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sound bit of planking. Ye'll see, then."
Jaric straightened, regarding the old man with clear-eyed honesty. "Thank you.
And no, I'll never be changing her name." He pulled the ice otter cloak from
his arm, draped it across Keldric's stooped shoulders. "If you'll guide me
with the car-pentry, I'll make her new again, sound as the day she was
launched. That's a promise."
Mathieson Keldric thrust his lantern into the boy's hand and spat on his palm.
"Your oath?"
Jaric nodded.
The old man pressed his damp hand to his forehead and stared at his feet,
abruptly embarrassed to have insisted on ritual. "Well, then," he said
briskly. "Tools are ashore, and I sure's tide can't lug them like I did when I
was your age. Or did ye not want to start now?"
"At once," said Jaric. "She ought to be hauled, though."
Keldric grinned. "Aye. That's work for two stout men." He threw Jaric a look
of bright-eyed challenge.
"How well can ye row?"
Jaric smiled back, his frustration partially alleviated. "As well as I must.
Is your grand old lady rigged with oars?"
Keldric answered with a dry cackle of laughter. Aged and lame and heartbroken
as he was, Mathieson was villager enough to find humor in Jaric's ignorance.
"I've a dory, son," he drawled, and in the foggy darkness the night before
spring solstice, proceeded to instruct the boy how
Callinde should be towed from her slip.
* * *
Enfolded still within the capsule of the Vaere, Taen dreamed she sat in the
timeless twilight of the grove.
The pale folds of a silk robe clothed a maturity she had only recently come to
accept as her own, and a basin of carved crystal lay balanced across her
knees, much as it had for the better part of a fortnight while Tamlin taught
her the art of casting dream images onto the surface of water. At present
three companies of Kisburn's royal troops performed toy-sized maneuvers,
bounded by the confines of the chased silver rim.
To Taen the exercise seemed a frivolous waste of time. Through her mastery of
the Sathid, she could tap any mind on Keithland at will, then impart her
findings through a dream link with the flawless purity of thought. Causing her
recipient to believe he viewed an image within water was bothersome, an added
layer of illusion for which she discerned no useful purpose. Taen sighed,
while in the bowl the Grand
Warlord-General delivered a command to his aide. Trumpets flourished,
signaling inspection of troops was complete. Neat squares of pikemen lifted
miniature weapons in salute and the lowering sunlight of late afternoon
flashed against polished blades. Even to Taen's unpracticed eye the movement
described lethal per-fection. After rigorous hours of drill the troops were
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ready for action; Kisburn intended to sail his force to Cliffhaven within the
fortnight, and Emien would go with them. Still Tamlin insisted she refine a
showy set of illusions designed to add mystery to her dream-weaver's talents.
Touched by sharp anger, Taen tilted the basin. Water sloshed, scattering
droplets over the rim.
Kisburn's soldiers streamed into a muddle of scarlet and gold, then vanished
as her contact dissipated.
"Why?" she demanded, though the clearing at pres-ent seemed deserted.
Tamlin appeared instantly. His bells jangled in dissonant displeasure as he
gestured toward the basin.
"It's a necessary defense. The demons would kill you should they ever suspect
your true capabilities. Not only are they telepathic, they also recall every
memory of their forebears, back to the dawn of their history; fortunately for
mankind they evolved no cultural need for ceremony or legend or ritualized
religion."
Tamlin folded his arms across his chest, bushy brows knitted into a frown.
"Twenty-seven generations have passed since the Great Fall. Through that time,
I have cloaked mankind's most precious secrets in the forms of myth and
legend. The demons attach no value to such things; they perceive no logic in
faith and no reality outside of racial memory. They observe and fail to
discover my intent."
Taen remained unimpressed. Tamlin shifted his weight from one foot to the
other and irritably jabbed a finger at the bowl. "If your client believes he
sees a vision in water, but that image does not exist for other eyes, then the
demon who observes will dismiss the incident as mummery, the time-worn,
tradi-tional sort of fortune-telling many a common man will spend copper to
hear. The demon does not comprehend man's craving to control his future. In
this manner your true talent will pass unnoticed."
Taen traced her hand over the carved crystal, mollified by the tirade. "I'm
sorry. I never guessed."
Bells clashed softly as Tamlin seated himself in the grass opposite her. He
rested his chin on steepled fingers and spoke in gentler tones. "Understand
me, child. More of mankind's heritage than is safe for you to know lies
similarly concealed. Landfast itself has no other defense. To save its records
from the demons, you must trust my judgment. Now engage your craft once again
and show me how Jaric fares."
Taen leveled the basin between her knees, then waited for the water to settle.
She needed the interval to
steady her own nerves more than any other reason. As often as she looked in on
Jaric since Anskiere's geas resumed effect, she had been unable to make peace
with herself for his unhappiness; neither
Tamlin's insistence nor Keithland's peril could negate her sense of
responsibility.
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