That night she told him of the vision she’d had at Afra before his birth. “I’ve visited the Oracle since then, but Illior has shown me nothing different. The future is a frayed rope and we must twist up the strands as best we can.”
“Then I could fail?” The thought sent a chill over Tobin.
Iya clasped his hands in hers. “Yes. But you must not.”
They set sail on the twelfth of Dostin, the masts of their ships gay with banners and garlands. Korin took his Companions and guard, and a small household of servants. Aliya was accompanied by her mother and several aunts, servants, two drysians, masters of her hounds and hawks, and a portable Dalnan fertility shrine.
The weather was frigid but calm enough for coastal sailing, and the little fleet made first landfall at Cirna five days later. Tobin was delighted to see this holding at last, important in its way as Atyion; but coming here also meant traveling with its current Protector. Lord Niryn would sail with them, and play host when they arrived at the fortress.
Niryn met them on board the morning of their departure, looking more noble than wizard. Under a cloak lined with winter fox, he wore robes of thick silver silk trimmed with pearls.
“Welcome, my princes!” he cried as heartily as if he were the captain of the venture.
Tobin studied the skillful stitching on the wizard’s sleeve, carefully not thinking of anything but that.
The village at Cirna was nothing but a cluster of rude cottages above the sheltered harbor on the east side of the isthmus. Their welcome was jubilant, however, and set the pattern for the rest of the journey. A handsome, dashing young future king with a beautiful wife on his arm was a happy sight; no one outside the Palatine knew of his first showing as a warrior.
Korin made a short speech, then Niryn led them up a frozen switchback road to the fortress that commanded the isthmus road. It was an imposing pile and Tobin blushed, thinking of how he’d so casually tried to give it away. Sir Larenth might have been a poor choice to rule such a stronghold, but Tobin would have preferred him to its current Protector.
The fortress keep was nothing like Atyion. Ancient, damp, and cheerless, it was less a noble residence than a barracks. Disliking both it and their host, Tobin spent as much time as he could exploring with his friends.
The parapets all faced north. The high curtain wall had three levels, with wooden walkways and loopholes for shooting. The top of the wall was open, with a broad allure to stand on and merlons with arrow loops. The boys stood at the crenels between, imagining an enemy force bearing down on them along the isthmus road. The fortress had been built at the narrowest point of the land bridge and the sheer fall of the cliffs on either side offered little purchase, except for the steep track down to the village.
From the walls they could look east over the Inner Sea, then turn and, less than a mile away, see the distant expanse of the Osiat.
“Look at that!” Ki exclaimed. “The Inner Sea is the color of turquoise today, but the Osiat is like ink.”
“Is that Aurënen over there?” Ruan asked, pointing at peaks visible far off in the west across the water.
“No, that lies much farther south,” Tobin replied, recalling the maps he and Ki had studied in the palace library. “If you keep going west from there, you’d end up in Zengat, I think.”
Riding along the headlands, they peered over the sheer, dizzying cliffs on the western side. Far below they could see the backs of circling gulls, and below that, the white curl of surf against the sheer stone face.
“The isthmus is like a fortress wall,” said Tobin. “To get to that little point of land down there, you’d have to sail back all the way around Skala.”
“That’s why there are hardly any settlements on the west side,” said Nikides. “The land is steeper on that side of the mountains, and there aren’t many good harbors. And Grandfather says the Three Lands all face Kouros because it’s the heart of the world.”
“Good. That means we don’t have to sail all the way ’round, at least,” said Ruan, who was prone to seasickness.
But Tobin was still looking at that tantalizing jut of land in the distance. It thrust out against the unexpected blue of the Osiat Sea and was covered by what looked like oak trees. What would it be like to walk there? He’d probably never know and the thought made him oddly sad. This windswept ribbon of land, and the rugged mountains, which ran like a spine down the middle of the Skalan peninsula, effectively cut the country in half.
They left Cirna and began a halting progress along the jagged northern coast. Sometimes they stayed in castles, and sometimes in cities, meeting the same acclaim, the same blessings and speeches and toasts at each port of call. By spring, they’d only gotten as far as Volchi, but Tobin had already filled two journals with military observations. Thoughts of other sorts he knew better than to commit to paper.
39
Iya arrived at the keep at midsummer with three more wizards for Arkoniel’s little band. She was delighted with his progress, especially when she learned that he and Eyoli had mastered Lyan’s message-sending spell.
The nights were warm and they spent the second evening walking along the cool riverbank. Behind them, the windows of the keep were warm with candlelight. A large log had washed up after the spring floods and they sat on it and dangled their bare feet in the water. Iya watched him send a trifling message off to Lyan in a tiny globe of bluish light. A moment later the woman’s laughing reply sped back in a firefly spark of green.
“Amazing!” Iya exclaimed.
“Actually it’s not a difficult spell at all, if you can perceive the pattern.”
“That’s not what I meant. You’re young, Arkoniel, and you’ve spent the better part of your life caught up in this scheme of mine. Don’t you remember how it was before? Wizards don’t live in groups, and they seldom share their knowledge. Remember how frustrated and hurt you’d be if someone showed you a pretty spell but wouldn’t tell you how it worked?”
“Yes. And you’d tell me it was rude to ask.”
“So it was, but these are different times. Adversity is binding us closer—both this lot of yours, and that group I told you of in Ero.”
“Your Wormhole wizards?” Arkoniel chuckled.
“Yes. How many other little cabals do you suppose there are, out there?”
“There are the Harriers. They were the first.”
Iya’s lips tightened in distaste. “I suppose you’re right. When I first heard of them I thought it couldn’t last. Yet here we are.” She shook her head. “Yes, different times, indeed.”
Arkoniel glanced back at the warm glow in the windows. “I like it, Iya. I enjoy seeing so many children together, and teaching them. I like sharing magics with the others, too.”
She patted his hand and rose to go. “It’s what you’re meant for, my dear.”
“How do you mean? As soon as we’ve accomplished your task, it will all go back to the way it was before.”
“I’m not so sure. Do you recall what I told you of my vision at Afra?”
“Of course.”
“I didn’t tell you everything. I saw you.”
“Me?”
“Yes, standing in a great, shining white palace filled with wizards, with an apprentice by your side.”
“Wythnir?”
“No, you were a very old man in my vision. It must have been centuries from now and the child was still very young. I didn’t understand at the time but now I think I begin to see the significance.”
Arkoniel looked up at the keep again and shook his head. “It’s no shining palace.”
“Ah, but you’re not old yet, either. No, I think we are seeing the very beginning of a path that will shape your life.”
“Both our lives.”
“I suspect not.”
The words sent a stab of dread through him. “I don’t know what you mean, Iya, but believe me, you’ll be welcome anywhere I go. It will probably be you who builds that white palace. You just saw too far, that’s all.”