travails
go unnoticed?" Did Ochen read his mind? His expression? "What you
have done, what you attempt—that affects the occult fundus. The aethyr is not a
thing apart, but a realm that coexists with our mortal plane—and you are known
there."
"More riddles!" Bracht
reached across the table for the jug. "Must sorcerers always speak in
riddles?"
"At times perforce we
must," said Ochen, not offended; more amused, it seemed, for all a
terrible gravity lay beneath his words, behind his gentle smile. "The
aethyr is a hard thing to explain, neither do we who are gifted with the sight,
the talent for sorcery, always comprehend that realm—so, aye: betimes we've
only riddles to use, not plain words."
"I," said Bracht, "am
a plain man."
"Plainly," agreed Ochen,
"and you've my word I shall do my best to set this out in simple language.
But I crave your indulgence—hear me out and ask what questions you will. My
word on honest answers; though not, I fear, always simple."
Bracht was a little mollified by
that return and ducked his head, gesturing for the mage to continue.
"For now accept that your quest
was noticed," Ochen went on, "that our magicks showed us such disturbance
within the occult realm that we guessed a part and saw another. Much, I
suspect, as did the mages of Vanu." This with a glance at Katya, who
nodded confirmation. "And doubtless others. Though it would seem they saw
it unclearly, or chose to do nothing, or were otherwise occupied."
"Menelian said as much!"
Calandryll could not help himself: he found trust in this wizened old man
burgeoned, and a tremendous curiosity. "In Vishat'yi he said the
same."
"He was a sorcerer?" asked
Ochen.
"In service to the Tyrant of
Kandahar," Calandryll replied, choosing to ignore Bracht's warning grunt.
Did Ochen see so much, what reason to attempt concealment? "Busied with
civil war."
"Kandahar rises against its
Tyrant? Aught else?"
For an instant the narrow eyes
blazed golden, alarmed; Calandryll nodded and said, "In Lysse my brother
would raise a navy, go to war with Kandahar. In Cuan na'For, Jehenne ni Larrhyn
spoke of bellicose alliance, the invasion of Lysse."
"He stirs! All the gods help
us, he stirs! Thank Horul you were found!" Ochen grew agitated a moment,
calmed himself with visible effort. Across the table, Temchen and Chazali
radiated palpable tension, their armor rattling as they shifted uncomfortably,
like warhorses sensing impending battle. Then: "Endings and beginnings
entwine here, and we had best join all we know together do we dare hope for
success."
"You speak of Tharn?"
asked Calandryll. "Of the Mad God?"
"None else." Ochen
answered with a solemn nod. "But let me seek the start of this thread and
spin it out in ways we may all understand. So: the Borrhun-maj is formidably
guarded. Vile creatures roam those slopes, and did you avoid them, then still
you must face the mountains, which touch the sky and howl with such cold winds
as still the blood, even at summer's height. More—there are gramaryes set there
by the First Gods, by Yl and Kyta themselves, that none may approach those
places where they set their sons, Tharn and Balatur, when the godwars were
ended."
"And yet," said
Calandryll, "there is a way, no?"
"Aye," said Ochen.
"The which—may the gods forgive me—prompts me to wonder if even gods are
truly all-knowing. There is a way, were the traveler possessed of such
knowledge and such power as to attempt it. And were he mad enough!
"Listen, legend has it that we
Jesserytes were set down in this place to ward those approaches—for that
reason, and that
go unnoticed?" Did Ochen read his mind? His expression? "What you
have done, what you attempt—that affects the occult fundus. The aethyr is not a
thing apart, but a realm that coexists with our mortal plane—and you are known
there."
"More riddles!" Bracht
reached across the table for the jug. "Must sorcerers always speak in
riddles?"
"At times perforce we
must," said Ochen, not offended; more amused, it seemed, for all a
terrible gravity lay beneath his words, behind his gentle smile. "The
aethyr is a hard thing to explain, neither do we who are gifted with the sight,
the talent for sorcery, always comprehend that realm—so, aye: betimes we've
only riddles to use, not plain words."
"I," said Bracht, "am
a plain man."
"Plainly," agreed Ochen,
"and you've my word I shall do my best to set this out in simple language.
But I crave your indulgence—hear me out and ask what questions you will. My
word on honest answers; though not, I fear, always simple."
Bracht was a little mollified by
that return and ducked his head, gesturing for the mage to continue.
"For now accept that your quest
was noticed," Ochen went on, "that our magicks showed us such disturbance
within the occult realm that we guessed a part and saw another. Much, I
suspect, as did the mages of Vanu." This with a glance at Katya, who
nodded confirmation. "And doubtless others. Though it would seem they saw
it unclearly, or chose to do nothing, or were otherwise occupied."
"Menelian said as much!"
Calandryll could not help himself: he found trust in this wizened old man
burgeoned, and a tremendous curiosity. "In Vishat'yi he said the
same."
"He was a sorcerer?" asked
Ochen.
"In service to the Tyrant of
Kandahar," Calandryll replied, choosing to ignore Bracht's warning grunt.
Did Ochen see so much, what reason to attempt concealment? "Busied with
civil war."
"Kandahar rises against its
Tyrant? Aught else?"
For an instant the narrow eyes
blazed golden, alarmed; Calandryll nodded and said, "In Lysse my brother
would raise a navy, go to war with Kandahar. In Cuan na'For, Jehenne ni Larrhyn
spoke of bellicose alliance, the invasion of Lysse."
"He stirs! All the gods help
us, he stirs! Thank Horul you were found!" Ochen grew agitated a moment,
calmed himself with visible effort. Across the table, Temchen and Chazali
radiated palpable tension, their armor rattling as they shifted uncomfortably,
like warhorses sensing impending battle. Then: "Endings and beginnings
entwine here, and we had best join all we know together do we dare hope for
success."
"You speak of Tharn?"
asked Calandryll. "Of the Mad God?"
"None else." Ochen
answered with a solemn nod. "But let me seek the start of this thread and
spin it out in ways we may all understand. So: the Borrhun-maj is formidably
guarded. Vile creatures roam those slopes, and did you avoid them, then still
you must face the mountains, which touch the sky and howl with such cold winds
as still the blood, even at summer's height. More—there are gramaryes set there
by the First Gods, by Yl and Kyta themselves, that none may approach those
places where they set their sons, Tharn and Balatur, when the godwars were
ended."
"And yet," said
Calandryll, "there is a way, no?"
"Aye," said Ochen.
"The which—may the gods forgive me—prompts me to wonder if even gods are
truly all-knowing. There is a way, were the traveler possessed of such
knowledge and such power as to attempt it. And were he mad enough!
"Listen, legend has it that we
Jesserytes were set down in this place to ward those approaches—for that
reason, and that
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