Stormlord rising

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Scarpen Quarter Scarcleft City Scarcleft City, Level 2 The Skirtings, south of Scarcleft Seneschal Harkel Tallyman had his ways of finding out everything of importance occurring in Scarcleft Hall. He had been informed-even before Senya had left Jasper's bedroom-of her night-time visit to him. He had relayed the information to the highlord in the morning, and the slight smile with which Taquar had heard it was enough to tell Tallyman the news was pleasing. He didn't understand why, which annoyed him.

He liked to know what Taquar was up to; not knowing could jeopardize his own future. He'd spent many days locked in one of Scarcleft Hall's tower rooms for his last mistake-allowing the eighteen-year-old Jasper to escape Scarcleft for Breccia, and he didn't want to make another. He shuddered just thinking about the boredom of incarceration.

Even though he knew cloud gathering was an exhausting business for an ill-qualified rainlord, it worried him that the highlord was always irritable. Senya made no more visits to Jasper's bedroom, and Jasper appeared to be making an effort to be friendly to her, but it bothered Harkel that the young stormlord continued to make the occasional snuggery visit. It was so irritatingly difficult to find out what happened inside snuggery walls. Jasper's visits seemed too… calculated to be merely part of the amorous adventures of a young man. Frustrated, he hauled the snuggery madams in for questioning and learned nothing.

"I do not spy on my girls in the rooms," Opal told him blandly.

"Of course you do," he snapped back. "Do you think my wits are so sandblighted I would believe that?"

"All right," she conceded. "There are peepholes, of course, but I only use them if I think the girls are in danger."

He didn't believe her for a moment and contemplated locking her up in one of the underground cells and threatening her, but in the end he let her go. Snuggery madams were not without influence, and he had a nice income from the money they supplied to his office every month in exchange for a lack of harassment by his water enforcers. Besides, Jasper would not be happy with Tallyman if he found out the madams were in trouble. And he would find out. Tallyman wasn't sure how it was happening, but people spoke to Jasper. He wandered through the city at will. He chatted to everyone, from workmen to sellers in the market. Even Tallyman's own enforcers were not obeying the standing order not to talk to Lord Jasper Bloodstone.

The problem was, of course, he was a stormlord. And you didn't poke a stormlord in the balls, not if you were wise. For a start they could kill you. For a finish, well, without a stormlord, no one drank. You owed them respect. And it seemed, if everyone was to be believed, conversation.

Withering little shit, Tallyman thought, but he kept the sentiment private. Nonetheless, his opinion nearly became public knowledge when the overman of the Hall Guard came to make a report a few days later.

Tallyman heard him out, took a deep breath and said quietly, "Say that again, overman."

"The stormlord has gone, seneschal. He has left the city, and a number of guardsmen have left with him."

"How long ago was this?"

"Three runs of the sandglass since he went out through the South Gate, my lord." The overman was unnaturally pale.

As well he should be. We could both suffer for this. "You had better tell me exactly what happened."

"He walked down into the city, early. His usual guards went with him, of course. Ten men. I understand he asked another guard to take a message to the highlord that he was too weary for stormbringing this morning."

Tallyman hadn't known that, but he nodded. "Go on."

"He walked straight down Southway to the gate. He told the guards-the ones on duty there as well as those who were with him-that if they wanted to stop him, they'd have to kill him and he would try to kill them and their ziggers first. It was their choice. Then he went out."

Tallyman was incredulous. "And none of them tried to stop him?"

"Seneschal, would you, when the outcome would be your own death and possibly the death of the land's only stormshifter as well?"

Tallyman gritted his teeth. I would have thought of some way of stopping him peacefully. "Did his guards follow him?"

"Oh yes. The original ten and four others from the gate. The other fools on gate duty didn't tell me. I suppose they were hoping he'd come back before you or I or Highlord Taquar found out."

"Go on."

"He went to the livery stable outside. He asked the owner to saddle up a myriapede. He actually paid for the hire of the bleeding thing. He bought a couple of full water skins and a bag of bab fruit. The man was happy to oblige him."

Tallyman gave a grunt of outrage.

"Lord, he's the stormlord-"

"Sunlord preserve me from fools," Tallyman said through gritted teeth. "Where did he go?"

"South. Six of the guards seized a myriapede and joined him."

"Where would their loyalties lie? Are they likely to spy on him and then tell us what is going on?"

The overman looked unhappy. "Seneschal, he's been clever. He's a whole sandstorm more pleasant than Highlord Taquar, you know. He's been talking to his guards. Getting to know them. Taquar keeps changing the men to stop any of them becoming too familiar, but word got around: the young stormlord is a fine man. There's been a lot of chatter in the barracks-"

"Taquar would have your sand-stuffed head for that kind of talk, overman!"

"Yes, I know. But he's going to have it anyway. Seneschal, we've lost the stormlord."

"You have what?"

Tallyman and the overman both jumped. The pen in Tallyman's fingers spun out of his hand and the overman dug a hole in his palmubra with his fingers. Taquar stood in the doorway. His face was the color of a dust cloud rolling across the Gibber. Jasper had not often felt so happy. He was free, and in charge. The men who followed him did not question him; he was the one who told them what to do, where to go, how far to ride. They deferred to him. It was a new experience and he enjoyed it. He reveled in the feel of the pede beneath him, the leather of the reins in his hand, the touch of the wind whipping his palmubra onto his back when he urged the beast into fast mode. His experience as a driver was minimal; Nealrith had started teaching him back in Breccia, but then the war had intervened.

When he rode, memories came flooding back. The day he and Mica had saved the life of a Reduner's pede by pulling it out of the flooded wash. Its owner had been angry because it had broken the tip of its feeler. His love of pedes had been born that day. The same day Citrine had been born… Then there was the day Nealrith gave him a pede of his own. The pride he'd felt then, his wonder that anyone would do that for him.

He stroked the livery pede between its segments with the prod, as Nealrith had taught him. In answer, the animal swung one of its long feelers back to touch him with its sensitive tip, establishing rapport.

Nealrith had died on Jasper's dagger. Citrine had died on Davim's spear. The pede Nealrith had given him was long gone, doubtless stolen by Reduners. And Mica… Poor Mica. Always wanting to stick up for his younger brother and never quite having the courage. Who knew where he was now? Or even if he was still alive.

Jasper refused to accept for certain that his brother was dead. Davim might have lied to Taquar. Taquar might have lied to him. Mica might be a slave somewhere on the dunes. Although, knowing Mica, he might not have lasted long.

The thought made him sick with rage. He wanted to pound Davim into pulp with his bare hands and toss Taquar off a cliff for good measure.

I will change things, he thought. Soon.

There had been a time when he'd wondered if he could bargain with Davim. Rain in exchange for Mica-but he'd ended up dismissing the idea. If he let Davim know how much Mica meant to him, and if Mica was indeed a slave on the dunes, then Davim would have a lever to control the stormlord. He couldn't let that happen. He led the guards on their myriapede down the trail toward Portennabar. When the sun was high in the sky, he took them off the trail and into a gully nearby, where they halted. He shared his water and the bab fruit, joking with the men. His men. He didn't find it easy to chat about inconsequential things, but he always tried and hoped he was more successful than he believed. Any conversational skills he had, he knew he owed to Terelle.

Thinking of her, he grieved. Always, always there was that same thought: he had to marry Senya, or someone like her. He had to bring more stormlords into the world. If he didn't, the Quartern had no future. None.

In the mid-afternoon, he felt the water of a large body of riders passing along the track they had left-traveling far faster than a merchant or passenger caravan. After counting the number of pedes and men he smiled, knowing he had seriously worried Taquar.

When he was sure the pursuers had disappeared further down the track, he turned to Dibble, the driver of the second pede. "Let's go back," he said.

The guards exchanged looks of surprise, and he realized only then that they had not really expected to return; they had thought he was intent on separating himself from the Highlord of Scarcleft. Even though he had been endeavoring to undermine Taquar's hold over Scarcleft men, he was momentarily astonished. Every one of them had been prepared to follow him, Watergiver knew where, with no guarantees of anything. Perhaps they believed he was their salvation. Perhaps they just feared what Taquar would do if they let Jasper go while they remained behind to take the blame. Jasper wasn't sure why, but he knew they were his men now. The thought shook him more than any spoken expressions of loyalty could have done.

Oh, sandblast, who am I to deserve this?

"I will see to it that every one of you is in my personal guard from now on," he told them.

By late afternoon they were back at the gates of Scarcleft. Dibble called out in a ringing shout as they rode up, "Make way for Lord Jasper, Stormlord of the Quartern, and his men!"

Jasper flashed him a surprised smile. The men sat straighter on the saddle as they rode in-and the guards at the gate saluted them.

No sooner had they entered the forecourt of Scarcleft Hall than an enforcer overman appeared, politely but firmly informing Jasper that the highlord wanted to see him. Taquar sat behind his desk, and he was furious. "What game is this you are playing?"

"No game. I just wanted to make it clear that I will do what I want, when I want. We've already agreed there's nothing either of us can do about this unpleasant situation. I'm just taking my concept of this agreement one step further. I will have my freedom. You know I can't run away."

Taquar sneered. "We're chained to each other because you are a weak and incompetent stormlord. I have not seen any increase in your abilities as yet. Am I to be chained, for the rest of my life, by your incompetence?"

"Give me a further year of your services as a cloudmaker. At the end of that year, you will be Cloudmaster in practice, ruling the Quartern in all respects not to do with water, and I will be cloudmaking as well as cloudshifting. I've had a couple of minor successes with changing water to vapor," he lied. "Just on a small scale, and not reliably. But it is coming."

"I hope you're right," Taquar said. He was fiddling with his dagger, turning it over and over in his hands.

Ignoring the implied threat, Jasper drew up a chair to the desk and seated himself, casually lifting his right leg to rest across his left. "Perhaps you should consider yourself lucky. My weakness means you can be a powerful man. I know now that I can never rule this land and be a stormlord, too. You can be the legitimate Cloudmaster. I will support your claim before the Council of Rainlords as soon as you care to make your move. I assume you are biding your time, waiting until Davim completes his withdrawal from Breccia."

Taquar laid the dagger aside and regarded him with an unpleasant stare. "That's right."

Jasper nodded, unsurprised. "From now on, I'll choose my own personal bodyguard. And I come and go as I please."

For a long moment, Taquar held his gaze. Then he nodded. "If we do have to live with each other, it may as well be with a semblance of harmony. Let me warn you: if you betray me, I will stop at nothing. Neither you nor any friend of yours will be safe. You need me more than I need you and you have more to lose than I do, because in the long run, I do not care for the Quartern the way you do. The way Nealrith did. I am a rich man, and a rich man can build a life anywhere, even on the other side of the Giving Sea. You see, I do not really care about any of it-not even Scarcleft. It has only ever been what it can offer me. Anything else is irrelevant. If it doesn't offer me enough…" He shrugged.

Jasper glanced away. "Power, not people?" he asked, keeping his tone neutral.

"Exactly. Power-and all that comes with it. If living here becomes too arduous, I will leave. I have been making inquiries; I hear life on the other side of the Giving Sea is comfortable, especially for a man who has assets."

"Water tokens are not going to help you there."

"Jewels have value everywhere. I have ziggers and the skills of a rainlord. Be warned, I already find tedious your insistence on continual cloudmaking so you can water the whole Quartern. I do not appreciate my constant fatigue."

Jasper's mouth went dry. "Then would Scarcleft be prepared to subsidize the import of water to Portennabar and Portfillik from across the Giving Sea?"

"No. Why should I? Shale, rid yourself of the notion I have an interest in anything not bringing me a profit or benefit. And expect me not to do any cloudmaking every third day. Two days on, one day off. I need to rest."

"Benefit?" Jasper's laugh was bitter. "You almost single-handedly ruined the life of the Scarpen when you murdered the young stormlords. You mistook what would benefit you! Beware you don't do so again. What, I wonder, will the Scarpen forces being assembled do when the Reduners leave Breccia?"

"Scarpen forces? The imaginary army you once mentioned?"

"Oh, wash stones, Taquar. You can hardly expect me not to have heard. Everyone knows! Caravanners gossip. I heard the servants talking. And if it hadn't been them, it would have been someone else. If you want to keep me in ignorance about everything, you had better lock me up in the mother cistern again. The Scarpen is seething, as well you know. I understand forces are being raised in Breakaway and Denmasad and Pediment. There are even rumors that perhaps the Gibbermen will rise up in rebellion if their water falls too low."

Taquar chuckled. "An army of Gibber grubbers?"

Jasper shrugged and added, "I'll tell you another thing you probably assumed I didn't know: the Scarpen forces are led by Rainlord Iani Potch. Interesting, eh? That half-crazy old man is still alive. Now tell me, Taquar, what do you think Iani will do with all those forces he has gathered, or is in the process of gathering? Do you think he will tell them to go home if Davim leaves? Or will he, do you think, turn his attention to the man who killed his daughter?"

"I did not kill his daughter! And he can't threaten me," Taquar said. "I have you; our partnership is surety for the good behavior of Iani and everyone else."

"Exactly. You need me. And if I were you, I'd give some thought to whether any attempt by you to leave the Quartern would meet with success. I've been chatting to merchants from the coast, and they tell me that it is difficult to buy a passage without a permit from the portmaster. I'm betting neither of the portmasters would issue one for you."

"Why, you little-"

Jasper raised his hands, palms out, in denial. "No, not my doing, I assure you. But I suspect Iani is very keen to shove a blade into your heart." He smiled cheerfully. "Let's just assume for the time being that you are going to stay and we will be working together. Later, I'll see you have the choice to leave-if you still want to." He stood. "I am going to change and have something to eat. Shall we meet in the stormquest room in, say, half an hour? We have some storms to bring. Oh, and one other thing, my name is Jasper. Shale Flint died long ago." Back in his own bedroom, Jasper sighed. Not exactly a victory. And he didn't much like telling lies, either. In fact, he hated it.

He stepped out onto the balcony to look toward the ocean. The feel of the water came to him, vast and tantalizing. So much of it, all they could ever need-if only there were stormlords to deliver it. Once again he reached out to that water, attempting to drag up a portion as vapor. And once again, he failed.

I have to work in tandem with a man who despises me, whom I loathe in turn. Blighted eyes, Terelle, you would say it wasn't fair. He gave a reluctant grin at his own foolishness. As if anything ever said life had to be fair, you sandcrazy Gibber urchin.

He raised his eyes to the harsh blue of the brilliant sky. Tomorrow he would send another message to Iani, written in the clouds, to ask him to warn the portmasters not to let Taquar leave the Quartern. He was only too aware he was gambling. He had no way of knowing if his sky writing was ever read by those he intended it for, no way of knowing if they were interested in the proposals he was making to them, no way to know if the verbal messages he had tried to send through the snuggeries were ever delivered. No replies had yet reached him.

And Terelle; how could he be sure she would see his message? That she would return if she did? Everything was riding on a hunch. A nebulous feel on the wind, a whisper of a touch as insubstantial as sand-dancers shimmering on the plains in the midday heat. He'd felt her. Sensed her water on his tongue. She had been there in the White Quarter. He'd looked at Granthon's maps, laid them on the brass stormquest table with its etched compass directions, and placed her somewhere east of Samphire, probably at one of the mines.

Or was he just sandcrazed? He'd long since known stormlords could recognize individuals by their water, unlike rainlords. Nealrith had told him that; so had Taquar. He'd found it impossible at first, but not anymore. Not since that night when he'd gone to the room where Terelle had been imprisoned and felt her lingering presence in a way he never had before. She'd gone, but she had left something of her water behind. After that, he always recognized who was on the other side of a closed door.

But no stormlord should have been able to sense a person as far away as the next quarter…

Jasper lifted his face to the wind. She was not where she had been anymore. She was getting closer.

Please let that be true.

Still, he couldn't relax his guard. Any day now Taquar would hear about his messages. True, many of Taquar's agents in the other cities would have abandoned him now that they knew what he had done to bring disaster to the Scarpen, but Jasper was not so foolish as to think he could keep his cloud messages a secret. Once Taquar knew, the crack in the dayjar would open up in earnest. Trouble was coming and it would have the power of a rush down a Gibber drywash.

Jasper smiled, but without real amusement. You may be clever, Taquar, and I may be weak, but you have still underestimated me. She's coming. And when she does, things will change. I swear it.