightened. “The White have sent me to make you an offer. I am linked to them so if you have any question or request—”
“They want me out of the battle,” Mirar interrupted. “I can’t agree to that.”
Danjin swallowed. “Not even in exchange for the freedom of your people?”
Mirar was silent for a moment. “So are they making an offer or threatening me?”
“Not a threat,” Danjin said hastily. “They will promise to allow your people to practice all their Gifts, including mind links, if you desist from helping the Pentadrians.”
“And in return for abandoning the Pentadrians my people here will suffer. Which side is more likely to win this war if I take the White’s offer, Danjin Spear?”
“It would be impossible to guess.”
“And which side if I remain with the Pentadrians?”
Danjin sighed. “Yours.”
:Ask him if Auraya would forgive him for the deaths of her friends and people. Ella’s voice was a whisper in Danjin’s mind. He resisted the urge to touch her ring.
“How will Auraya regard you if you help bring about the deaths of her friends, family and her people?” he asked, keeping his voice gentle.
“Oh, she’ll be in raptures of delight,” Mirar replied, his voice heavy with sarcasm. “But at least there’s a small chance that she won’t be dead. If the White win, she will die.”
“Is that why you’re doing this?” Danjin found himself whispering. Why am I whispering? Do I think the White won’t hear me?
Mirar didn’t reply. His silence might suggest he was unwilling to admit to something. That he still feels something for Auraya? Danjin considered Mirar’s responses. He hadn’t given away anything. Perhaps he doesn’t want to admit that his reasons are less than noble. That he’s doing this out of revenge.
“Is there anything the White can offer you?” Danjin asked.
He was surprised to hear Mirar sigh. “No. But be assured that I will not compromise my people’s stand on violence. It is a pity your people have not remained as consistent. Only a few years ago they were outraged at the Pentadrians’ willingness to invade another land. Now they seek to invade in turn. Tell the White that if my assistance disadvantages the Circlians, perhaps they should abandon their plans of invasion. It would be better for all.”
Danjin felt a flare of anger. How dare this heathen sorcerer think he could change the course of a war as if he were a god. But then an idea came to calm his indignation.
“So if the White agreed to abandon the invasion, would you also withdraw your assistance to the Pentadrians?”
Mirar paused. “I would consider it.” He turned abruptly to look behind him. “A patrol is coming. You should go.”
A stab of fear went through Danjin. “How far?”
“You have enough time to leave if you go now. I will push your boat out as far as I can.”
Danjin nodded in gratitude, then realized he was probably as hard to see in this darkness as Mirar.
“Thank you,” he said.
Turning away, he hurried to the boat and climbed aboard. Hearing splashes, he turned to see that Mirar had followed him.
“I will do what I can for Auraya,” Mirar said quietly. “But be warned. If she returns you will find she is not the same woman you knew. The gods have betrayed her and used her like a piece in a game of petty revenge between themselves. One does not live through that and remain free of bitterness.”
Danjin shivered. This time there was definitely the sound of great age and experience in the man’s voice. He gripped the sides of the boat as it jerked free of the sand and slid rapidly toward the water. Once it floated freely, it turned about. Danjin found himself facing the shore, just able to make out the figure standing there. Then the boat abruptly shot forward. It gathered speed, moving ever faster, until spray began to shoot up on either side. Danjin gripped the sides of the boat tighter, his heart racing. He began to worry that it would smash into something, but was too terrified to look around.
Relief washed over him when the boat finally began to slow. The lights from the Pentadrian shore were reassuringly distant. He turned and drew in a quick breath. The lights of Diamyane were unexpectedly close.
Mirar sent me much further than Ella did. He frowned. Does this mean he is stronger?
He sat there pondering this for a few minutes. Surely that wasn’t possible. Ella had replaced Auraya, so they must be about equal in strength. The gods wouldn’t have sent Auraya to kill Mirar if she was weaker than him.
A splash close to the boat brought his attention back to his surroundings. He peered over the edge, not expecting to see anything. Instead he found a pair of eyes staring back at him.
Paralyzed by surprise, he stared back. Then two dark hands shot out of the water toward his throat.
He jerked back and shoved them away at the same time, getting an impression of cold and slippery skin. The hands grabbed hold of the side of the boat. They were extraordinarily large and there was webbing between the fingers. He heard a slap and turned to see another hand appear over the other side of the boat, holding a strange weapon.
:Ella!
:I see them! Give me a moment to find you!
Heads appeared. Black, bald heads with strange filmy eyes. Terror rushed through Danjin. Grabbing an oar, he swung it at one. It ducked. He reversed the swing and jabbed the paddle of the oar at the other. It connected with a satisfying crack.
The man dropped into the water, then the first disappeared. Danjin wondered if he had caused a fatal injury. If he had wounded the man, his companion might have to take him away. If he hadn’t, or had killed the man, he’d have either one or two men coming back for revenge.
To his dismay, two heads appeared in the water nearby. One’s nose was bleeding profusely, dribbling into a mouth caught in a snarl of hate. The blood was a livid red against the man’s white teeth.
But a moment ago it was too dark for me to see this well…
The two men looked up and toward the shore, and their expressions changed to fear. They vanished underwater. Turning, Danjin saw a spark of light rushing toward him. He waved his arms, then tumbled into the bottom of the boat as it jerked into motion. Sighing with relief, he decided to stay there.
The journey to the shore was mercifully short. When he felt the boat slow he began to pull himself back onto the seat. Ella stood on the beach ahead, a white glowing figure of goodness. As the boat slid up onto the sand she strode forward, her dress and circ dipping into the water. He felt a sudden rush of affection for her.
“Are you all right, Danjin?”
He stepped out and looked himself over. “Fine. A bit bruised in places, but otherwise happy to be alive.” He glanced behind. “What were those creatures?”
“Elai,” she replied, frowning. “Several of our supply ships and a Dunwayan warship have been sunk tonight. That wasn’t a weapon you saw. It was a tool for drilling holes.”
Danjin nodded. Of course. Now that she had pointed it out, he recognized the tool as one used for ship repairs. In the hands of the creature it had taken on an exotic menace.
“We’ll have to work out a way to fight them, or we’ll never survive a protracted battle here,” Ella added.
“Well, I’m glad he didn’t get a chance to drill any holes in me,” he said.
She smiled. “And I am, too. I wish I hadn’t needed to send you over there, but the only other way we could have talked to Mirar was through Arleej, and there may have been something he’d agree to so long as his people didn’t know of it.”
“Did anything good come of it?” he asked.
She looked at him, then shrugged. “Maybe. We will have to discuss it. You should get some sleep in these last few hours before the army arrives.”
“I don’t think I will.”
“No, but you will try,” she said firmly. “I’ll need you alert and at your best tomorrow.”
Putting a hand on his shoulder, she steered him toward the town.