“That, and because this world is of no risk to others yet. Further interference may lead to the kind of shortages in food and other essentials that forced the Koijen to plunder other worlds to begin with.”
Rielle sighed. It was all so complicated. When the whole picture was considered, Valhan did seem to have good intentions. But his limitation is that he is one person, who can’t be everywhere at once. He is, at best, nudging the worlds into a more ordered state. What would happen if he didn’t interfere at all? Would the result be more chaotic and ugly? Or would the worlds sort out their problems more carefully, if people knew they couldn’t call on the Raen to fix them?
The elegant hand extended in her direction again. She took it. Worlds flickered by, eventually in a familiar sequence. The Arrival Hall appeared and his grip loosened, but he did not let go. A vibration ran through the floor. Dahli hurried into the room–clearly he had been waiting close by. She saw his gaze drop to her hand, still in Valhan’s, and his smile faded for the briefest moment, before his attention returned to his leader’s face.
Valhan let go of her hand. “It is time, Dahli, that you taught Rielle pattern shifting.”
Her teacher’s self-possession slipped again, only this time, instead of the hint of suspicion, his jaw dropped.
“But you always…” he began.
Whatever he had meant to say turned into a sigh of resignation. The ruler of worlds had vanished.
PART SIX
TYEN
CHAPTER 16
Leaning on the window sill, Tyen said a mental goodbye to the city. From above, the city of Glaya looked like a vast dried-up pond, the surface broken into odd-shaped plates of mud curling upwards at the edges. The walls beneath these quirky rooftops were rendered, roughly on the outside, smoothly on the inside, with the fingerprints of their makers still visible. Generations of hands had shaped them, adding another layer at the end of every wet season when the silt that was swept downriver in spring floods had settled into an elastic clay.
Clay was also the trade of the city, and the greatest source of wealth in the world of Iem. At the edges of this and many other cities workers dug the raw matter from the ground and delivered it to local artisans. These men and women shaped the warm, sticky substance into all manner of objects, from the practical to the artistic, rustic to impossibly fine. Set aside to dry, the creations were refined and carved, dipped and painted, and finally fired by sorcerers whose knowledge of temperature, timing and what to add to a kiln to change the result was as complex and refined as that of the chemists of the Academy.
Each region had at least one style it was famous for, and that was constantly evolving where innovation was encouraged. Tyen had browsed the markets and the workshops of many, marvelling at the diversity and skill. He had watched potters and firers, and seen a Maker at work for the first time. Seeing the magic flowing from the young man, a shout compared to the whisper most artisans made, he understood why a sorcerer would want to keep one around. He wondered how quickly a Maker could restore a world poor in magic, like his home world. He thought of Baluka’s lost fiancée. Was she strengthening the Raen’s world? Did she knew what her former betrothed was doing now, because of her?
Drawing away from the window, Tyen sighed. He had grown fond of this world. At first it had been a place to stay for a few days before a pre-arranged meeting with Baluka. A place to rest, eat good food and catch up on sleep. The people had been so friendly, and the climate in Glaya so agreeable, that he’d stayed several days longer. But if he did not leave now any delay while travelling would prevent him arriving in time to meet the rebel leader. He turned away from the window… and froze as he saw the man sitting on the other side of the room.
The chair the Raen occupied was tattered and rickety. He ought to have been lessened by it, but instead it was the seat that seemed further humbled in comparison to the man’s fine, simple clothing and flawless features.
“Raen,” Tyen said.
“Tyen.” The corners of the man’s mouth quirked upwards. “What are my rebels up to?”
The man’s tone was almost affectionate. His rebels? Tyen thought. He wasn’t sure whether he was more amused or disturbed by the phrase.
“Baluka’s plan is audacious,” Tyen began. He sketched out the decisions the Traveller had made since becoming leader. “He isn’t going to try to conceal the signal from you and your allies, figuring that it’s better to make plans that don’t rely on secrecy. When it is made, all rebels are to meet in one place. We haven’t chosen the location yet. He hopes that if hundreds of rebels are travelling at the same time there won’t be enough allies to stop them all. Then once they are together there will be too many for your allies to defeat. And from there they… well, they attack you.”
Valhan nodded. “They have made progress.”
“What should I do to stop them?”