Lance of Earth and Sky

Vidarian followed Justinian, not because he wanted to, but because it would be dangerous to do otherwise, in more ways than one. He needed to know what Justinian's survival meant—and why Oneira and the emperor had no knowledge of it.

In the next alcove, the primly dressed young man who had summoned Vidarian to the Arboretum waited beside an iron-handled trapdoor set into the floor. At Justinian's gesture he hauled it open, and the older—Vidarian tried not to dwell on how much older—man immediately trotted into the opening.

A set of steep and tightly winding stone stairs followed, and they would have been in darkness almost immediately if not for the small glass cube that Justinian produced from a pocket, which glowed blue as soon as he breathed on it. “The last Alorean grand enchanter favored blue, and so nearly all our remaining artifacts glow thus,” he said in an aside, “I'll give you that tidbit for free.”

The stairs ended at a blank wall. Justinian set the glowing cube on a nearly invisible ledge at the wall's center, and streaks of light immediately spidered out from it. When the light reached the four edges of the wall, the stone contracted, melting away from its center until there was nothing left but a kind of thick, glowing threshold.

Despite gryphons, despite his own elemental magic, Vidarian's heart quickened at the sight of such magic. Justinian wielded no magic of his own—Vidarian was sure he would have sensed it—and yet these devices, and his knowledge of them, allowed him tremendous power. In his wonder and astonishment at the skyship, he had never considered the existence of other enchanted devices. How many now were at work in the world? And how many more were waiting to be found?

All this swirled in his head as Justinian crossed the threshold, leading the way into a chamber lit at four corners and ceiling with more elemental lights, each of these in a different color. The diamond-white light above them seemed to be a smaller replica of the Arboretum's sun-sphere, and it cast a clear, gentle light down on a man encased in intricately engraved copper armor lying atop a massive stone slab.

A shiver of superstitious anxiety trickled up Vidarian's spine—clearly this was a tomb. He cursed himself for not knowing more imperial history; he hadn't known of the existence of the Arboretum, much less who might be buried beneath it.

Then the armored man sat up.

Vidarian reached for a sword he wasn't wearing, and then lifted his hand, all unthinking, a shield of water energy flaring out around his fingers. His bruised senses shrieked a complaint at such sudden use, but pure instinct had driven him, and couldn't now be taken back.

Justinian looked from Vidarian to one of the glowing lights, a turquoise-green one, which now flared brighter than the other three. He lifted an eyebrow, but turned toward the stone slab without comment.

The sitting man was turning his head to look around, and several things about him became apparent, chiefly: he was covered with glowing lavender gems, he radiated complex elemental energy, and he was not human. It took Vidarian several moments to reconcile this last, but upon close inspection it was obvious: the hinge-points at his arms, knees, and neck were far too thin to be covering flesh and bone. He wasn't wearing armor—he was the armor.

“You're Iridan, if my readings are correct,” Justinian said.

“I am,” the metal figure said, head swiveling toward Justinian to fix him with glowing lavender eyes. His voice was inside and outside of Vidarian's head at the same time, the meaning of his words so immediate that Vidarian could not have said what language they were in. It was disconcerting, to say the least. “I apologize for my ignorance—I don't believe we are acquainted?”

Vidarian's heart beat faster at the—creature's?—eloquence, but Justinian took it in stride. “It is not ignorance, my dear friend,” he said, and Vidarian would have bet money on the sincerity in his voice, “you have been asleep for just over a thousand years.”

Iridan drew back, the joints along his arms and shoulders rattling. “Yet that would mean…I recall…Parvidian bringing me here, I was so very tired…tell me, is he…?” The lavender lights flickered as he stared at Justinian.

“The Grand Artificer, I am sorry to say, left us about two decades after your sleep.” At this the metal man's shoulders shuddered again, but he did not speak, his head turning stiffly to regard his hands. Grief rolled out of him, radiating from that strange hybrid of telepathy and speech. “I am deeply sorry to wake you to such terrible news,” Justinian said, stepping closer to Iridan, and now his voice and body language were all caution and care. “And I must ask you, Iridan, if you know the whereabouts of your brother and sisters?”

The copper head turned back toward Justinian, lavender eyes flaring and dimming. “My brother and sister—were away from the imperial city when last I woke. Do you know if they have yet awakened?”

Justinian watched Iridan, giving no sign he had heard the metal man claim only one sister. “We do not yet know,” he said, and again his voice was heavy with sympathy, “but had counted on your assistance in finding them. Before this, though,” he turned and gestured to his assistant, who lurked in the doorway, “let us see to your comfort, and repair, if need be. Your joints must be feeling the effects of your long sleep.”

Iridan lifted one of his hands, and in the glow of the elemental lights Vidarian could make out the intricate gears and curls of wire that formed it. The hand opened and closed, glittering.

* Miraculous, * Ruby murmured, stirring so suddenly from her long silence that he jumped. * Only four were made… *

What? Vidarian thought. But no answer came. He reached out with his mind, flailing, trying to reach Thalnarra or Isri. He had virtually no ability to speak of, but beyond that, this room was strange; where previously he had been aware of Isri's general location, thanks mostly to her skill, now it was as though this room was sealed off to the outside, as surely as if they'd been separated by a thousand feet of stone.

“I would be quite grateful,” Iridan said, and Justinian moved forward to place his hand on the copper shoulder. Did a creature of metal sense touch, Vidarian wondered—but the emotion that echoed with strange clarity from Iridan was appreciation for the gesture, nonetheless.

Then Justinian turned toward the doorway, motioning Vidarian after. The assistant passed them, moving for Iridan, carrying a steaming porcelain bowl, rags, and a flask of oil. Vidarian followed Justinian back up the stone staircase.

They emerged into the shaded alcove, pale white light filtering down through the trees. Justinian went back to the table, picked up his mask, and fitted it gently to his face. He turned back toward Vidarian, solemn beneath the painted smile. “You have begun this,” he said.

An imperial summons reached Vidarian before he could retreat back to his rooms. The emperor planned to ride in the acres of parkland north of the palace, and wished for Vidarian's company. He wasn't dressed for riding, but was told a coat and boots would be waiting for him at the imperial stables.

The coat—imperial black and gold—fit with the same uncanny accuracy as the rest of the clothing, betraying Renard's hand. The boots less so, but serviceable, and waiting with them was a stablehand and a saddled black gelding. Being only the second horse Vidarian had ever ridden in his adult life, this one, called Aluhaar, reminded him of Feluhim, also night-black, also Irivedian, an Ishmanti breed long in favor with the imperial court.

His muscles cried out in complaint when the stablehand helped him into the saddle, and he landed awkwardly, earning flattened ears and a dissatisfied snort from the fine horse. The stablehand looked him over dubiously from beneath a mousy forelock, her hands moving automatically to calm the gelding, but led him out to the trailhead nonetheless. Eager to prove he wasn't a total tyro, he picked up the reins and rode ahead, thanking her with a wave.

The emperor was waiting, looking out over the low brush, just beyond the first bend in the trail. Vidarian wasn't sure whether to interrupt his contemplations, but Aluhaar decided for him, whickering as he caught scent of the emperor's horse and breaking into a trot—sensing with the strange wisdom of horses that Vidarian's inexperience meant he could take charge.

When they drew close, a familiar but shocking bark revealed what the emperor had been watching so closely: Rai, the wolf pup, launched out of the brush, and this time Aluhaar squealed and pranced, threatening to both unseat Vidarian and stomp the little predator.

Before either could happen, the emperor kneed his own mount close and reached across to grab Aluhaar's reins just below the chin. With his head restrained, and the other horse so near, the gelding rolled his eyes at the wolf, ears flat, but settled down. Rai, on the other hand, danced excitedly, barking—and then dashed back into the brush before Vidarian could correct him.

“My apologies,” the emperor said, gradually releasing Aluhaar as the horse settled, “for both the surprise ride, and bringing your little—companion. I thought he might enjoy the park, and it would give my stewards a bit of a respite.”

Embarrassment and panic rippled through Vidarian in turns. Of course the palace servants would not have restrained their complaints, particularly with how often Rai had been left unattended…

“Please, Captain, I truly mean no critique,” the emperor said, his pale eyes gentle with concern. “I drag you into the heart of Val Imris unprepared, and you come to find the world has changed even more than you thought. Am I correct?”

“You are, your majesty,” Vidarian agreed, striving to keep the dismay out of his voice, “though the responsibility for all this is mine.”

“You give yourself too much credit, my friend,” he said, but again the gentleness in his words removed all sting. The emperor kneed his mount closer again, looking Vidarian closely in the eye—searching, he thought. “I do not believe that any of us can escape our destinies. Nor should we linger unto paralysis on the strange times we find ourselves in. It is certain that the world will demand the best of us.”

Vidarian met the emperor's gaze, marveling again at how so young a man, confronted with, as he said, such strange times, could maintain such an even keel.

* He speaks truth, or thinks he does, * Ruby offered, breaking the silence she'd inhabited since witnessing Iridan.

How do you know? Vidarian thought.

* Years of trade alliances with far better liars than either of you. *

It was a relief to hear something of the “old” Ruby again, and Vidarian smiled.

The emperor smiled back, and indicated the trail. “Shall we ride?”

“Lead on, your majesty, and I will follow.”

A surprised pleasure caught the emperor's face then, a mask pulled down, and for a moment they were only two men, gratitude rendering them equals.

They turned the horses down the path, and once the emperor took the lead, Aluhaar gamely followed. For a moment Vidarian worried that Rai was gone, but the pup tracked their progress, racing across the trail every hundred steps or so only to disappear back into the brush again. Both horses, after touching noses with the pup on one of his visits, decided that he was no threat and proceeded to ignore him entirely. Presently they rode into a copse of trees, their thin leaves golden, white branches carefully trained to arc over the trail to form a living tunnel.

“It's a heavy task I ask of you, Captain, but we need not weigh down our excursion with business,” the emperor said, leaving a note hanging of what he would rather discuss.

Vidarian could guess at it, and Ruby clucked sardonically in his head. “My friend, the lady Calphille, seemed quite taken with your majesty,” he ventured, and knew he'd struck true when again the mask of office slipped free of the emperor's face for just a moment.

“You know more of her than I do. Is it true she knows nothing of cities?”

“Her people…come from a small holding far to the south, beyond the Windsmouth,” Vidarian said, hoping his voice did not betray him.

“An old country,” the emperor said, surprised but—impressed? “Lost to civilization for centuries.”

“They are a simple folk,” Vidarian said, treading carefully, betting that the plausible slight to Calphille's people would reassure the emperor more than the truth.

“Simple,” the emperor mused. “Yet perhaps that is why she is so intriguing. My court could do with a good deal more simplicity.” The frank ruefulness in his voice shocked Vidarian, though he dared not show it.

“In the west I am educated, but here I fear I bring you too much simplicity, your majesty.”

To his surprise, the emperor laughed and looked at him with wry wonder. “If only that were true.”

He would have argued the point, but in just that moment, they emerged from the trees' golden canopy and into a meadow—where Altair and Thalnarra lay sunning, wings outspread.

Rai barked with recognition as he caught the gryphons' scent, and raced to meet them. In his exuberance, he loosed an arc of blue electricity, and though it missed Thalnarra's beak by inches, it set fire to the nearby grass.

Before Altair could voice his disapproval, Vidarian reached out with his own fire sense and drew the flames away, pulling their energy into himself. The water within him grumbled at this shift in energy balance, and it took him a few tense moments to quiet it.

“You were saying, Vidarian?” The emperor watched him with a strange expression, a mixture of amusement and fascination.

// Compared to humans, gryphons are simple creatures, // Thalnarra offered, languidly tucking her wings against her side and standing.

“Your majesty, may I introduce Thalnarra, adept of fire; and Altair, adept of air.” The gryphons dipped their beaks at each of their names. “My friends—Emperor Lirien Aslaire, Lord of the Western Reaches.” Then, after a quick glance, “For all our sakes, I hope he won't mind if I spare the rest of his titles.”

To his relief, the emperor laughed, and urged his mount forward. Vidarian's own horse danced with agitation, and he worked awkwardly to control him, envious of the emperor's easy reassurance of his own mare.

Then the emperor swung down from his saddle, landing easily and walking up to Thalnarra, now well below her natural eye level. She lowered her head to his lifted hand, touching her beak to his palm. Throughout, she radiated an impressed curiosity, her thoughts like warm spiced apples where they brushed Vidarian's.

And the emperor's face, for his part, shone with awe and adventurousness. “I have read of your people,” he said, returning his hand to his side, and turning to quiet his horse as she snorted at a frolicking Rai. The pup ran boldly up to the emperor, sniffed his knee, and then dashed back into the grass. Lirien chuckled and looked back to Thalnarra and Altair. “As a boy, I lost myself in tales from Alanndir, the sand kingdom on the far side of the world.”

// The most recent alliance between humans and gryphons, // Thalnarra said, appreciation like melting butter in her thoughts. // The last to dissolve, if our records are correct. Only eight generations ago. //

// I'd no idea they persisted so long, // Altair said, an edge to his thoughts like smoked mint leaves. Vidarian was relieved that, for once, he was not alone in lacking knowledge Thalnarra possessed.

// They were a fire pride, // she explained. // Distantly related to my own. Sun-chasers. //

“Their legends hardly scratched the surface of your strength and beauty,” the emperor said, and his words might have been all training, but the warmth in them was genuine.

Thalnarra turned one red eye on him, peering closely. Then her neck twisted and she bent her large head between her wings. Her beak, delicate for a weapon so large, closed around the shaft of a feather there, and with a precise jerk she pulled it free. It twirled as she shifted her lower jaw and brought it down to the emperor.

The feather was dark grey, edged with faded gold feather-paint. Against the emperor's hand it looked even larger than it had on Thalnarra, wider than his spread hand, and a third again longer. He accepted it with reverence, and lifted it between the two gryphons in a gesture of gratitude. “I will treasure this as it deserves, I promise you,” he said, and again a boyish wonder humbled his voice beyond anything Vidarian had heard at the palace. “Tell me, are all of your needs being met? What gift might I bring you?”

// We leave in the morning, with Vidarian, // Thalnarra said, her feathers fluffed with appreciation for the emperor's words. // We would ask only that you treasure his trust as our own. //

Gratitude washed through Vidarian, spilling through him like sunlight. He reached out to Thalnarra with his thoughts, and she brushed them again, a faint sensation of wings arching around him.

The emperor turned, looking at Vidarian with thoughtful eyes. “I shall,” he said.