“Here is what you truly need to know about this translation, Achmed. I have told you from the beginning that this is ancient lore, the very code of power by which magic is manipulated. The roadmaps to the beginning of time, the musical score of the elements and how their vibrations make up the very fabric of the world itself. Is it even possible for you to understand the import? You have the keys to the world in that manuscript. Any man with even the slightest humility would tremble at the thought of touching it, let alone wielding it, without years of study in how to use it. But your arrogance knows no bounds, and so you are blind to how ferociously dangerous this information could be, even in the hands of someone well-intentioned.” Her eyes gleamed bright in the darkness of the cave.
“So since you will not accept my wisdom in this matter, or that of the Sea Mage, or the Nain king, or even your best friend, perhaps I can put it in terms you might actually fathom. Power does not come from nowhere, Achmed. It is an elemental vibration drawn from something else, a transfer of life essence. Whether it be for healing or hiding, scrying or destruction, the instrumentality you have built, and want to rebuild, needs a source to power it. And since you are using the pure energy of the light spectrum, the colors which, like music, are attuned to the vibrations of the elements, know what it is that you are drawing from.
“These are primordial magics, left over from the birth of the world. Those magics that are purely fire-based pull power from the core of the earth, the very elemental inferno through which you, Grunthor, and I walked to come here. Those that are based in water draw from the Well of the Living Seas, the place where that element was born. Air-based magics come from the Castle of the Knotted Winds, ether from the star Seren and the pieces of others that have fallen to earth and yet remain alive still. But most of the magic of the Lightcatcher, or the Lightforge, as the Nain called it, is drawn from the earth, since it is in earth, being the last element born, that traces of all the elements are contained.”
Rhapsody’s breathing evened out, as she saw her words beginning to register with the Bolg king. Lest the moment be lost, she leaned closer, and whispered her final words like a killing blow.
“The machine you built, and want to rebuild, draws from the earth itself, Achmed, and more—it saps the oldest piece of it, that which has lain within it, dormant, since the world began, its power tainted with fire lore because it has been polluted by the F’dor. This machine, which you see as a bastion of protection for the Earthchild, pulls power from the very wyrm that lies, sleeping now, within the body of the earth—it is part of that body, a large part. You have seen that wyrm with your own eyes.
“And each time you use the Lightcatcher, you are risking waking it.”
33
For a long time the only sound in the cave was the trickling of the water that streamed from the underground lagoon into the quiet lake beyond the confines of the cave. The two ancient friends stared at each other, neither speaking, their breaths measured in unison. Finally Achmed broke the silence.
“Give me the translation.”
Rhapsody’s eyes narrowed. “Have you heard nothing I have said?”
“Every word. Give it to me anyway.”
The Lady Cymrian rested her hand angrily on her swollen belly.
“I want you to leave now, Achmed,” she said.
“With pleasure, as soon as you give me the translation. I have been learning to be patient with reptiles, but don’t push too far.”
Rhapsody turned away angrily. “Or what? You’ll kill me? If that will keep you from finishing and using that device, go ahead. I have already told you that the price would be worth it.”
The Bolg king exhaled. “Who’s being the fool now? First, let me tell you this again: The Lightcatcher will be built, it will be used, translation or no. You cannot stop that. I’m looking for something in the text to avoid having to learn how to use it by trial and error. In that you could have been useful, but instead you remain blind—perhaps it is the shrinkage in your eyes from carrying your husband’s brat.
“Next, when was the last time you knew me to kill someone when it wasn’t in self-defense, or, more likely, in your defense, my dear? I leave my kingdom and travel over the width of a continent to haul your arse out of the sea and the grip of a depraved maniac, and you accuse me of being willing to kill you? Ridiculous, on top of insulting. Just because I know how to kill well or easily doesn’t mean I do it recklessly or without reason. There are plenty of individuals I would like to see dead who still walk the earth—many of them related to you.
“And don’t treat me like a child. Primordial magic? Of course it is primordial magic. We are dealing with forces of evil left over from the First Age. No source of power that has its genesis any later than that will work against those forces.”
Rhapsody turned back; she was pale now. “But you have no business using it,” she said haltingly. “This is not a matter of reading a recipe or building from a design. The great Namers studied for centuries before they were given access to these lores; even I, who have studied these things, am woefully unprepared to understand what is written here fully. I am largely self-taught, Achmed—do not forget that much of my study was done in the absence of my mentor. Despite all the time I have practiced the science of Naming, even I would not dream of manipulating primordial magic.”
Achmed pointed at her belly. “What do you think you have been doing in spawning dragonlings?” he said, unable to disguise his disgust. “If that’s not manipulating primordial magic, I don’t know what is. You don’t even have a pretense of an idea what will happen as a result of this pregnancy. You, a vessel of elemental fire and ether, the wielder of a sword that has no doubt shaped your soul with its own powers, Lirin and human and Cymrian, gods help you, frozen forever in time, ageless—blending your blood with the tainted mishmash that is Ashe’s? Whatever is born could be the end of the world all by itself. And don’t pretend this was entirely your idea. I know enough about wyrms to know that your beloved husband is toying with your life, whether he pretends otherwise or not. All this pretense of concern about the risks of the Lightcatcher—you should be far more worried about the risks of bringing this child into the world, not only to your own life, but to the future.” He saw Rhapsody wince, and felt a twin rush of satisfaction and guilt.
“So now,” he said quickly, “stop lecturing me about the risks of playing with magics one does not understand and give me the translation. I assure you I will be far more responsible with mine than you have been with yours.”
“I—I can’t—”
“Of course you can. Ask yourself this: Knowing that there is an entire library, Gwylliam’s library, at my disposal, in Ylorc, and any number of Bolg to work on it, is it better for you to give me specific directions, or allow me to experiment? Or, of course, you could abandon all this”—he waved contemptuously at the cave filled with sea treasures and lichen—“and come back to Ylorc with me; you can oversee the project, and then at least you will know how the lore is being used.”
“No.”
In fury he reached out and seized her wrist; instinctively she pulled away, but stopped, feeling the strength of his grip.
“You are sacrificing your status as a Namer, you realize this?” Achmed said softly, staring directly into the now-vertical pupils of her eyes. “You promised me in Yarim, when I did a rather major favor for you and the useless duke there, that you would help me with this. If you refuse now, that will be a lie. You will be going back on your word. You will be breaking your oath of truth—your status as a Namer will be forfeit.”