Alta

SIXTEEN

GAN looked from Kiron to Aket-ten and back again. “I don’t suppose you would care to explain that? I don’t mean to be rude, but—well, I’m not completely sure just how a girl and a Healer could fit into this situation, no matter what you asked them to find.”
Kiron ignored Aket-ten’s glare. He knew she’d have a few words later—with him, or with Gan, or both—but she would just have to control her annoyance for now.
“Toreth’s long-term plan was to put enough Jousters into the field that we could negate the Tian Jousters without needing the storms that the Magi were sending,” he reminded them.
Kaleth swallowed at the sound of Toreth’s name, but nodded. “I recall that,” he said. “We both thought that once the Magi were no longer necessary to the war, their influence would wane somewhat. That was before we realized what else they were doing, of course. Still, even then, it was a good plan. If nothing else, they would stop draining the Winged Ones in order to send the storms.”
That made them all silent, and Marit shuddered. “When Kaleth told me—I could hardly believe it. But then Nofret and I saw the Great Ladies growing ever so slightly younger looking, not older, day by day—now they appear to be perhaps half their actual age.” She shook her head. “I cannot fathom why no one else notices, unless it is sheer willfulness not to see. Everyone does speak of how well-preserved they are, or how they have lost weight and become more fit, but they say nothing about looking so—unnaturally young. The great blessing is ‘May you live a thousand years,’ but to think that this is what they might be trying to do—it is monstrous—”
“But only the Magi know what is truly happening, and I think that none but us suspect, because as you say, people do not want to know,” Kiron reminded her. “And there is only one way to stop them. Someone who is revered by all Altans must speak out. Someone who is trusted by all Altans must tell the truth. And someone whom all Altans know is able to part the curtains of Time must say what lies on the other side of them. In short, the plan is still good, for we need the Winged Ones to be freed, willing to tell what was done to them, and perhaps, willing to say what will happen in the days to come if the Magi are not stopped. Now that they know what the Magi will do to them, once they are in their powers again, I think they will fight to keep from being further abused, and I believe that they will speak out.”
He looked over to Aket-ten, who nodded, slowly. “They were foolish in allowing the Magi access to them before, but I think that they will rebel once they are no longer controlled and drained,” she said. “At least, I hope they will.” Her voice faltered. “But they are only human, and they can still be compelled by fear. I do not know what would be the greater for them, the fear of the Magi or the fear that they will be accused of aiding the enemy by refusing to be used by the Magi. I—”
“They will,” Kaleth said, in an odd, flat tone of voice—a voice which nevertheless had a strange sort of echo to it, as if he spoke from within a cave. It was so odd, in fact, that all of them looked at him in sudden concern.
He was sitting straight up, forearms lying flat along his thighs, eyes staring into nothing. His back was completely ridged, his head up, his feet and legs exactly parallel. It was an oddly familiar pose; Kiron knew he had seen it a hundred times, but where?
The look in Kaleth’s eyes, though—it sent a shiver up his spine. His eyes might be staring into nothing, or apparently into nothing, but they weren’t blank or glazed. Oh, no—Kaleth saw something, something none of the rest of them could see.
“He’s—” Gan began, looking awe-struck.
“Shh!” Aket-ten reached over and clapped her hand over his mouth. “Don’t disturb him!” she whispered urgently. “We must hear all of it!”
“End the need for storms, and the Magi will drain the Winged Ones no longer. In their arrogance, they believe that the Winged Ones are cowed, and will continue to bend their necks to the yoke, but they are wrong. The Winged Ones already are in rebellion; they merely lack the strength to take their rebellion further. When they recover their strength, they will fight. They will bar the door of the temple to the Magi, they will muster their protections, and they will resist all attempts to take them again. And then—and—then—” his voice began to fade, “—then—the paths divide—”
Suddenly, Kaleth blinked, and his entire posture changed; he shook his head slightly, raised one hand to his forehead, and blinked again. “Why are you all staring at me?” he asked, looking puzzled.
Aket-ten let out her breath in a sigh. “Well,” she said, with a nod. “Let me put it this way. You were sitting in the Python’s Pose.”
At first Kaleth looked at her with a smile, as if he thought she was joking. But a moment later, the smile disappeared. “I was?” he asked, incredulously.
She nodded—and so did the rest of them, even Kiron. Now that she had named that posture for what it was, he knew where he had seen that rigid, statuelike pose that Kaleth had taken. In statues, of course, statues of the Winged Ones about to prophesy. So Heklatis had been right! Kaleth had, either through shock or some other means, become a channel for the power to see into the future!
Aket-ten elaborated, while all this went through Kiron’s mind. “Your eyes looked into the depths of time, and your voice told what you saw. We all saw it, we all heard it. You told us that if we can stop the Magi from draining the Winged Ones, then the Winged Ones will fight to keep from being so misused ever again.”
“The—” Kaleth looked at her as if she was mad. And there was, perhaps, a tinge of fear in his voice. He knew exactly what Aket-ten was saying, and it frightened him. “No. But—I never—but I—”
“Yes, you are, and I should know,” Aket-ten said firmly. “I have spent years in the Temple of the Twins, and for many of those years, it was thought that I would have the power that you just displayed.”
Kaleth shook his head dumbly, as Marit took his hand, but Aket-ten was pitiless. “You might as well accept it, for the gods will have their way, whether you are willing or not. You are a Winged One now, Kaleth, and you have the Seer’s Eye. It is a pity you have never been trained, and even more that I do not know how to train you.”
“Why?” Kiron asked, “What difference would training make?”
Aket-ten sighed. “Those who are trained can, with proper preparation, part the Veils at will. It is a fearsome task, and does not often give a clear path, for the future is rooted in the present and changes with each thing that we do now. The Sighted cannot always see all of the possible paths either. But at least they can hold the Sight as long as they have the strength. For Kaleth, untrained, the Sight will come and go without any warning.”
“But—but—” Kaleth looked from one to another of them, as if seeking for someone to tell him that Aket-ten was wrong. “This is not—but I—” He looked for a moment as if he was about to weep. “I can’t—I can’t possibly—”
It was Marit who took both his hands in hers then, put her head close to his, and murmured something that none of them could make out. It seemed to be what he needed to hear, though, for after a moment, he relaxed, just a little, and lost that stricken look. “As the gods will it, then,” he said. “It is not for me to fight them. Perhaps I will be of some use. I am of little other use, so far as I can tell.”
Kiron coughed. “More than some use,” he said, as the attention turned back to him. “You have confirmed what I had only hoped, which means that my plan—and Toreth’s plan—is sound. If there is a path in the future that frees the Winged Ones from the clutches of the Magi, then it can only be by one means that I know of.”
“It would be useful,” Gan complained, “if we could but hear this plan! So far, there has been nothing but mystery from you! It is hard to judge any plan when there has not even been a hint of what you intend to do!”
Kiron took a deep breath, and looked around at them all before beginning. “If we cannot negate the Tian Jousters with our own numbers, then the only other answer is to remove the Jousters altogether. On both sides, if need be, and to be honest, I think that this may be required. I asked Heklatis and Aket-ten to find a way, thinking perhaps that in magic and the powers of a Winged One combined there might be an answer.”
“And we have one, we think,” she said slowly. “Though it is not what you might have been thinking. If Heklatis were not a Magus and a Healer, I do not think that we would have found it, but—well, it is simple. The Jousters are nothing without their dragons. The Magi have dealt with them by keeping them grounded with storms, but we realized that if we could keep the dragons out of the sky by some other means, that would be the end of the Tian Jousters.”
“We didn’t want to poison them,” Heklatis said. “For one thing, it would be very hard to do, and for another, it would just be wrong. For the same reason we didn’t want to give them a disease.”
Aket-ten nodded. “That was when we realized that without the tala, there are no Jousters, because without the tala, the dragons who are not tame cannot be controlled. And if we found a way to keep tala out of the dragons, eventually the effects would wear off—and you know better than I what that would mean.”
“And?” Kiron prompted, as the others made various noises indicating surprise or agreement.
“We looked for something that would kill the tala plant,” she said. “We didn’t find it—but instead, we found something better.” She held up her hand to keep him from interrupting. “You know, if we started to kill the plants, the Tians would surely notice, and perhaps find something to take the place of tala. What we found is better, because it does not kill the tala, it makes the power of the berries weaken once they are harvested. The strength is gone in days. In less than a moon, they are no longer good for anything. And the Tians will never suspect until it is too late. How long a stockpile do you think the Tians have, Kiron?”
He thought. “Once the new crop is being harvested, a month perhaps. Certainly not more.”
Aket-ten nodded. “So when the Dry starts, the berries begin to ripen, and they begin harvesting; once last year’s berries are used up and they start to use the tainted berries, within two or three days, their dragons will be uncontrollable. There is just one problem; once we spread this disease, we cannot confine it to Tia. It will come to Alta as well.”
Kiron winced. “Ah. That is a difficulty—”
“Not so much as you think,” said Lord Khumun from behind him.
They all jumped. Kiron leaped to his feet and turned. The light from the lamps on either side of the door fell on Lord Khumun’s face illuminating features that were unwontedly bleak with weariness. “My Lord—what have you heard—”
“From the time that young Kaleth began to prophesy,” Lord Khumun said heavily. “And you have awakened both my fears and my hopes. Something must change in Alta, or Alta as we know it will cease to be, and soon—and I should not like to live in the society that will take its place. When the power is in the hands of those who stand in the shadows, shadows come to fall over everything. Young Toreth’s murder was only the first, I fear, of many. And to tell the truth, I am not altogether certain it was even the first. Too many of those who have been taken up as ‘agents of the enemy’ have never been heard of again. And no one knows exactly who might have fallen under the Eye.”
Kiron shivered to hear the words spoken aloud. Young Toreth’s murder. So Lord Khumun knew the death for what it was.
At least we aren’t alone. . . .
“You may have wondered why I have kept you of Kiron’s wing from being sent to the fighting,” Lord Khumun continued in what seemed to be an abrupt change of subject. “It is because since Toreth’s death, the Jousters are being flung to the enemy like tidbits to jackals. You have not seen it; I have kept the knowledge from you, deliberately, for I was not sure what you would make of it.”
He looked at them gravely.
“My Lord, I think we are not surprised,” said Orest after a moment. “Toreth’s death taught us that the Magi will not tolerate rivals, and in their way, the Jousters are rivals for power.”
Lord Khumun nodded. “So I believe. What they did not anticipate, I think, is that these new war games and tactics of yours are keeping my Jousters alive.”
He looked straight at Kiron, who felt himself flush with pleasure.
“And there, the subject comes back to you lot. I have kept the knowledge of the true situation from you, lest you feel you must fling yourselves into the fray.” The Lord of the Jousters smiled kindly upon them, and somehow managed to keep from looking patronizing. “I knew that if you felt strongly enough, you would disobey even my orders. Now, not even the Magi truly believe that you lot are ready for war, and they know that ordering mere boys to the fighting will make even their supporters look askance at them, so as long as you were not volunteering, and so long as we were having fewer casualties than before, I could keep you safe.”
“But the senior Jousters—” Huras said worriedly.
“Exactly. Meanwhile—we go out, day after day, and we are becoming exhausted. At some point, not even your clever new tactics will save us.” Lord Khumun grimaced. “There is no doubt that you are right; the Magi will permit no rival for their power to exist. They have been trying very hard to eliminate us. And I had rather see the dragons gone than watch my men die for no good reason.”
Kiron let out the breath he had been holding. “Then, my Lord, the best thing for you is this. If you can, if you have thieves that can get into the Tian Jousters’ Compound, send men to seize as much tala as you can. It is better for us to have it than the Tians, and the more of the old, untainted tala we have, the better for us. And then, let us do this thing that we have spoken of without your knowledge, for what we do without your knowledge you cannot be held accountable for.”
Lord Khumun looked as if he was about to protest, then stopped. “From the mouths of babes comes wisdom,” he muttered, then turned and vanished into the darkness.
“So, tell us,” Kiron continued, turning to Aket-ten.
“It is a disease, which puts no outward sign upon the plant, save only a bit of bloom upon the berry when it is still unripe, which is gone when it is dried. Heklatis used his magic to find it, and his knowledge of Healing and herbs swiftly told him what it did. The disease spreads by a dust made from the bloom itself, and we can use magic to make much, much more of it from the bit that we have.” She looked rather pleased with herself. Kiron didn’t blame her. “What is more, I thought of a way to spread it, quickly. When the rains begin, a dragon or two can climb above the clouds with baskets of the dust, and let them loose upon the winds. The dust will be carried into Tia, and brought down to earth with the rains.”
“And the Magi, who have made the winds to be so much greater than they used to be, will be the ones to carry the blight!” Gan slapped his leg with glee. “By all the gods, Aket-ten, this is choice!”
She smiled with grim pleasure. “We, who have truly tame dragons, will be the only ones whose dragons still behave, and I will leave it to you to think how that can be useful. But I believe that the wild-caught dragons will actually obey for some time out of habit—and at any rate, if we successfully take a stockpile of undiseased Tian tala, we will be able to keep our dragons under control longer.”
“We should reckon on not getting any,” Kiron warned. “Unless we can seize raw berries before they get to the Tian compound, I doubt that we will be able to get any. If Lord Khumun has agents who are also thieves, maybe—it is not at all guarded—but the odds are long.”
“Then our tala and theirs will run out about the same time.” She sighed. “Still. Our Jousters will know that their dragons are going to go wild, but the Tians will not, and they may miss the signs. So perhaps our task should be to sting the Tian dragons into their own rebellion on the very day when the last of the tala is gone from their bodies. And with foreknowledge that it will happen, our Jousters can release their dragons, or allow them to slip their chains, or something of the sort. Or even take them out, and when they begin to get restive, land them behind our lines and turn them loose.” She shrugged. “The Magi will contribute nothing to the war once the Jousters are gone, unless they create another Eye of Light that can be taken to the enemy.”
“I do not think they can,” Heklatis said broodingly. “Which is just as well for all of us, of course.”
Recalling the carnage that the Eye had caused, Kiron shuddered. “More than just as well,” he replied. “I am not so sure but that it would not be better for Alta if the thing were destroyed.”
“There are those on the Second Ring who would agree with you,” said Heklatis, and left it at that.
There really was not much else to be said after that. Heklatis and Aket-ten reckoned that it would take until the start of the rains to produce a sufficiency of the dust to infect the tala plants.
And then Aket-ten produced another little surprise for them. “I will borrow a swamp dragon and take her up to release the dust in the clouds above the storms—” she began, casually.
“Hoi!” he said sharply. “What do you mean, you will borrow a swamp dragon? You’ve never flown any dragon but Re-eth-ke!”
“I can control any dragon in the compound,” she retorted. “Re-eth-ke is too young to take into a storm, and at any rate, she would hate flying in rain and storm, but there isn’t a dragon in this compound who won’t fly for me. I’ll take one of the oldest and canniest.”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort!” he replied hotly. “If anybody goes flying with that dust of yours, it will be me.”
“On what dragon?” she shot back. “Not even Avatre will fly in the kind of hell the Magi have been creating on the first day of the rains, and rightly. The swamp dragons know storms. They can read them the way desert dragons read thermals! But they won’t fly for you, not into a storm they won’t. On a day of ordinary rains, yes, but not into a Magus-bred storm.”
“She has you there,” Heklatis said, with what Kiron considered to be an annoying level of calm detachment.
“And just what would Lord Ya-tiren have to say to me if I allowed you—” he began, and the moment the words were out of his mouth, he knew that they were a mistake, but it was too late to call them back.
“If you allowed?” she snarled, getting to her feet, her eyes blazing fury at him. “If you allowed? Just who and what are you, Wingleader Kiron, to say what I shall and shall not be allowed to do? I am responsible to no one but myself for my actions and—”
“And Lord Ya-tiren would certainly hold Kiron responsible should any accident take place, regardless of that, Aket-ten,” Heklatis said reasonably. “And while it is true that Avatre would balk at carrying him above the heart of the storm, and that none of the swamp dragons would carry him on their own either, if you were to talk to one of them, you could persuade it to accompany you and your mount. Couldn’t you?”
The Healer looked into both their angry faces and smiled. “I suggest a compromise. Two swamp dragons, to carry you, Aket-ten, and you, Kiron. I should not approve myself of either of you going up alone in any case. It will be dangerous, flying under those conditions. It would be better to have a partner. Don’t you both agree?”
Even though the very idea of Aket-ten flying under those very conditions appalled him, Kiron swallowed, and nodded. Reluctantly, Aket-ten did the same.
“Good,” Heklatis said. “I thought you would both be sensible. Now, we need to think of an excuse to send you both up under those conditions. People might well ask, you know. It will do no one any good for you to excite curiosity. The Magi may notice. Others will notice. So why would two Jousters be flying at the height of a storm?”
They all exchanged a look, and Aket-ten reluctantly sat down again. “I can’t think of anything,” Kiron admitted.
“Nor I,” said Oset-re, usually so quick-witted.
“Well, we needn’t think of one immediately,” Aket-ten pointed out. “We have some few days yet. But we had better find one before then, and make sure it’s sound.”
“And on that note, I will take my leave,” said Heklatis, and smiled, but this time grimly. “Lord Khumun is right about one thing; his Jousters are being flung into the fray without any regard for how exhausted they are becoming. I’ve been seeing injuries, and I expect to see more, and worse, tomorrow and each succeeding day. Good night, young friends, and remember that the worst thing that the enemy can do to us is set us at each others’ throats.”
He sauntered off into the darkness, as they stared after him. Finally it was Marit that broke the silence.
“I wonder which enemy he meant?” she mused aloud. “The Tians—or the Magi?”
021
Aket-ten still had not forgiven him by the next day; she glared at him every time he saw her, and it made him half crazy. He had agreed that she should go up, so what more did she want from him? It was horribly unfair, too, when all he had been trying to do was to protect her!
He said as much, crossly, to her brother, as they both unharnessed their dragons in the landing courtyard after a long, hard practice. With cooperative dragons it was easier to do it here, where their dragon boys could take the gear to a room just off the court for cleaning and mending. Having tame dragons was making for a lot of changes, most of which made the dragon boys’ jobs easier. Orest looked at him as if he really was crazy. “Honestly, I thought you were smarter than that,” he retorted, handing the neck reins to the boy to be taken away. “The last thing my sister wants is someone to protect her!”
Kiron blinked, and paused while he handed over his own kit. “But—” he said, finally, bewildered, “That day in the temple, when she came running at me—”
“Oh, yes, you would take the one time she was out of her depth and scared to death as the measure of how she is normally,” Orest replied, with a laugh. “No, really, think, would you? When, other than that, has she ever run out of danger looking for someone to protect her from it? Not her! Oh, no, she runs straight into danger, every time! If she wanted someone to protect her, do you think she’d have come here? Think about it, think of the options available to the daughter of Lord Ya-tiren!”
Kiron did, pausing with one hand on Avatre’s shoulder, and swiftly realized that if Aket-ten had wanted a protector, she could have found one virtually anywhere. She could have married some powerful lord; she could have gone to that aunt who lived past the Sixth Canal. She could have gotten herself made into a priestess of some temple other than that of the Twins. Hamun or Abydesus, for instance, or Hathen. The temples to those gods were all far from Alta City, out in the delta.
For that matter, she could have gotten herself married to some merchant prince, an Akkadian, or a tin merchant from Thyres, and taken far away from Alta. An Akkadian would have treated her with awe, as a Winged One, and a husband from Thyres, while not understanding in the least what a Winged One was, would have made her his full partner in his business, as was the Thyresian way. She would have been taken to a life of luxury or adventure—or, in the case of a Thyresian, perhaps both.
No, her brother was right. She didn’t want protecting. And under most circumstances she wouldn’t need protecting either.
“Not that I’m faulting you,” Orest continued. “Nothing like. Aket-ten was an idiot to think she could ride a dragon up into a storm without having someone along in case something went wrong. And honestly, if you think you dare risk Avatre in all those down- and updrafts, I think you ought to take her, not some swamp dragon. That trick of yours of catching a falling rider—well, that would make me feel better about her going up there in that sort of a tempest.” He shook his head. “I have to tell you, she’s like to drive me mad, sometimes. Give me a proper girl like Marit. One that knows her limits!”
“I’m not going to apologize for wanting to protect her!” Kiron protested hotly.
“I’m not saying you should. Just don’t make the same mistake in the future,” Orest replied. “Or if you do, don’t be surprised when she bites your head off.”
He patted Wastet’s bright blue shoulder, and led him off to the pens, leaving Kiron staring after him.
Finally Kiron shook his head and went back to his own work—in this case, taking Avatre for her sand bath.
He thought about what Orest had said while he worked the sand over his beloved until she gleamed, every gold scale burnished like the Gold of Honor, every scarlet scale gleaming like a sacred jewel. And he couldn’t help but notice that she was a lot bigger. Nearly full grown, in fact. If anyone got a good look at her, not just glimpsed from the ground, they could be forgiven for wondering why the two of them weren’t out fighting with the rest of the Jousters, and never mind that he didn’t think they were more than half trained.
Well, that was another good reason for practicing so far away from the usual practice grounds.
So Orest thought that his sister believed that she’d had her independence and self-reliance questioned? On one level, it made sense, for other than that one time, she’d never looked for help from him, or from anyone else as far as he knew. Well, look at how he’d met her in the first place! Any other girl who’d been told to go look for a fish in the marshes where the river horses and crocodiles were would have gone straight to her father or one of her teachers to complain! But not Aket-ten, no, she had gone right out into the swamp with only a servant, and if her brother hadn’t intercepted her and gone along, she would have been completely alone out there.
Which, of course, on another level made no sense at all, since she was a lot older than that girl who’d gone to the marshes, she’d had a lot of experience in where her bull-headed stubbornness would take her, and you would have thought she’d have learned better by now. She had been flying, she knew how tricky the winds and thermals could get even without any weather to complicate them, so how could she possibly think she was capable of flying a strange dragon into the teeth of the storm? That wasn’t being brave and capable, that was being foolhardy!
Yes, well, you set off across the desert alone on a barely fledged dragon, part of him whispered. So you’re hardly one to talk about being foolhardy, are you?
But I had guides! he protested.
Fat lot of good those little pebbles were going to do if you got caught up in a sandstorm, or were ambushed by predators, that part of him retorted. And let’s not even mention that you were supposed to be hunting for Avatre and yourself, and when was the last time you had hunted before that trip? You’d slung pebbles at lizards and the odd bird, hoping to bring something down to add to the scraps Khefti-the-Fat gave you. You’re two of a kind, you are. You see something that you want, really want, and you don’t let anything stand in the way of getting it, do you?
He decided to ignore that little voice, as he rubbed Avatre down with sweet-scented oil-soaked polishing cloths. Let her be offended; she’d just have to get over it on her own. Besides, there were other things concerning him right now.
Resolutely, he shoved Aket-ten out of his thoughts.
With Avatre clean and oiled, he led her to the pen, where her dragon boy was waiting with her meal. She crooned with pleasure and set to, while the boy laughed at her eagerness. The boys assigned to the tame wing had long since learned what their charges were like, and most of them were hoping for tame dragons of their own one day.
Well, it still might happen, he thought, as the boy moved fearlessly about the pen, casting fond glances at Avatre. There are swamp dragon eggs to steal, and one day, ours might well mate. That was far more likely since the babies had been playing together before they fledged. He had noticed an interesting difference in Avatre’s behavior, compared to any of the youngsters. She held herself aloof from the youngsters, as if she wasn’t aware that she was a dragon—whereas they were in and out of each other’s pens as soon as they were allowed to wander. They had learned the command to stay, once they were old enough to learn any commands at all, and they obeyed pretty well—but there was a great deal of fraternization among the eight over the course of a day, whereas Avatre greeted any interloper in her pen with a distinctly aloof and offended gaze.
He left Avatre to her dinner, for there was something else he wanted to know.
Two somethings, actually. And he didn’t have to go to Aket-ten to find out either of them.
Heklatis spent most of the morning making the disease dust, and most of the afternoon and evening resting afterward. So he was resting in the courtyard just off his rooms when Kiron went looking for him. He was lying on a cot in the middle of the tiny courtyard, basking in the sun like a lizard on a rock, and he greeted Kiron’s footsteps with a raised head and an ironically lifted eyebrow.
“I hope you are not seeking my aid in reconciling you with Aket-ten,” the Healer drawled. “I am not particularly interested in mending the quarrels of young lovers.”
Kiron flushed. He thought about protesting that he wasn’t Aket-ten’s lover, and thought better of it. If he did protest, Heklatis would only be more certain that he was. And probably tease him about it. The Healer had an acid wit, and was not reticent about exercising it.
“I wanted to ask you about the dust you’re making, and about some other things,” he said, sitting down on a stone bench in the shade. “But first, I want to know about the dust. Is it safe around people? I mean, could I get the disease by breathing it or something? And how are you making it, exactly?”
“Well! Sensible questions! I stand amazed.” Heklatis raised both eyebrows in an exaggerated look of surprise, turned on his side to face Kiron, and propped his head on his hand. “You cannot get the disease; it is a disease of plants. However, because the dust is poisonous in large quantities, you could become ill if you stuck your nose in a bag and inhaled, so I advise against doing anything of the sort. Doing so would also make you liable to lung sickness, which would also make you extremely ill and might kill you.”
So. That meant that to release the dust, they would not want to be in its path or below it until most of it had been carried off. “In that case, the best option would be to carry it in leather bags, cut the bottom of the bag when we get above the storm, and keep climbing, zigzagging back and forth, until the bags are empty.” He nodded. “How are you making it?”
“Ah, now that is a truly interesting question!” Heklatis’ eyes finally lit up with enthusiasm. “We had a small quantity to begin with, and we proved what it did without using more than half of that store. It is related to a fungus very common in the swamp, and what I am doing is this: I have sent slaves to gather the common stuff, and when I have extracted as large a batch as I can manipulate, I magically prepare the batch, then take a pinch of the disease dust and drop it in. And by what we Akkadians refer to as the ‘Law of Contamination,’ the pile of fungus dust is converted to disease dust. Not,” he added, “without great effort, however. The Magi in the Tower have the Winged Ones to draw upon for their storm-magic, for instance; I have only myself, Aket-ten, and now Kaleth. And I refuse to drain my young assistants as the Magi drain the Winged Ones.”
Kiron stared at him in fascination. “Can you make anything into anything else that way?” he asked.
“In theory, yes,” the Healer replied, and sighed heavily. “In practice, however, the nearer that what you want is to what you are transforming, the easier it is. As I said, the fungus is a very near relative to the disease. Gold, for instance, is nothing near as like to lead as the alchymists would prefer to believe. I could make fresh water out of marsh water, for instance, about as easily, but turning spelt into barley would be nearly as difficult as changing lead to gold. This is why an Akkadian Magus, no matter how skilled he is, is unlikely to be a wealthy man.”
“I see,” said Kiron, who didn’t see at all. He decided that it didn’t matter.
“This is why Akkadian Magi have as many apprentices as they can afford,” Heklatis went on wistfully. “The young have so much more energy than an adult, and they simply squander it. It does them little good, for they don’t have the skills to use it properly . . . ah, I digress.”
Kiron nodded. He hadn’t come here to learn about Akkadian Magi, but about Altan Magi. “What about the Eye, then? Do you have any idea how that works? Better still, have you any idea how to make it stop working?”
“Ah, the Eye—” Heklatis’ whole face lit up. “Before I saw it, I would have had to tell you that I had no idea what it was or how it worked. Now however, I do have some notion. Wait a moment, and I will get something to show you.”
The Healer got up—slowly, Kiron noticed, and as if he was as weak as someone recovering from a long disease—and went into his rooms. He came out again with a piece of polished glass. “Watch,” he said, as he put a bit of dried leaf and some bits of bark in a little pile on the ground. He held up the glass between the sun and the pile, and moved it back and forth until a tiny, very intensely bright spot appeared on the top of the pile. Then he held the glass quite still.
In a few moments, a wisp of smoke wreathed up from the bright spot, and the leaf began to blacken.
Then, suddenly, a flame leaped up from the black spot! Kiron jumped back, startled.
“Remind you of anything?” Heklatis asked slyly, standing up and crushing out the tiny fire with his sandal.
“The Eye!” Kiron exclaimed. Although he had seen no beam of light, the bright spot on the ground, and the way the fire sprang up under it, were strongly reminiscent of how the Eye had worked.
Heklatis nodded. “I have looked back into the records and I can find no accounts of the Eye being used at night, or even on a cloudy day. No, it is always bright sunshine, and usually on or around noon. I think that the main part of the Eye is a lens, and the rest is perhaps some magical or mechanical way of gathering and concentrating a great deal more sunlight than just a simple lens could account for. A simple lens would not be able to reach very far, for instance. But I expect it would be as much a mechanical contraption as it is magical.”
“Which explains why they have not made a smaller Eye?” Kiron hazarded. “A smaller Eye would not be nearly as powerful?”
Heklatis nodded. “Such an apparatus would not be very portable either—and I suspect that there is some source of power there, in or under the Tower, and only there. That would account for the beam of light.”
“So if we were to go and try to wreck the Eye at night, or on a cloudy day, they would not be able to use it against us?” Kiron said, in sudden speculation.
“So I believe.” Heklatis nodded. “And the best way to get to it would be to come at it from above.”
They exchanged a look. “Dragons,” breathed Kiron. “And that is why the Magi dislike the Jousters!”
“Dislike? I would have said that they fear the Jousters, as they would any force that can take that special weapon from them. It seems logical,” agreed Heklatis. “And I would go further than that. I believe that the stronger they grow in their power, the more they come to hate and fear the Jousters rather than less, and the more they wish to destroy them if they can.”
“You know,” Kiron said, after a long pause, “That is not the most comforting thing you have ever said to me.”
Heklatis did not smile.