The Schemes of Dragons

XX

IN JANNA'S AUDIENCE CHAMBER, Toren sat across from the high priestess, the fingers of their left hands interlaced, knees touching knees. Her gentle lecture carried softly over the hushed murmurs of the "sea" outside the dome. Her perfume wafted lightly up his nose, mixed with the scent of the perspiration brought on by her spellcasting-a pheromone that inspired Toren to vivid reminiscences of his lovemaking with the mother of his son. But his arousal was a side effect, not the intent of either participant. Toren put the memory aside, taking small notice of his body's craving. A deeper sort of lust preoccupied him.

"Like we did yesterday," Janna said, her whisper crystal clear and penetrating. "Remember what Struth told you. Yes. You're getting close. Can you tell?"

"Yes." Toren strove to channel his excitement; it would aid the sorcery. He concentrated, eyes closed. The room faded. The divan on which he sat dissolved into empty air. The only sensations that remained were the sound of Janna's voice, the pressure of her fingers and knees, and her scent. He floated, free of constraints, anchored only by the high priestess's presence.

"Keep your mind calm, and open your eyes," Janna said.

He did so. The first glimpse of the scene before him nearly jostled him out of his trance, but unlike the previous day, he kept his attention steady. Only one week after his arrival in Headwater, he already had the confidence vital to successful spellweaving.

He viewed the temple amphitheater, the Oracle of the Frog God, as if he were sitting on top of the great statue's head. His back rested against the ridge of one of the frog's eyes; Janna leaned against the other. Below, petitioners shuffled forward in their line. A crone dropped two copper errons in the pool and asked whether she would live to see another spring. The oracle did not reply. The woman spat in the water and stalked away. From the vigor of her angry steps, Toren guessed she would survive twenty more cycles of the seasons.

They watched for a few minutes. The wandering glances of the people in the line proved they could not see Toren and Janna. Yet Toren felt as if he were actually there. He moved normally, except that he made certain not to break contact with the priestess. The stone on which he sat resounded with cold substantiality. When he peered too far over the nose of the frog, vertigo teased him.

Gradually he noticed that the entire top of the statue glowed with a faint network of bright lines. The tendrils emitted a fragrance of thaumaturgy. On a hunch, he tried to thrust his hand beyond their perimeter. His fingers encountered a soft but definite barrier. He strained, pushing an inch or two further, until the resistance grew so firm that it hurt his hand.

Janna smiled at him. "Good. I was hoping you'd notice that without my help." She resumed the position she had occupied when they had first materialized. "Time to go back. Your control is slipping."

Her words rang true. Toren shook unsteadily as he sat back. He closed his eyes.

An instant later he opened them, and saw Janna's dome. An octopus and a pair of sea snails clung to the transparent wall, presenting a dramatic perspective of their suckered appendages. The divan cradled him. Across from him, the glazed look left Janna's pupils.

"Good!" she cried. "Much better! How do you feel?"

"Light-headed," Toren replied.

"You should be. That was a great deal of progress for one session. Go rest for the remainder of the day. Tomorrow Struth will adjust your energies a bit more, and you and I shall try the same journey with your eyes open. And after you've become used to that, you can work on projecting all by yourself. Now, any questions?"

"Yes. Were we there, at the oracle, or not?"

"No. Our bodies were here the whole time. Only our awareness travelled. It's the same technique Struth uses to listen to the supplicants."

"She sends her voice, too?"

"Yes. An adept can even send a visible image. If you continue at your present rate of advancement, I'll teach you that next week. Struth uses the technique not only at this oracle, but to visit her temples in other cities."

"Is there no limit on distance?"

"Not really, though it's a little harder to project oneself to the other side of the world. The handicap is that you must have visited your destination at least once in the flesh, otherwise you won't know where you're going. And, of course, there must be a reception zone ready to catch your projection."

"Like the net on the statue's head?" he asked.

"Exactly. It took sophisticated sorcery, and a great many days, to create that. There was no choice, however. I know of no person or being so powerful as to be able to project himself to a random location. At least the zones are permanent once woven; they last until the weaver dies."

Janna slid her hand from his. His skin tingled where she had touched it. Hints of his earlier arousal returned.

"More questions?" Janna asked, blowing the sweat between her fingers dry.

"No," Toren said, startled. At her gesture, he excused himself. He found the door using his magical senses-a test Janna had foisted on him earlier in the week-and took his leave.

Deena found Obo sitting in a gazebo inside the garden of Struth, one of the many small hideaways tucked within the temple grounds. On the table before him steeped a pot of tea, and next to it sat three empty cups. A chunk of honeycomb oozed on a small plate. The wizard put away the scroll he had been reading and filled two of the cups.

She smiled as she sat down. She had missed the ritual of her quiet conversations with him. How many times had they shared tea in this spot during the months before she had left for the Wood? Ten? Twenty?

"You're losing the look of the traveller," Obo said, giving her a glance that, in a younger man, might have been called admiring.

"Thank you," she said, self-consciously picking a piece of lint from the smocking of her dress. She folded her arms so that they concealed the scar on her forearm.

"You've kept out of sight a great deal since you arrived. Any particular reason?"

His fatherly eyes saw too much, she thought. "I just needed some time alone. The quest proved to be quite a strain."

"Yes," he said, nodding. He blew over his cup to cool the contents. "You conducted yourself well, from all accounts."

"The mission was important to me," she said. "But you compliment me too much. My only real accomplishment was to have survived."

"That's no mean feat," he countered, and briefly his glance focussed on some distant place. Remembering Ivayer, she guessed. "Toren has been asking about you," he added abruptly.

"Oh?" she said, feigning calm.

"I told him you had stopped by while he was asleep, learning the High Speech. It's been five days since he woke up. Are you avoiding him?"

"No," she answered instantly. "He's just been very busy. I understand Struth and Janna have started teaching him how to use his abilities. I haven't wished to disturb him." She carefully steadied her hand, and added a dollop of honey to her tea. She licked a drop off her thumb. "How is he doing?"

"He's progressing even faster than we had hoped. It's now easy to understand why Struth was so adamant that we locate him in spite of the incredible distance. Had we found him as a child and nurtured that talent as he grew… well, let's just say he's doing the best that can be hoped for in spite of the lack of proper shaping, distinctly better than the previous candidates. He may not be quite right for the gauntlets, but he's close. Very close."

"How long before he's ready?"

"That's not the question. We only have about two months, whether he's ready in that time or not. The Dragon's army is becoming too entrenched in the East. The situation in Cilendrodel is deteriorating. We have to set our strategies in motion and hope for the best. The uncertainty at this point is Toren's motivation."

"What more incentive does he need?" Deena remarked sarcastically. "We stole him from his land, ripped out his ancestors' spirits and then alienated him from them. Surely he is hopping with eagerness to help our cause."

Obo chuckled humorlessly. "Geim said much the same thing only yesterday. But it's not entirely hopeless. Though Toren believed in his tribe, his life in the South was not happy. I glimpsed pieces of his life, just as he did of mine, when I gave him my ability to use the High Speech. His shaman was jealous of him, and I have no doubt the man worked behind Toren's back to eat away at the tribe's opinion of him. Toren was a fabulous scout, and yet he was given the least desired missions and was seldom acknowledged for his successes. At the very least, his shaman kept him from developing his sorcerous talents. A man of Toren's abilities could never have prospered among the Fhali. I think the boy is beginning to realize that, beginning to see that his culture was so tradition-bound by the weight of all those generations of ancestors living inside every adult that an aberration such as he could only be stifled and shunned. And wasted. I am not guilty for what we've done. I know how I would have felt if my family had denied me the chance to study with the master wizards of Acalon."

Deena felt a burden lift from her shoulders. Thank the gods for wise old men.

"We will see what happens," Obo continued. "The transformation I am hoping for is not one that all the high sorcery in the world can manage. It's up to Toren himself." Obo slurped a quick, bracing sip of tea. "I've invited him to join us, by the way. He's done with his tests early today."

"You did?" Deena blurted. Her pulse quickened.

"Yes," he replied smugly. "In fact, here he comes now." He lowered his voice. "Keep in mind what I've said, young woman. And keep blushing. It becomes you."

Damn him, she thought. The heat in her cheeks increased. The conniving old trickster must have known his comment would have that effect.

The modhiv ambling toward was not the same man she had journeyed with across long reaches of two continents. The aura of disorientation had left his posture, replaced by determination, interest, and alertness.

He stared at Deena a long time. "You look different," he said. Was that approval she detected in his tone?

"I don't have to wear such, um, sturdy clothing now that I'm not on the road," she replied, adjusting the laces of her bodice.

"You've let down your hair."

"That, too."

"She's also had a bath recently," Obo said dryly. "Have some tea, boy, or it will get cold while you catalog all the changes in her appearance. I get the feeling you didn't know you were in the company of a woman on your trek."

"We were busy fighting cannibals and wizards," Toren said. "She was my comrade-in-arms."

"You'll be reassured to know I've been keeping up my archery practice this week," she informed him pointedly.

He chuckled. "That's good. But to be frank, I rather like the change." His speech pattern did sound remarkably like Obo's, she reflected. "Women shouldn't be warriors."

Obo guffawed. "There's a woman I know in Cilendrodel who would have a few words to say about that."

Deena smiled. "No, Toren's right." She nodded toward the modhiv. "By the way, your High Speech is excellent."

"It should be," Obo quipped.

Toren shrugged. "It is a very… round-about tongue. When a Vanihr needs to say something, he says it. I prefer Mirienese. It's more direct."

"We can speak it if you'd like," Deena offered in the aforementioned language.

"No," Toren replied in the High Speech. He dipped honey in his cup. "You know I still speak it in a fractured way. I like not having to search for the words I want."

"I suppose I could have taught you Mirienese as well," Obo mused. "You could have slept another couple of days…"

"That's all right," Toren said quickly. "I'm content."

There was a short, pregnant gap in the conversation. Each of them sipped from their cups.

Obo cleared his throat. "I have a matter to attend to. If you'll excuse me?"

Deena almost stepped on the hem of his robes to keep him in place, but the sorcerer slipped out of his seat with the elusiveness of a child, and sauntered away across the flagstones, his gait barely betraying his feebleness.

Deena turned, and found Toren staring into the pattern of the tea leaves at the bottom of the pot. He looked up, met her glance.

"I was not myself when I last saw you. I'm sorry."

She sucked in her lips. "Yes. Well. I knew that. Don't worry about it. I trust you and your ancestors have… come to an arrangement?"

"They are there, should I call them," Toren said wistfully. "But not in the way they used to be."

She nodded sympathetically. "Aside from that, how has it been for you? The tests?"

A sly smile crept over his features. He set two fingers on her cup. His eyes glazed. Steam began to rise from what had been lukewarm tea. When he was done, she picked up the cup, darted her tongue in it, and nearly scalded the tip.

"Clever," she muttered. "You could be handy in the winter."

"I feel like an eagle whose wings have been bound all its life, freed. I can't ride the thermals yet, have yet to make my first kill, but I have learned to glide from nest to ground. True flight is only a matter of time."

"And has Janna been a good teacher?" she asked, pretending nonchalance.

"Yes, though it's difficult at times to think of her as a teacher."

"Oh?" Deena eyebrows rose. "And what else would you think of her as?"

"A female."

"I see." She smoothed her skirts, was annoyed at the knobbiness of the knees under them.

"But I keep my attention on her lessons. The alternative is to study with Struth. I do enough of that. Something about learning from a big frog raises the hair on the nape of my neck."

"I didn't know you had any," she snapped, referring to the relative hairlessness of his body.

He blinked at her tone. "Janna has a gift for clear explanations. Hasn't she ever instructed you?"

"Not about sorcery. I have no gift."

"Of course," he said quickly. "So much goes on in this temple, it seems that everyone is a magician."

"No," Deena said. "Some of us must settle for less."

He frowned. "I didn't mean to imply you were a nettle among flowers."

"Sometimes I feel that way."

He regarded her carefully. "You are a mystery, Deena. How did you come here? How long have you lived at the temple?"

"Not long. Early winter before last, the Dragon's troops invaded Mirien, sacked my home, killed all my family. I fled to Serthe. One day I happened by the Oracle of the Frog God. I threw in a coin and asked what I could do to hurt Gloroc. Struth liked that. She gave me a home. I was not suited to be a priestess, so I helped in small matters of business. The goddess found it handy to have a woman around who had had some martial training-that happened because my father was a career soldier who had no sons. I escorted the last candidate from her home in Aleoth, and then I was chosen to help fetch you."

"What happened to that candidate?"

Deena paused. "She failed the tests. She died."

Toren scratched his chin.

"So you see," Deena continued, "why I have reason to favor the Elandri resistance against the Dragon."

"Yes. Did you lose children in the invasion?"

"No. I've never been married."

He refilled his cup. "I've never been married either. That did not keep me from having a son."

Her cup slipped from her grip and landed noisily on the table top, nearly tipping over. She sucked spilled tea from her fingers. "No wife? When you mentioned your child, I assumed…"

"A natural mistake, I suppose. modhiv are not permitted to marry. Their lives are constantly at risk; it would not be fair to a wife. In addition, a warrior must be able to go to a skirmish without worrying about a spouse left behind."

"But your son."

"A Vanihr must have offspring to carry the totem. I made an arrangement with a woman. She bore Rhi, and cares for him when I cannot. But she is not my wife. In fact, three years ago she married my cousin."

Deena traced patterns in the spilled tea. "Yes, it would be important, to have a recipient for your totem. Your immortality, as you said last week. I almost expected you to leave as soon as Struth restored your ancestors, to go back and be with Rhi."

"I long to," Toren replied. "But what would be the point of dying on the way? Until I pass on my totem for the first time, I must survive at all costs. I don't know what my final decision will be, but for now staying at the temple and developing my talents seems more sensible than running for the Wood with the Dragon's assassins at my heels."

"I hope you will choose to aid us," she said. "It is a good cause. And good people stand to die if the Dragon has his way. Like my family."

"I've thought of that. Self-preservation is not my only emotion." Suddenly he reached out and tenderly brushed the tip of her chin. "I'm well aware of the goodness of some of the people here."

She coughed, and to her dismay, the action caused him to remove his touch. "Whichever you decide-to go back to the Wood or to take up the gauntlets-I pray you do survive," she said emphatically.

She interlaced the fingers of her right hand with his. He did not pull away.