The Sleeping Life

Chapter Eighteen

Four days in coaches had taken them far into northern Kole, among the small settlements on the edge of the great forest of Semarrak. Smooth Imperial roads gave way to narrow lanes, and Duchess Surclere and her escort were finally obliged to switch to horses to approach the forest itself. Fallon enjoyed the riding well enough, but found himself firmly wishing they were still in the coaches, where Kendall had been safely sectioned off from Dezart Samarin.

Kendall Stockton was undoubtedly the most cross-grained girl he had ever met, but Fallon had felt sorry she had been so hurt or frightened or whatever had made her spend the past week barely talking. Most of the morning she had continued to hold her tongue, contenting herself with glaring at the Dezart whenever he strayed too close. But after they had set out again following midday break, she waited until the Dezart’s horse came alongside hers, then said:

"Why is this Emperor of yours so convinced that only he can look after Kole?"

They were not travelling with the full group—the majority of the Sentene had gone ahead at a faster pace—but Fallon was singularly aware of almost everyone around him suppressing a reaction to the clear intention to attack in Kendall’s tone. Not that Dezart Samarin seemed bothered by the question. Fallon, riding behind Kendall’s roan, could only glimpse the man’s profile, but thought he looked pleased.

"Does the Emperor strike you as conceited?" the Dezart asked. "The Empire was in turmoil at the time of his ascension, you know, and assassination attempts almost inevitable. After the legitimate heirs of the Tashant line fell in the Tysian War, there were many near-equal claimants to the Lion Throne, and the order of inheritance much disputed. Kole proclaimed nearly a dozen Emperors and Empresses in as many years—every precaution failing to protect them. After so much uncertainty, the Preservation was considered a triumph."

"But why be Emperor at all? He can’t have wanted to make himself into a statue. To not ever eat or sleep or have any fun. Rennyn said he can’t even take it off, without dying."

Duchess Surclere, riding double with Captain Faille, glanced back, then nodded.

"Very unlikely to survive the removal, at any rate," she said, without any hint in her tone that Kendall shouldn’t be asking such things of the Emperor’s personal representative. Duchess Surclere really was extraordinarily tolerant of Kendall’s cheek.

But Dezart Samarin didn’t seem to mind either. "I think you’d find the Lion Throne is difficult to run away from."

"If he’s so fancy a mage as to think up that lobster shell thing, that means he’s a deviser, right? You’re not going to tell me that he couldn’t find some way to make it look like he died, so someone else was stuck with being Emperor?"

"Lobster…" Dezart Samarin broke off, though it looked to Fallon that he was struggling with laughter, not anger.

"But he stayed," Kendall continued, relentlessly. "And put himself somewhere he can’t get down. That’s not something you do for yourself—that’s what you get when someone thinks it’s important, necessary, for them and only them, to do something."

The quick glance she threw forward to Duchess Surclere made clear the comparison Kendall was drawing.

"The Emperor’s thoughts on the subject aren’t recorded," was all the Dezart said.

"It’s widely believed that Corusar had nothing but the Empire left to live for," Fallon offered, then cursed his eager tongue when Dezart Samarin turned to consider him.

But the Dezart simply nodded. "The Emperor’s family had been killed some years before, during one of the more extravagant spates of poisonings," he explained to Kendall. "Is it such a mark of pride, to not walk away from your responsibilities?"

"Being born doesn’t make you responsible for something," Kendall replied. "No matter what anyone else says, you have to choose to start giving people orders. Your Emperor made it so he can’t even step down."

"And the Empire has flourished."

"I’m not certain, even ignoring the preservation casting, that Corusar could step down," Fallon said carefully. "Not without starting up the succession wars again. There’s an official heir, but I guess even more people now who could claim to be next in line."

"There is a carefully mapped out succession, along with three regional governors who have been directed to manage any transition," Dezart Samarin said. But then he shrugged, and added: "Still, ambition is a snake that turns in the hand."

Kendall sniffed, but before she could launch another sally, Sukata had taken advantage of a widening of the lane to ride between Kendall and Dezart Samarin’s horses.

"We are coming to the edge of the Nymery Steading," she said, thin voice determinedly clear. "When we crest this rise, we will see the forest proper."

"You have been through this area before?" Dezart Samarin asked, courteous but with a faintly disappointed air, as if he had wanted to see what Kendall would come up with next.

"I lived here until I was seven," Sukata explained.

Kendall didn’t say anything. Since that day in the market, she always either went silent around Sukata, or was carefully polite. It really was quite unfair of Kendall to not forgive her friend for being out of temper over that Sigillic exercise. Fallon hadn’t enjoyed that at all either, even though Duchess Surclere hadn’t lectured them for relying too much on the standard forms. But it had been painfully embarrassing to realise how far they were falling short of her expectations.

He dropped back a little further, since the mare Sukata was riding had shown herself particularly intolerant of being followed closely, then let himself dwell on expectations for a while.

He had to be careful: whenever he thought too much about the unique divination the Duchess had created, and the possibility that it was Auri the Duchess had detected, his breathing suffered. He’d had years of practice in turning his mind firmly to safe subjects, but his head was too full of possibilities, of imagining what the Duchess would do with the divination, and what he could safely say.

Auri was less hopeful: she thought it coincidence that the tune the Duchess had been hearing was the same as the one she’d been humming the night of the attempted theft. Probably, she said, she had heard the same thing Duchess Surclere had been listening to. Even so, she’d finally agreed to go hum at the divination the next time the Duchess set it—something sadly not likely until they reached the forest settlement of the Kellian.

Fallon had not yet fully worked out why they were even going to this "Rest", other than to give their Kellian escort a chance to visit the place. It was more than that, though, or they wouldn’t be risking Duchess Surclere to the trip. A carriage was impossible on this road, and a cart would be a jouncing punishment: even the gentle amble on horseback took its toll, which was why the Duchess rode with Lord Surclere. He would hold her before him when she began to tire.

The slow pace grated, since Fallon was so anxious for the Duchess to re-establish the special divination. He sighed softly, and made himself think of something else, then noticed that the younger Kellian girl, Tesin Asaka, had strayed up beside him. Her direct gaze was assessing, so he hastily groped for something to say.

"Do you have trouble getting Circle Turners to come all the way into the forest?" he asked, referring to the minor mages who travelled through all the small towns and villages renewing their protective circles.

"That was a problem for a time," she replied. "It’s not necessary now, since my mother is living there."

"Did you have a mage when the settlement was first established?"

"No. The Ten kept watch, and killed any Eferum-Get that came near."

Fallon blinked at this simple solution. Circles were islands of safety from the night’s stalking death, and to sleep outside was suicide. Even in Tyrland, where the Sentene so effectively dealt with emergent Eferum-Get, there were always the filmy, drifting life-stealers: slow and weak and doom to the unwary and unprotected. In the early days of the Eferum-Get invasion, it was said that all people could do was travel by night and sleep during the day, and pray to the departed gods that they did not encounter Eferum-Get they could not outpace.

Kellian, however… Fallon glanced ahead, remembering how Sukata had strode through the market, fuming and ablaze and glorious. Yes, he could readily believe ten Kellian capable of dealing with every Thing nights in the forest had thrown at them.

He wanted to ask more, but decided against it, knowing well that too much interest in Kellian would be a mark against any nephew of his uncle. And then his gelding reached the crest of the rise, and he forgot everything but the forest.

Semarrak was famously dangerous. The few forest settlements had been overrun during the first years of the incursions, and Kole’s method of dealing with Eferum-Get using periodic large-scale sweeps had not meshed well with a boundless woodland. The Eferum invaders, left to themselves, had either died or adapted, and now Kole’s north had a surfeit of predators quite happy to hunt during the day—and, apparently, more human-like creatures with Eferum origins. Those, though, were said to hide in Semarrak’s heart.

At any rate, the forest was famed for the creatures that dwelled within it—not even mentioning Kellian—but staring north, Fallon felt that it should be better-known for its trees.

Dark trunks rose in a wall, disdaining frippery considerations such as undergrowth or bordering woodlands. A herd of cows, placed conveniently close to the forest edge, offered perspective, should it not already be clear that these were trees to make specks of men: wider and taller than any that Fallon had ever seen. Yet they didn’t spear directly for the sky, but lolled and sprawled, as if resting on their elbows beneath their glorious autumn crowns.

The road through the forest proved to be wide enough to almost accommodate continuing to ride side-by-side—in part because there was so little undergrowth. It wound through a sea of golden leaves, circling broad trunks, and occasionally picking its way over miniature mountain ranges of root systems. The air was also noticeably cooler and damper, prompting a brief pause to ensure the Duchess was properly wrapped. Above, as distant as the ceiling of a great hall, the canopy glowed brilliant red and yellow in the afternoon light, but little warmth broke through to the ground.

"Do you get many traders coming this way?" Fallon asked Tesin Asaka, who he suspected was keeping to the end of the string of horses to act as rear guard. Even though she must be not more than twelve or thirteen, he had no doubt she was more than capable of fulfilling the role.

"Not to the Rest," Tesin replied. "We travel in to Theal quite regularly, though, and pack back what we need." Her brightly interested eyes were focused on Dezart Samarin, who was in turn studying Sukata. "They do not quite like us in Theal, but they like the trade goods we bring out from the Rest. I cannot yet decide whether the Imperial Army arriving to billet so many horses in readiness for us will have raised or lowered us in the town’s estimation."

"Was local distrust the reason the Kellian settled in Semarrak?"

"That and economics." Tesin glanced up alertly as several small birds emerged briefly from the canopy, darting for insects. "There are varieties of fungus and certain trees that only seem to grow in Semarrak. The forest’s edge is picked clean of them, but we have little difficulty reaching far better harvesting points. Aurai led the Ten to see the doubled value of settling here."

"Who?"

The girl blinked once at Fallon’s tone, but answered with unimpeded calm. "It is Aurai that the Rest is named for. She was the Ten’s teacher and guide for many years."

"Oh." Someone in the past, who had travelled with the original Kellian golems? Fallon, aware of Sukata glancing back, pushed everything but simple fact out of his head and said in a throat only a little constricted: "That—my sister’s name was Aurienne. We called her Auri."

"I see," Tesin said, though plainly she did not fully understand his reaction. "The Ten’s Voice was Lenaurai, originally."

This time startled response came from ahead of them. Dezart Samarin had slewed around in his saddle in a rare moment of open surprise. The Dezart’s mount’s reaction to his distracted grip on the reins postponed an explanation, but soon enough he turned again to Tesin and said:

"Aurai’s Rest was founded by Lenaurai Falcy?"

"You know of her?" It was Sukata who asked.

"She’s mentioned in the Imperial histories," the Dezart said, resuming his usual light tones. "How interesting to know what happened to her. Did, ah, your Aurai leave any descendants?"

"Not going to turn out to be the lost heir of the Empire or anything is she?" Fallon said, then instantly regretted it. And he had been criticising Kendall for saying incautious things to the Imperial representative!

Fortunately, Dezart Samarin took this with his usual good humour. "Rather the opposite," he said.

"Why does it matter if she had descendants?" Tesin asked.

"If I count my generations correctly, it doesn’t," the Dezart said, more than confusingly. "Which makes the question only idle curiosity."

"Aurai had three children," Sukata said, calmly. "There are many among us who can trace our lines to them."

"I shall have to add a footnote," was all Dezart Samarin said to that, which was not at all a satisfying response, but neither Sukata nor Tesin pressed him, and then a glimpse of a small stone building ahead provided a distraction.

This was not the Rest, apparently another day’s travel into the forest, but a traveller’s shelter surrounded by a circle not large enough to accommodate all their horses.

"Aren’t they likely to be attacked?" Fallon asked Tesin, as he helped prepare pickets for the horses in a well-trammelled clearing just outside the circle. "The creatures here hunt more than humans, right?"

"We would sense a predator’s approach. And the first group intended to sweep as they travelled, to clear the way."

The Kellian girl, with a stake in one hand and hammer in the other, paused to gaze back at the shelter, and at Duchess Surclere standing with Lord Surclere. Fallon was not yet adept at reading minimal Kellian expressions, but he recognised this as thoughtful evaluation backed by banked intensity, for almost all the Kellian looked at Duchess Surclere like that. He did not doubt he’d have equally complex reactions to someone whose commands he literally could not disobey. In fact, given that he kept trying to will his teacher into producing an answer to a question he dared not ask, his own expression might not be all that dissimilar.

Had she started to guess there was a question? To hear Auri, trapped on the edge of existence?

He let his breath out in a slow hiss, sternly putting these thoughts aside and mentally reciting Verisian verse for all the remainder of the fleeting afternoon. Then, after evening meal, he curled up in a corner of the small but by that time pleasantly warm hut as early as he could feasibly excuse himself.

He had been thinking about it too much: the conversation he would have with Duchess Surclere once she understood enough to start it. By now he was confident that there was at least a chance she could stop him dying, at that most dangerous point, but her physical weakness remained one of the biggest barriers to his own survival. It would be best if she dealt with this Eferum-Get uncle before learning of Auri.

Sighing, Fallon drifted into the Dream, and watched his sister inspect the well-built but cramped shelter before wandering outside to marvel at the trees. The two lieutenants were removing nose bags from the horses, while Lord Surclere’s mother was bringing extra water from a nearby stream.

"Everything’s so huge," Auri said, bounding lightly up to try to stand on a tree limb arcing over the stream. "You could practically ride along these branches. Were you attacked by anything on the way here?"

Auri addressed questions to Fallon even when she hadn’t brought him into the Dream and, if he remembered, he answered them in the daily diary. Hopefully he would have more room at the Kellian settlement so he could leave the book propped open.

"Why is he upset?" Auri asked now, having jumped down to peer up into Lieutenant Meniar’s face. "Did he argue with his partner?"

Fallon’s dreaming mind did not react quickly enough to do more than note the Lieutenant’s distracted frown, as Auri moved restlessly on to circle through the horses, examining them critically, and declaring a long-necked bay her favourite.

"She looks like she has a lot of personality. I bet she nips the other horses, just to make mischief."

Sukata’s touchy mare. Fallon wouldn’t be surprised at all if she nipped as well as kicked. Auri stroked the mare as best she could, but as usual there was no reaction. Even cats and dogs—and Kellian—failed to sense the bored girl trying to win their attention.

A circuit of the far limits of Auri’s reach flushed no hidden predators, but the sprawling immensity of the trees kept her entertained, along with attempts to bound through piles of fallen leaves. They did seem to rustle minutely when she kicked, just as still water would hold a suggestion of a quiver. Back home, Fallon had once set out a big bowl of water, in the hopes that Auri would be able to establish a yes/no communication with their father, but Father had not noticed at all, and Fallon had woken exhausted.

Trailing back to the shelter, Auri straightened abruptly. "Is he in trouble?" she asked, and hurried ahead almost gleefully to make an invisible fourth in a ring around Dezart Samarin.

The others in the circle were Lord Surclere, Darian Faille and Lieutenant Faral: all three adult Kellian in the Duchess' current entourage, trying not to loom. At least, two were: Darian Faille seemed quite inclined to loom, standing directly in front of the Dezart, holding his gaze.

"You’d think he’d look a little nervous," Auri observed. "I would be, if anyone stood over me like that. And that’s not even counting claws that could cut me open."

But the Dezart, as usual, appeared primarily entertained by the encounter, and was saying: "I’ve no objection at all. Did Hirel Falcy not tell your forebears anything of her past?"

"Hirel?" Darian Faille repeated.

"An honorific," Lord Surclere said. "It means teacher." He took a step back then, and indicated some handily arranged stones beside the path to the stream. "Please. This sounds a longer story than anticipated."

"Who is this Falcy person?" Auri asked, then made a confused face when Lord Surclere told the Dezart that Aurai had never spoken of her past, beyond that she had been a bond servant who had abandoned her post before completing her contracted period.

"Entirely true," Dezart Samarin said, after they had settled on the stones, his faint smile easing away in the face of so much Kellian gravity. "Lenaurai Falcy was a bond-servant to Emperor Arav, tasked with instructing his children in the sword arts."

"Which one was Emperor Arav?" Auri asked, as the Kellian reacted only with added stillness. "Oh, wait, I know—he was the one who was going to invade Tyrland, back when the Black Queen was in charge."

"Emperor Arav had quite a number of children," Dezart Samarin was saying. "Three by his wife, and a good dozen secondary heirs. Being sent to Hirel Falcy’s class was a kind of acknowledgement of parentage, for he expected a great deal of his children, and retained the absolute best to instruct them."

"Didn’t Emperor Arav once have an entire town pegged up at night outside their circle, just because a statue of him was allowed to fall over?" Auri said, poking her fingers casually into the Dezart’s eyes. "Why are they acting so solemn over ancient history?"

Oblivious, Samarin continued. "The Emperor himself was an excellent swordsman, and once a month he would have his children match him, to gauge how they were progressing. Wooden swords, and many bruises, and further punishment if you wept. He was particularly exacting with his heir, Kyrus." The Dezart shrugged. "They hated each other and, given the Emperor’s temperament, it was perhaps inevitable that one day the Emperor would cast aside the practice weapon, draw his sword, and attack Kyrus in earnest."

"And Kyrus defeated him. This is known." There was just a note of uncertainty in Lieutenant Faral’s voice.

"So the histories tell us," Dezart Samarin agreed. "And so the more than dozen children who witnessed the fight told the Court: Kyrus had fought with their father and their father had died. After which, Kyrus drew the severed haft of the practice sword from his father’s body, and declared I did this most firmly. Since Arav was feared and loathed almost universally by that point, this direct route to taking the throne brought no repercussions, and gave Kyrus a reputation for strength that was most useful in the early days of his rule."

"And he sent Aurai away to protect the lie," Darian Faille said, her words very quiet.

The Dezart’s faint smile briefly reappeared. "For protection, at least. He had no guarantee that every one of his many brothers and sisters would always remain silent, and indeed in later years there was more than one who, at least in their cups, hinted heavily that there was a reason their teacher vanished one night soon after Kyrus was declared Emperor.

"If Kyrus had started with a fuller mastery of Imperial bureaucracy, he would have not been so concerned about drawing attention to his teacher, and simply created an excuse to nullify the contract. Sending her away broke bond to the Imperial service, and automatically made Hirel Falcy outlaw. That meant being dragged back and a great deal of whipping, in those days. Not so dramatic as the penalty for killing the Emperor, of course. That would have been Hirel Falcy’s death, and death to all her family, and death to her line." He cocked his head to one side, meeting Darian Faille’s fixed gaze with unimpaired calm. "Unto the seventh generation, which is why, even among a rather long-lived people, this discussion is one of curiosity, not consequence. Is it not?"

The Dezart stood then, nodded politely, and walked off to the little stone shelter.

"Wasn’t all this three hundred years ago?" Auri said. "Why are they all so grim? Not that they aren’t endlessly grim anyway, and, really, I don’t think much of your Duchess' taste. This Kolan’s much more interesting."

Kellian often talked in a language of hand signals, so Fallon could not guess what Lieutenant Faral said before she walked off to re-check the horses, but Darian Faille said one thing out loud to her son before following:

"I hope the Rest survives your visitors."

Lord Surclere, expressionless as usual, returned inside, and Auri trailed him, and listened to less interesting conversations until everyone inside went to sleep. Then she again explored that day’s bounds of her existence, hunting hidden birds and animals, and making little games trying to jump between branches that barely held any substance for her. And all the while chattering on and on: an eternal, one-sided conversation, heard only in a dream.