Exodus of the Xandim (GOLLANCZ S.F.) Read online

  Rhoslyn simply shrugged. ‘I know that, Brynne, but kindness and good manners don’t cost anything,’ she said pointedly.

  It was still a long way from losing her temper, but it was the closest Chiannala had ever seen her come. Good, she thought. I’m finally getting to her. Lurking in the back of her mind, however, was the uncomfortable thought that she always shied away from – that if circumstances had been otherwise, if she’d been a true, full-blooded Wizard, able to come here under her own identity, she would have appreciated and enjoyed Rhoslyn’s friendship, and been on much easier, friendlier terms with the rest of the group. As it was, she felt as if an invisible wall closed her off from them, built of heritage, background, lies – and murder.

  Chiannala shuddered. Sometimes, without any warning, the guilt would rise up and strike at her. She clenched her fingers tightly on the cup she was holding in a rigid, white-knuckled grip – and with a sudden crack the handle shattered in her hand, slicing into her fingers, and the cup fell, shattering on the floor and drenching her legs in hot taillin.

  An abrupt silence fell in the refectory as all heads turned in her direction. ‘Somebody shoot the juggler,’ came a droll voice from somewhere across the room, and there was a ripple of laughter. Chiannala, her face burning with embarrassment, suddenly found herself the centre of attention.

  Rhoslyn came to her rescue. ‘Oh, you poor dear. How stupid of the kitchen staff to give someone a cracked cup like that. Why, you’re bleeding! Let me see.’

  ‘No, it’s all right,’ Chiannala snatched her hand away. ‘I can do it.’ She knew that she was good at healing, but she didn’t have so much faith in Rhoslyn. Quickly she cast a spell to stem the blood that dripped from her lacerated fingers and, once that was done, cast another that began to seal the gashes with new tissue. Then she turned her attention to the burning areas on her legs where the taillin had hit her, and used a different spell to cool and heal the scalds. This therapeutic magic came to her effortlessly, and she knew that her hurts would need no further attention. Not bad for a first-year student, she thought with a little inward smirk.

  Rhoslyn raised her eyebrows. ‘Goodness, you did that really well.’ There was frank and generous admiration in her voice. ‘No wonder you didn’t want me messing with it.’ For once, Chiannala forgot to be irritated with the other girl, and was grateful for her kindness. Though the annoyance sparked again, when Rhoslyn said, ‘I wouldn’t be at all surprised, Brynne, if you were chosen to specialise with the Luen of Healers.’

  ‘Just because I’m good at it, doesn’t mean I’m particularly interested,’ she replied. To join the Luen of Healers was the last thing she wanted. In her opinion you didn’t get to be the most powerful Wizard in Tyrineld by messing about, healing stupid, whiny idiots who had got themselves hurt.

  Rhoslyn passed her a clean handkerchief moistened with water from the jug on the table. ‘Here, wipe all that blood off your fingers and I’ll take care of your poor robe. You don’t want to be trailing all the way back upstairs to change, and one thing I am good at is cleaning spells.’ She turned her attention to the stained robe, and Chiannala felt the cold, clinging clamminess of the wet fabric fade away quickly, as did the brown marks of the taillin.

  Apart from those on her own table, the other students in the refectory had lost interest in the clumsy first-year, and had turned back to their own conversations and concerns. Chiannala’s classmates, luckily, had put the accident down to nerves about the forthcoming announcements. She was quite happy to let them think what they liked, just so long as no one ever suspected the truth.

  That day seemed endless, with nothing to do but wait. Since today was a holiday for the first-year pupils, most of them sought to distract themselves by going into the town for the day. So far, their work had allowed them few opportunities for recreation, and those of them who had always lived in Tyrineld were glad to show off their city to those who had grown up in the farms or villages of the surrounding lands. Chiannala had rebuffed all their offers. As soon as breakfast was over she headed to the Academy’s great library, to spend the day, as usual, in study. Let the others have their markets and shops, the busy harbour, swimming in the warm ocean and strolling in the flowering parks in the sunshine. She was going to be a better Wizard than all of them – that was all that counted.

  Despite her fascination for her studies, however, the day seemed to crawl by so slowly that Chiannala actually began to wonder whether someone had been working with a time spell that had gone badly wrong. The library was hot and stifling, and more than once she found herself looking wistfully out of the window at the bright sun, and wondering if the others found the hours and minutes dragging in the same way. More than once she was tempted to go out and see if she could find them, but that thirst for knowledge, that compulsion to work the hardest and be the best, drove her on until finally the red sun dropped down towards the ocean until it was almost touching the horizon. Chiannala put away her books and papers and, slinging her heavy bag over her shoulder, hastened out of the library.

  On her way across the courtyard, Chiannala noticed that a band of dark purple cloud was massing on the horizon, rapidly overtaking the setting sun, which shone on bravely, untroubled by the approaching storm. A cold breeze came snaking across the flagstones, making her shiver. Though she chided herself for being superstitions, she could not help but view it as a bad omen.

  Having been closest to the Hall of Light, Chiannala was the first of the students to arrive. She halted in the doorway, overawed by the magnificence around her. She had only seen this chamber once before, on her first day as a student here, when all the newcomers had been given a tour of the Academy. Then it had been one of Tyrineld’s rare cloudy days, and she had not seen the hall to its full advantage. Now, in the golden light of sunset, the vast chamber had exploded into jewelled splendour. The long hall was comprised almost entirely of stained-glass windows, or so it seemed to the wide-eyed Chiannala. Each glowing panel was held in place by what appeared to be the most delicate lacework of dark, carved stone. They were formed in a multitude of cunning geometric shapes, interspersed with tall, rectangular panels that reached from the smooth tiled floor right up to the soaring, vaulted ceiling. Some held beautiful, intricate patterns while others depicted glowing scenes from ancient legend, and from the noble history of Tyrineld.

  Chiannala would have liked to have the time and solitude in which to wander through the hall, looking at all the images in turn, but that pleasure would have to wait for, though she was the first student to arrive, the Heads of the Luens were there before her. At the far end of the hall was a raised dais and there they sat in a semicircle, wearing their power and authority like royal mantles.

  The venerable Aldyth, Head of the Academy and the Luen of Academics, sat in the centre next to blunt Omaira of the Warriors, Esmon’s successor, a big, broad, imposing woman with short, sandy hair, a homely face and shrewd eyes that glinted with suppressed anger. According to gossip, she had found it difficult to restrain herself from riding out at once with her entire Luen to avenge Esmon’s death. Surprisingly, Galiena, the new Head of the Spellweavers, was absent, as was thin, clever Callia, Head of the Merchants, and they had been replaced by strangers.

  On the other side of Aldyth was Tinagen, Head of the Healers, tall and gangling with a profile like an eagle and a great shock of curling red hair, and Lanrion, Head of the Nurturers, who was not, by all accounts, as gloomy as his bony face and dark, saturnine looks implied, though today he looked grave indeed as he whispered to his neighbour Daina, Head of the Artisans, with her short, spiky grey hair and a stunningly beautiful young-old face which was marred by the ravages of sleeplessness and sorrow. Esmon, Iriana and Avithan had been loved and respected by more than the members of their own Luens. Vaidel of the Bards, young and dangerously handsome with his dark curls and his close-clipped beard, was fidgeting. It was all too plain that he found this ceremony a waste of time, and from the cold glint of anger in his eyes, it
appeared that he would rather be out seeking his own vengeance on the killers.

  Suddenly the hall grew dark as the threatening clouds finally covered the sun, and lost its vivid bejewelled beauty, its corners and recesses stalked by sinister shadows that crept out across the floor.

  ‘Come on, Brynne, you’re blocking the doorway.’ While Chiannala had been observing the august Heads of the Luens and wondering which, after today, would become her own mentor, her fellow students had caught up with her and were jostling to enter. She let the flow of them carry her into the room and headed for the block of chairs, set out in three rows of five, in front of the dais. Her heart was beating quickly as she sat down in the front row. Which of the Luens had chosen her?

  After a moment to let the students settle themselves, Aldyth stood and made a long speech about the origins of the Luens, their long and noble history, why the students were being selected, what an honour it was to be chosen and how he hoped that they would work hard and do their utmost to bring honour to their Luen . . . Chiannala soon stopped listening to his droning voice. Which would it be? Which would it be? The question kept circling in her head. Though she had professed indifference earlier that day, even to herself, in her heart she wanted the Spellweavers, where she felt that there would be more opportunities to make a name for herself. And she most emphatically did not want to be attached to the Nurturers, Iriana’s Luen. Her hand hidden in a fold of her robes, she crossed her fingers tightly as Aldyth’s speech wound down and announced that the new students would now be told what they had waited so long to hear.

  The students were placed in alphabetical order, and Chiannala fidgeted impatiently while Ayron was assigned to the Nurturers and Briall to the Spellweavers. Then, at long last, it was her turn.

  Aldyth’s voice rang out. ‘Student Brynne will be attached to the Healers.’

  Chiannala stiffened in disbelief. There was a buzzing in her ears that drowned out Aldyth’s subsequent announcements. Healers? No, this couldn’t be! What did she care about a bunch of people she didn’t know, who didn’t have the sense to keep themselves healthy? Aldyth had made a mistake. Someone had, that was for sure. She sprang to her feet, her mouth opening to scream, shout, tell them they had it all wrong, but Rhoslyn, who was sitting beside her, grabbed her arm and jerked her back down. ‘What are you doing?’ she hissed. ‘Do you want to be thrown out of the Academy?’

  Fear of losing everything made Chiannala duck her head and stay silent but, inside, her guts were roiling with anger. Would this be the end of all her dreams of greatness?

  She vowed that it would not. She had murdered to win her place, this chance at the Academy. She wasn’t about to waste it now.

  11

  ~

  SEA CHANGE

  With the tide of opinion turning against them very quickly, the remaining pacifist Luen Heads – Aldyth of the Academics, Daina of the Artisans, Tinagen of the Healers and Lanrion of the Nurturers – planned a meeting with the two deposed leaders late that night. They were afraid of being spied on, even by their own members, so one by one they slipped out of the city by various routes and made their way around the headland of the southernmost bay. It was no night to be out and about. Before sunset, great banks of curdled-looking, sinister dark purple cloud had massed on the horizon, and now the storm had hit the city with a wild howling gale and torrential rain that penetrated cloaks and clothing in no time, making them cling, chill and clammy, to the skin.

  Once they had rounded the southern promontory, nature took over from the city and the cliffs became high and rugged, their ledges packed with nesting seabirds. A set of narrow steps had been carved into the rock, barely wide enough for one person at a time to descend. The beleaguered Wizards picked their way down cautiously, their magelight illuminating each step and supplementing the natural night vision that was a talent of their kind. A rough-edged, guano-streaked rock face was on their left and a stomach-churning drop was on their right, to the rocks and crashing surf below.

  As he followed Tinagen and Lanrion, Aldyth shivered violently, filled with misgivings.

  I’m too old for this. I’ve outlived my time.

  Almost five hundred years – where had all the time gone? As he picked his careful way down the cliff, he remembered the Tyrineld of his youth: smaller, less sprawling, the buildings simple, square and blocky, constructed from timber and mortared stone. It had been Wylnas of the Artisans who had discovered the spell to fabricate a flawless white material, like marble but impervious to the staining and depredations of the weather. One by one, the city’s houses, towers and halls had been rebuilt in the new material, to new and beautiful designs. Chalisa, the Archwizard at that time, had an eye for beauty and a heartfelt instinct for harmony, and it had been her vision that had transformed Tyrineld into a jewel among cities. She had planned and schemed, cajoled, exhorted and browbeaten the Heads of Luens and the city’s inhabitants, and somehow they had all found themselves working together with energy and determination until her vision was achieved, and Tyrineld was the wonder of the world.

  Despite all his cares and worries, Aldyth found himself smiling in the darkness. Who knew better than he how stubborn Chalisa had been, how tireless, how proud? Who was better acquainted with her wiles and charms, her intelligence and fire, the tenacity that could sometimes cross the line into absolute pigheaded determination not to be beaten? One way or another, Chalisa always got what she wanted – including the tall, gangling redheaded Wizard with the ferocious intellect and the crippling shyness that drove him away from people and into his studies.

  Again, Aldyth found himself smiling. To this day he’d never really understood what Chalisa had seen in him, but she had set out to win him as her soulmate and, as usual, what she wanted she had achieved. For more than three centuries they had been happy together, and would have been yet, had it not been for the devastating storm that had struck Tyrineld one terrible night, levelling half the city and leaving many of its inhabitants dead: killed outright or injured beyond the skills of the Healers to repair. Aldyth himself had been hurt, and the Healers were treating his broken arm and concussion when the worst moment of his life occurred, and he felt his beloved’s death.

  While Chalisa had been searching for survivors in some of the Academy buildings on the clifftop, the entire face of the precipice, battered relentlessly by savage gales and towering seas, had given way, taking with it the buildings, the search party, and Aldyth’s lovely soulmate. Her body, buried beneath tons of rubble on the ocean floor, had never been found.

  Aldyth, alone and wracked by grief, had decided to leave his own life; to die, as was the prerogative of the Wizardfolk when they had finally tired of the long, unreeling years and wished to rest. What was there to stay for? The city of Tyrineld had been devastated by the storm. The survivors, stunned and grieving the loss of so many of their fellows, including their beloved Archwizard, wandered the wreckage and huddled in the ruins, and no one seemed to know how to proceed. Many would choose death, as he himself was planning to do, Aldyth thought, as he surveyed the devastation from the ruins of Ariel’s Tower. They would abandon lives that had suddenly become unendurable, and Tyrineld, once so proud and magnificent, would dwindle to a backwater fishing village. Gradually the ruined buildings would crumble, the survivors would scatter and disperse, and Chalisa’s wonderful vision would become a thing of the past, lost from the world for ever.

  ‘OVER MY DEAD BODY!’

  Aldyth spun at the sound of those familiar, ringing tones – the beloved voice that he had never thought to hear again, except in memory. Chalisa stood behind him, though whether he saw her with his normal vision, or in his mind’s eye, he could never, afterwards, be quite sure. All he knew was that she stood there: not wishful thinking or a trick of his grieving imagination, but truly in the room with him. With a cry he reached for her, but—

  ‘Don’t!’ The authority in her voice stopped him in his tracks. ‘Don’t, my love,’ she added more gently. ‘Yo
u can’t touch me now, for I have passed beyond this world. I should not be here at all: there should be no returning on the road that I have taken, but’ – she smiled at him, that brilliant smile he had known and loved for so long – ‘as you know, I can be very persuasive when I try. Even so, I am only allowed to come to you for a moment, but there is something I must say before I pass away through the Well of Souls.’ She fixed him with a piercing look. ‘My love, will you promise to do one thing for me?’

  ‘Of course I will,’ he said quickly. ‘Anything.’

  She grimaced; rueful, sympathetic, but when she spoke her voice was firm. ‘The people need a leader now, Aldyth. They need unity and purpose. They need someone to guide them, to nurture them, to help them rebuild their city and their shattered lives. You must carry on where I left off. You must become Archwizard after me.’

  Aldyth was thunderstruck. ‘But I’m no Archwizard! I am nothing like you. I cannot lead our people.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Chalisa said firmly. ‘You are the best person I have ever known, and you are more than fit to be Archwizard. Believe in yourself, Aldyth, as I believe in you – then get out there and save our people.’ Aldyth felt the faintest, phantom touch of a kiss on his lips, then Chalisa had faded away.

  It had been her final request to him: how could he refuse? For love of her, he had found the courage and fortitude to take up the burden of this broken city and to help these desperate Wizards rebuild their homes and their lives. For almost a century he had ruled Tyrineld as Archwizard, before gratefully relinquishing the reins of authority to Cyran and retiring to his post as Head of the Academy. He had done his duty – more than his duty. Was there really any reason he should keep on lingering here?

  While he had been lost in memories of the past, Aldyth had lagged a fair way behind the other two on the uncertain, slippery stairway. Pulling his attention back to the here and now, he followed them down, going as fast as he dared but resisting the temptation to hurry. One slip on these steps and Tinagen, Daina and Lanrion would be waiting for ever for him to join them, instead of a mere few minutes, not to mention Galiena and Callia, the two deposed Heads, who, since they no longer had their responsibilities to detain them, had been the first to slip down to the temple.