Wild Magic

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Wenyarum Taleza, Hereditary General of the Armies of the Amrapake of Zam Fadogurum, brushed past the young acolyte guarding the door and strode into the receiving room of the High Kasso of Bairroa Pili.

Juvalgrim was seated in his audience chair, his embroidered robe pulled into graceful folds about his lean body, shining black hair with streaks of gray like polished pewter hanging loose and long over his shoulders. He was calm and smiling and a perfect Maulapam. The General hadn’t met Pili’s High Kasso before, though he’d heard things about him that displeased him; it was hard to believe them now he saw the man. This was his own kind he was facing, born if not bred into his own caste.

Juvalgrim lifted a hand. “It’s all right, Fitchon. Close the door.” He nodded at Wenyarum. “We are honored, heshim General.-

Wenyarum Taleza swung round, glared at the youth with the yellow face and the spiky copper hair. “Close it with you on the other side, kuk.”

The acolyte’s eyes narrowed and a muscle ticked beside his mouth, but he bowed, backed out, and shut the door with a controlled, decisive click.

“Pollutes. Hunh!” Wenyarum snorted. “This being the Camuctarr, I suppose you have to put up with them. Had my way-well, didn’t come here to waste time with compliments and chit-chat. Amrapake sent me to look into this Prophet thing. We hear rumors of rebellion and the flouting of authority. What’s your opinion of the boy?”

224 Jo Clayton

“That he’s far from a boy. Your son, isn’t he? Or am I misinformed?”

“Got nothing to do with this, but diyo, my son. Well, he a Prophet for real or has he got knots in his head?”

“Oh, I think there’s no doubt of his call. Chumavayal has walked with him.”

“Who says so? Some potzhead with an overheated imagination?”

The High Kasso smiled, tented his hands, touched the tips of his fingers to his chin. “I have never considered my imagination overheated, heshim General, yet I have seen Chumavayal beside him more than once.” He stroked his thumb across the curve of the Eye. “I have seen the god before so I know what I’m talking about. The Call is real… Your son has been Chosen.”

“I need to talk to him.”

“Verna. At the moment he’s elsewhere. In the city, I suppose. If you wish, I will send novices out hunting him, but I have no power to say to him, come here, go there. Only the god can tell him that. Once they know where he is, the youngsters could take you to him.”

The General grimaced. “With every nose in the city poking into my business.”

“I see. Perhaps this will serve; he usually comes to us for Evensong and a few hours rest. Evensong must proceed as is prescribed, heshim General, and without interruption, but I can turn his followers from the Court and you can speak to him there with no one listening in.”

“That will be adequate.” The General bowed perfunctorily and marched out.