Antiagon Fire

39

For all their speculations on Samedi evening and after they woke on Solayi morning, Quaeryt and Vaelora still had no real idea what might face them in or on the so-called Hall of the Heavens. They dressed, Quaeryt in uniform and Vaelora in riding clothes, ate, and then repaired to the front study until Quaeryt rose to ready their mounts.

“I could-” began Vaelora.

“Not without compromising your status. Besides, you’re getting to the point that you need to be a bit more careful. We’ll be riding most of the day, remember.”

Vaelora made a face, and Quaeryt shook his head in return.

He returned in little more than a quint with both mounts, while Zhelan was forming up second and fourth squads. Shortly, they mounted and rode toward the formation. They had only moved into place, at the head of the column when a rider, presumably their guide, rode through the stone pillars of the compound and then reined up at the front of the column.

The slim and wiry white-haired woman in dark leathers looked at Vaelora, then at Quaeryt. She smiled, then said something.

From where he sat on his mount behind Vaelora Calkoran said quietly, “She says that it’s likely to be quite a day.”

“Tell her we hope it will be beneficial for both Telaryn and Khel,” returned Quaeryt.

The guide’s response, according to Calkoran, was, “One way or another, the skies will decide.”

The guide gestured and turned her mount.

“Forward!” ordered Quaeryt.

“Forward! On the guide!” echoed Zhelan, and all the Telaryn riders began to move, with the scouts falling in directly behind the guide, followed by Quaeryt and Vaelora, Calkoran and Zhelan, the undercaptains, and then the two squads.

For the first quint, they simply retraced the path back to the hill that held the council building, but rather than taking the lane up to the building, the Pharsi guide led them along the avenue around the hill to a narrow stone road little wider than a lane that headed due west toward the higher hills. That lanelike road was paved, not with the gray stone, but with a pinkish stone that looked every bit as durable as the ancient gray stone. Quaeryt saw no wear marks or gouges, and from its appearance the stone itself could have been cut and laid within the last year, though the worn and gentled appearance of the shoulders of the road gave the lie to that.

The lane continued due west, running through apricot orchards, where the branches of the trees had been trimmed back to just short of the graveled shoulder, itself only about half a yard wide. That explained to Quaeryt, at least partly, why he hadn’t noticed a straight road running due west from Saendeol, since it would have looked like a space between trees.

He couldn’t help but smile at that. Hidden in plain sight. That raised the question of what else might be so hidden.

He turned slightly in the saddle and looked back to Calkoran. “It appears we’ll be on this road for a time, and there are a few things that could use more explanation.”

“You wish to know why we left Khel?” asked the former marshal.

“It might help us to understand.”

“I had three regiments left after Khelgror. We fell back to the road from south Ouestan. The Bovarians brought five regiments from the coast and at least ten from Khelgror. They surrounded us. We fought. We killed almost half the Bovarians, more than eight regiments worth. It was not enough. When all was over, there were less than three battalions of Khellan troopers remaining. Those are what we took to the northern mountains.”

“If that was what happened, why don’t they understand?”

“Because,” said Calkoran slowly, “the High Council had ordered me to disband my men and to have them go to the hills in the dead of winter and fight in small groups. We had few supplies, no golds. I was withdrawing from Khelgror and trying to get the men south and closer to the coast, where they would have a better chance to survive. I did not know that the Bovarians had used Antiagon Fire to level most of Ouestan and left that city to march toward Khel. But they moved more quickly than I had thought, and we had no choice but to fight.” Calkoran sighed. “In the eyes of the Council I had disobeyed. In the eyes of the Bovarians, we were to be hunted down and destroyed for the toll we had taken.” He shrugged. “We decided to cross the northern lands in winter. It took much longer than that, and many died. We did not think we would survive to see Khel again, but we decided that we should die in battle against the Bovarians.”

Now what do you do or say, for the sake of the Nameless? “Knowing this … you accepted a mission back to Khel?”

Calkoran straightened in the saddle. “You risked everything and saved Khel from the Bovarians. You did it many times. You did it when you could not image, when any musket ball or shaft would have struck you dead. How could I refuse? After I had failed once, already?”

Quaeryt shook his head. So did Vaelora, if almost imperceptibly.

After they had ridden at least two milles through the bare-leafed apricot orchards, at the western edge of the valley, the road swung to the north, circling around a hill into another dryish valley filled with scattered pines and junipers that angled northwest. The road rose slightly over the next mille or so, then leveled out. With little warning, just as their guide passed a grove of junipers, she raised her arm and reined up. On the right was an open area, with a low stone wall encircling a fountain that spilled down a stone trough into a circular pool.

“She says that this is the last water,” relayed Calkoran.

“Then we should water men and mounts,” said Quaeryt. “Major, if you would.”

“Water by squads! Second squad.”

Vaelora immediately dismounted, as did Quaeryt, happy to stretch his legs. Calkoran followed.

Vaelora turned to face the former marshal. “You haven’t been here before?”

“Lady, I did not even know that there was a southern council building. Until yesterday, I did not know that the Hall of the Heavens was near here.”

“You had heard of it?” asked Quaeryt.

“Most in Khel have heard of it. It is where the Eherelani and Eleni are tested, and I knew it was somewhere in the south. There are tales that there was once another Hall in the north, but that it has been lost.”

“How are they tested?” asked Vaelora.

Calkoran shook his head. “That is a secret they keep to themselves. I know only that often those who would be Eherelani are never heard from again.”

“Hard-kept secrets,” said Quaeryt.

“If you return, I would not be surprised if you would be the first outlanders to walk the Hall of the Heavens and survive.”

“Probably because they haven’t let any others try,” said Quaeryt.

“They don’t have much choice with you,” added Vaelora. “They need proof that you are what everyone claims before they dare even consider any serious talks about the future of Khel.”

“Proof of what we’re claimed to be,” corrected Quaeryt.

Vaelora offered a faint smile in return.

Calkoran looked away, nervously moistening his lips.

Once all the mounts had been watered, the guide resumed leading Quaeryt and Vaelora and their squads up the valley. With each mille that passed, the valley walls grew higher, and the valley itself narrower until it was more canyon than valley. Roughly a glass and a half later, the road turned north again, up an even narrower way with the paved road only wide enough for a single mount or possibly a small cart drawn by a single draft animal. Quaeryt rode in front of Vaelora, his shields extended slightly to cover them both.

Less than two-fifths of a mille later, the road ended in a circular space at the base of a cliff that rose to the northwest. Quaeryt judged that the cliff was not that tall, perhaps twenty or thirty yards, but an expanse of the hard, pink, granite-like stone some hundred yards wide had been smoothed and polished into a mirror-like finish. In the center of that expanse was a set of stone steps, also of the hard pink stone, that had been chiseled out of-or imaged into-the sheer cliff.

When he looked up the steps, Quaeryt could see nothing but sky.

The guide called out something.

“If you choose,” said Calkoran, “you are to walk to the top and meet what awaits you.”

Who knows what lies at the top of those steps? He turned to Vaelora. “Are you ready?”

She nodded.

They dismounted, then walked toward the guide in dark leathers, who had also dismounted and now stood near the base of the steps, which followed an angled cut up through the stone of the cliff.

Quaeryt looked at the guide, then inclined his head. She nodded.

Vaelora looked at the guide. The guide’s eyes widened, and she stepped back, as if involuntarily.

“Let us begin, dearest,” said Vaelora quietly.

Quaeryt did not ask what she had done, although whatever it had been had clearly terrified the guide.

The steps were neither narrow nor wide, but they could walk up side by side, although there were no handrails and the treads were cut less than calf-depth into the angled passageway up toward what was presumably the Hall of the Heavens.

Halfway up, Quaeryt squeezed Vaelora’s arm. “Stop for a moment. You’re breathing too hard.”

“So are you.”

“Why do you think I told you to stop?” He offered a grin, one that faded. “I can sense … something … but I can’t tell what.” He felt almost stupid saying that he could feel something, yet it was that way with imaging. So why was this different?

“There’s someone up there, and they have … power.”

Quaeryt glanced back, and wished he hadn’t. While they weren’t terribly high, perhaps fifteen yards, it was clear enough that if they made any serious misstep, they’d tumble all the way down-and even with shields around them, they’d break more than a few bones, and that was if they were fortunate.

Could he anchor the shields to the stone?

Surprisingly … he couldn’t. Was that because the stone was so polished that there was no way to anchor anything? Someone planned this to be able to deal with shields … at least to some degree. That worried him, more than a little.

“Quaeryt?”

“Just a moment. I need to think.”

Could he anchor shields to the entire top edge of where the stone cut holding the steps emerged, spreading them far enough to provide enough support that something couldn’t push them down the steps? There was nothing else to do but try.

He concentrated.

After several moments he had the feeling that the expanse of anchoring or attempted anchoring would provide protection against moderate force-such as small boulders, arrows, and crossbow bolts … and perhaps a musket, but not against much more. Still, that was better than nothing.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“I was about to ask you. What was that all about?”

“Later. I’ll tell you later.”

As they neared the top of the steps, Quaeryt could still see nothing but the sides of the angled passage that held the stone staircase … and the sky, as if they were indeed walking upward into a hall that held the heavens alone. Then, as his eyes reached the point where he could look above the sides of the stone staircase, he took a deep breath. The steps ended almost in the middle of a polished flat stone surface whose edge appeared to be an oval, cut off at the end behind them by the flat cliff through which they had climbed.

At that moment a gust of wind howled from nowhere, pressing them backward.

Quaeryt linked them to the shields, because, as he’d discovered more than a year earlier, shields by themselves provided no protection against wind. Even so, the wind ripped at their jackets and trousers.

He slowly surveyed the polished surface of what had likely once been a rocky hilltop, but saw no one and nothing. The Eleni must have concealment shields … or something like them. Just to see what might happen, Quaeryt wrapped a concealment around himself and Vaelora.

As suddenly as it had come up, the wind died down to nothing.

After several moments Quaeryt let the concealment vanish.

A huge wheel, some three yards high and two wide, appeared from nowhere, only yards away, rolling toward Quaeryt and Vaelora.

Quaeryt concentrated, then imaged it away.

Instantly a chill wind swirled ice flakes around them. As the wind died, it dispersed the light fog that had momentarily enfolded Quaeryt and Vaelora.

Before Quaeryt could consciously react, a crossbow bolt shattered on his shields, the fragments dropping and skidding across the polished stone surface.

Then the entire surface before them was filled with bleeding bodies and moaning women.

Except Quaeryt could tell that he was only seeing an image. How do you remove an image?

Something radiated from Vaelora … and the image vanished.

A second image appeared, this one of hundreds of hard-faced, black-eyed women in dark leathers, each with a crossbow aimed at Quaeryt and Vaelora.

That image vanished as well, and as it did, something crashed into Quaeryt’s shields from the side, with enough force that it shook his body, if for a moment. He glanced around, then winced as he saw the giant bird-a sun eagle-lying crumpled on the polished stone less than five yards away to his right.

He took a step toward it, and then another, hoping it was only stunned.

“Quaeryt!”

He glanced back, and then up, only to see two more of the sun eagles circling-not above him, but above Vaelora. The last thing he wanted to do was to kill another of the magnificent birds.

Abruptly he image-projected the sense of a mighty black eagle above the two eagles about to begin their dive toward Vaelora, with absolute cruelty of a pitiless predator, and the sense that Vaelora belonged to that predator. Then he added the compulsion that the pair should return to the Eleni who directed them, although he had yet to see her anywhere.

He watched intently … ready to image more, if necessary, but the two slowly circled down and away from Vaelora, slowly and gracefully coming to rest on the red leather shoulder pads of the Eleni woman who appeared, seemingly from nowhere, on the polished stone some thirty yards in front of Quaeryt.

Vaelora moved up beside Quaeryt. “I’ve never felt anything like that. I felt like the smallest of the small.”

“I didn’t want to kill the other eagles. They were just going to do as they were trained. Stay close to me. We’re going over to see what this was all about.” First, he moved forward to the crumpled form of the eagle, hoping against hope that it was only stunned, but as he knelt he could see that it was dead. Slowly, he straightened, then continued toward the Eleni in her dark leathers and red leather gloves and belt. The black-haired huntress was older than she had looked from a distance. She watched impassively as Quaeryt and Vaelora neared, still saying nothing when they halted a yard away.

Both sun eagles looked at him, their golden eyes cold.

He met those eyes and gazed back, image radiating the power of the heavens and wings broader than the skies. In moments, both birds looked away.

“They said you claimed to be a son of Erion.” The Eleni’s Bovarian was heavily accented.

“I claim nothing,” replied Quaeryt. “I am who I am.”

“You are Pharsi from the far east of Lydar.” The huntress’s eyes took in Vaelora. “So are you.” She studied Quaeryt. “You have the hair of a lost one, and the limp.” Her eyes took in his hands. “And the fingers of a son of Erion. Do you deny that?”

“I have never claimed to be other than I am. I was orphaned as a small child and raised by the scholars of Solis.”

“And the woman?”

“She is the sister of Lord Bhayar of Telaryn, and she is of the blood of the Pharsi.”

“Why did you kill Athyor?”

“The first eagle? Because I did not see him in time. He struck my shields before I could do anything.” Mentioning shields was a slight risk, but the Eleni had to know about shields, and that he had such.

“You are protected even from what you cannot see?”

Quaeryt nodded.

The Eleni continued to study Quaeryt, her dark eyes fixed on him as if to use her gaze as a knife.

Quaeryt waited.

“You are doubly blessed, Son of Erion … and triply cursed. You are blessed with powers that none will dare best and blessed by the love of a woman. You are cursed because you can only use those powers for others, unless you would destroy yourself. You are cursed because to do what you must, others will be known for what you have made possible, and you are cursed to know that all this is so.”

The dark-eyed Eleni looked long at Vaelora before speaking again. “You will be the greatest of your blood in this time or any other. None will recognize that, for you have wed the lost one and share his curse and heritage. Nor will any remember your names, even though your trials will be great and your deeds will change Lydar for all time.”

Quaeryt could feel the sadness that radiated from her, and that surprised him. She pitied them? Still, he had a question. But then, you always have had questions. “I have noticed that there are no pictures or sculptures of people. Is this because the ancient ones attempted to image beyond what should be imaged? Or is there another reason?”

A faint smile crossed the lips of the Eleni before she spoke. “It came to pass in the old times that the ability to create things from where there is nothing was not accompanied by the wisdom to understand what to create and how to create, and when not to create … and that doomed the folk of the old south. That is why all who image must face the Hall of the Heavens, or die, for only should those such as the Eleni or the Eherelani be trusted with such powers. As a hand of Erion and a farseer who have faced the Hall of the Heavens, you and the lady are like the Eleni and the Eherelani. You must also be respected.”

“But not trusted?” asked Quaeryt, raising his eyebrows.

“You can be trusted to use your powers, but no Eleni or Eherelani would care to trust the outcome of the use of powers by a son of Erion. You are more than a hand of Erion, more than a lost one of legend. All may hope, but to trust is beyond reason.”

“Sometimes,” Quaeryt said gently, “the greatest of reason is to trust.”

“If one has the wisdom to know whom to trust.” She paused, but briefly. “Go as you will, for the Hall of the Heavens has judged you and found you worthy. And more.” The last two words were added, in a lower voice, as if unwilled and reluctant.

“We thank you and wish you well, in keeping your heritage and ours,” replied Vaelora.

After that, Quaeryt merely nodded.

When they turned and walked toward the stone staircase down from the Hall of the Heavens, Quaeryt could sense the eyes of the Eleni still upon them.

For all that the Eleni had said that he and Vaelora should be respected, Quaeryt maintained shields linked to the edge of the stone staircase until they were both standing firmly at the bottom of the steps.

The woman who had been their guide bowed, as if reluctantly, and murmured several sentences.

“You are like unto the Eherelani,” said Calkoran. “As with them, your every act will be weighed and measured, and none will wish you close, respected as you may be.”

Not that such is any different from most of the last year-except now Vaelora’s facing the same thing. But, really, was that any different for her, either?

Quaeryt could feel all the eyes on him and Vaelora, and the questions, none of which he wanted to answer. So, to break the stillness and forestall questions, he said, “We’ve done what the High Council asked. We’re heading back. Mount up. We’ve got a ways to cover.”

While he wanted to ask Vaelora a question, he wasn’t about to until later and he could ask without everyone looking at them and hanging on every word. Later didn’t come until they were on the wider road, with a barely warm midafternoon sun at their backs. “What did you do up there … to break that illusion?”

Vaelora smiled, a trace shyly. “I just thought … a different version of those words.”

While Quaeryt thought he knew, he had to ask, “Which words?”

“I will not see what is not and may never be.”

“How…?”

She shrugged. “It seemed right. Just as I can tell between what I’d like to see and a true farsight.”

He nodded. How many people can make that distinction? Then he smiled.