Yona Parmi swallowed hard. “But the Power is around too, isn’t it?” he asked. His tone demanded some reassurance.
“At times.” Pelmen nodded. He half smiled at the expression of panic that threatened to take over his friend’s features. “Now are you sure you want to know the rest?”
“Not knowing is worse than knowing,” Yona Panni mumbled. “I think,” he added.
“The result of it all is that I’m bound up inside. I don’t want to shape, for fear of shaping the wrong thing. Nor can I feel any confidence that I won’t be seized any minute by one greater than I and experience again that curious elation of being shaped myself.”
Yona Parmi just stared at him, a bit glassy-eyed.
“And all of it seems to stem from the death of the dragon for which, as you say, I bear the ultimate responsibility.”
“But how did that…” Yona’s sentence trailed away. He really didn’t know the right questions to ask.
“Why did that make a difference? I don’t know. I have a theory, though, that the opening of Dragonsgate has played a part. For a thousand years only the merchant families have moved between the three lands merchants, thieves, and vagabonds like myself. And merchants, of
Bourse, have showed little interest in powers of any kind except their own power over the people. They’ve isolated themselves from everyone else and isolated, too, the libraries of the past. They share no knowledge between the lands, save that which serves their purpose. But there’s traffic now, Yona, of common people a trickle, true, but movement all the same. I know of a dozen free traders who made the crossing before a gang of rogues plugged up the pass- And more will make the journey after the spring thaw, in spite of the thieves’ high tariffs. And with them come questions, and with the questions…
powers.” Pelmen shook his head and sighed. “The world is changing, Yona Parmi. And I can’t say what the result of it all might be.” He looked back at his friend. Yona Parmi was gazing off into nowhere.
“Yona? Parmi, are you all right?”
Yona Parmi looked at him, licked his lips, then muttered, “You said something about going over the second act again?”
Pelmen understood the reaction. How well he understood it!
“What power! What magic! What grace!” Gerrig was talking about his own performance, naturally. The gray sky had thundered throughout the play, but never made good its threat. The local peasants had gathered, enjoyed, applauded, and departed to their homes and pubs, leaving the players to clean off their makeup in the diminishing light of early evening.
“I thought it went rather well,” Pelmen agreed.
“Well? It went marvelously! Didn’t you hear the shrieks of laughter, the thunderous applause?”
“Thunderous?” Danyilyn snorted. “From a few hundred peasants, outside, on a damp afternoon? I’m pleased, certainly, but let’s save the idea of thunderous for tomorrow night.”
“Yes,” Pelmen quietly agreed. “Two thousand pleased urbanites in a packed house that’s thunderous applause.”
“Say what you will, I thought I was superb,” Gerrig gloated with characteristic modesty. “The play’s good too,”
The play is excellent,” Yona Parmi growled. “If a bit distasteful, still,” he added.
3D
“I only wish I knew what we’ll be competing against,” Danyilyn muttered, as she examined her charming face in a small mirror.
“Regort will be there with his troupe,” Gerrig advised, “And of course Shavor-Brot’s band, who performed so miserably last year ”
“I thought they were good,” Yona Parmi mumbled, but not loudly enough for Gerrig to hear. It was an old argument, one there was no sense in repeating. Sherina heard him, though, and she smiled her agreement.
“ then the local group wilt be performing EldVoph and Berliath, are those their names?”
“He’s excellent,” Danyilyn nodded. “Her I can do without.”
“ plus a half-dozen other troupes. I’ve heard there’s even one coming from up on the Straits Coast. Should be a worthy competition.”
“It’s likely they’ll all be rehearsing tonight, somewhere in the city,”
Yona Parmi said. His eye was on Pelmen. “It would certainly be nice to know what they’re doing in advance.” Pelmen heard him, but didn’t respond.
Gerrig chuckled. “I wouldn’t mind stealing a good line or two myself.
Wishful thinking, though we couldn’t make Pleclypsa until well after midnight. What say we find the local tavern instead?” His feet were already on the path toward the village, and Danyilyn and the others were following.
Yona Parmi hung back to ask Pelmen: “Are you coming?”
“Not tonight,” he said loudly. “I think I’ll turn in early.” The wandering wizard faked a yawn.
“Ah,” Yona Parmi muttered quietly, “but just what will you turn in to?”
A few minutes later, as the group of laughing players reached the edge of the village, Yona Parmi heard a screech and looked up in time to see a falcon passing high overhead. When many hours had passed, and he arrived back at then1 wagon, Yoni Parmi found Pelmen lying on his couch, comfortably wrapped in a fur.
“Well,” he asked. “How’s the competition?”
“Yona,” replied Pelmen as he turned his face to the wall, “we have nothing to worry about.” Already he was planning his first move once they got within the castle.
For days, the Imperial House had sweated to grow as an entity, seeking to extend consciousness into those useless parapets and towers built since the sleep first came. Buried within its subconscious were memories of those spells muttered ages before by Nobalog, when he enchanted the House into life. The castle drew upon this knowledge, dredging wondrous power from the air. After long absence, the magic had returned to Chaomonous, and the House reveled in a renewal of activity. There were conversations to listen to, Drax games to comment on, unknowing clowns to chuckle at, try sting lovers to spy upon. But before all of that came the work the slow, intense process of moving awareness into new areas of its own structure. The task consumed its energies consuming also any opportunity for that dreaded thought to arise once more: that no one could hear. It could not tolerate being alone forever. And so it kept on working.
Weird drafts frequently puffed down the hallways now, as the castle laughed in celebration of each new sign of progress. Such phenomena unnerved the occupants of the massive edifice. Being descended from those who had disregarded all supernatural experiences, most Chaons had little use for superstition. Yet a sense of the strangeness of the past week had stolen over scholar, soldier, servant, and stranger alike. None could tell the origin of his feelings, nor did anyone attempt to give expression to these sensations, fearing the mockery of his fellows. But the sensations persisted, and it pleased the House no end to witness the discomfort of those who lived within it. They would know its presence.
The Imperial House had at last gained control of the perimeters of the gardens. It had possessed the terrace walkways to the point that it could overhear every garden tete-a-tete. It could even enjoy the fragrance of the blossoms.
Although it was beginning to notice a peculiar irritation on its rooftop, its mood was jovial as it relaxed and watched the butterflies flutter from flower to flower, J much as the Queen moved from man to man in her court. Suddenly its attention riveted on its lower dungeon. In a flash, its pleasant mood disappeared, replaced by a fear ome wrath. An invader had appeared from nowhere. The House was understandably shaken, for throughout its waking years its walls had resisted every challenge, and its inward sanctuaries had remained inviolate. It had never thought to examine its own foundations for cracks. Yet cracks there were cracks that had been there for centuries.