Silent Hall (8 page)

F
or a moment
, they all just looked at each other. Hunter, one hand on his sword hilt, stepped forward and knocked on the gate. His first raps were quiet and timid, his next few loud and aggressive, as if he was trying to quickly compensate for a weak first impression. At length, a voice called down to them from above.

“Who are you, and what business do you have with me?”

It was Phaedra who answered the voice. “We're here with the people of a village, who heard that there were safe lodgings to be had with you here.”

“I see. And who are you? Where do you come from and what Gods do you worship?”

“We five are from Tarphae, where Karassa is worshipped.”

There was a brief pause. “Tarphae?” the voice repeated. “Fascinating. You'd better come in. But first tell the others that they may not bring their mules here. Other livestock may enter, but they must set their mules free.”

A strange request, Criton thought, but Phaedra passed the message back, as the first villagers caught up with them. This set off a brief debate, as the owners of the mules naturally objected to the wizard's conditions. But they had come this far and had little choice but to comply in the end. As soon as they did, the gates opened of their own accord.

Hunter was slow to move, so Criton led the way. As he stepped over the threshold, a fire sprang up ahead. They walked between long walls of stone in order to reach it, and soon after found themselves in a huge courtyard.

Behind a blazing fire pit stood a middle-aged woman in what appeared to be a nightgown. She did not speak, but waited until the villagers joined them. The geese, sheep and goats came first, plodding wearily through the gates and then, once their drivers were no longer concerned with them, standing in everybody's way. Yet for all that, they made very little noise. Something about this place was cowing them into silence.

At last, the woman spoke. “I am Psander,” she said. “Welcome to my home.”

Criton looked around incredulously, but he found the crowd in awe. In awe of a woman in a night robe! Were they seeing what he was seeing?

“O Great Wizard,” one of the villagers said. “We have heard that you accept guests, or tenants, if you will. For those who would serve you.”

The woman smiled. “You are all welcome here, though you will have to obey my rules so long as you live within my walls. I will not impose many of them.”

The villagers all nodded nervously. A baby cried.

“Settle yourselves,” the woman said. “It is late, and you have traveled far.”

The villagers accepted this without audible complaint, and several more fires sprang up around them, lighting the courtyard and revealing a number of large tents all clustered around a single well. It seemed that Psander was well prepared for their arrival.

The woman beckoned to the islanders and walked past them to one side of the gate, villagers bowing out of her way. The height of the fortress was in the tower above the gate, which rose imposingly for several stories before vanishing into the night sky. A door in one side, through which Psander led them, opened on an austere entry hall.

“Survivors from Tarphae,” she said, shaking her head in some wonder. “Remarkable.”

“You know about the plague?” Narky asked suspiciously. “How?”

The woman shrugged. She had mousy brown hair above a narrow face, with light-colored skin even paler than the villagers. But her eyes were lively, and despite her age, she did not look as if she had ever known physical hardship.

“These things are known,” she said. “Let us leave that for later. Stay for a few days, and there will be plenty of time to talk. But first, I must know about
you
.” She pointed at Bandu. “I haven't seen your kind of magic in a long time.”

Bandu shook her head. “I don't know magic.”

Psander made a bemused expression and turned to Narky. “What do you see, when you look at me?”

Narky looked as if he was being asked a trick question. “A wizard,” he said. “I've never seen one before, but you look like one. Tall, long beard, coat of sigils and all that. Regular wizard, I suppose. I'm sorry, I'm not a very polite person. You should ask someone else…”

“No,” said Psander. “I think that will do just fine. The reason I ask is that what your two companions see is this.”

She did nothing, made no motion, and yet suddenly Phaedra snorted – Phaedra, of all people! – Narky took a step back, and Hunter just stood in place, blinking.

“You're not a wizard,” Phaedra said, “you're a–”

“I
am
a wizard,” the woman said sternly. “I believe you have never met one before?”

Phaedra had nothing to say to that, but she still looked at Psander incredulously.

“Pardon me for not dressing better,” Psander said drily, “but those without the Wizard's Sight can't see what I'm wearing anyway. I wasn't expecting to find two sighted people traveling with a town's worth of goatherds. Why don't you introduce yourselves?”

They all did so, a little stiffly. But before they could ask her any questions, Psander said, “Let us adjourn until tomorrow morning. I'm sure your stories will be fascinating, and I hope you do not plan on leaving very soon. The townspeople will make their beds in the courtyard, but I do have spare rooms indoors, if you like.”

After their night of traveling, everybody but Bandu seemed happy with this idea. In the end even she consented to stay in, perhaps because none of the others were willing to sleep outside with her. Psander led them up a staircase by the light of a ghostly candle that appeared and hovered above her palm. She showed them to a set of rooms on the second floor. The boys each chose a room, but Phaedra and Bandu stayed together. They had grown close since Four-foot's death.

Criton dreamt that Psander was asking him all about his childhood, and that he was telling her about dragon hunting instead. At first it was sort of a funny dream, because she seemed to grow comically frustrated at each answer, but then she began to ask him more about dragons, and when he did not know the answers to her questions, he found himself telling her about his childhood after all. It was a pleasant dream, and until he awoke, it did not trouble him at all.

In the morning, Phaedra seemed sleepy, Bandu angry, and Hunter quiet and a little sad, which was really just the same as always. Narky, though, looked terrified in a way that Criton had never seen before. Had he also dreamt that Psander was interrogating him? If so, then what about?

Thanks to the villagers, breakfast was goose eggs with bread and pickled capers, a meal that even Psander could not help but join them for. She was dressed more appropriately today, in a long brown robe with flowing sleeves, but it soon became clear that the others still saw a man with a beard. Hunter looked at her suspiciously, and Narky squinted as if he could will himself to see the woman again. Bandu ate in brooding silence.

“How long have you lived here?” Phaedra asked.

“Not long,” Psander said, a corner of her mouth twisting wryly. “Fortresses need not take so long to build, if you know what you're doing.”

After breakfast, Psander told Criton she would speak with him alone. “Concerning dragons,” she said.

Before he could follow her, Bandu caught his hand. “Be careful,” she warned him.

“I'll be fine,” he said, though he was hardly sure of it. He knew he was letting his childhood passion for dragons override his good sense, but it was a risk worth taking. When would he get another chance?

Psander had a library like nothing Criton had ever imagined, even when Phaedra spoke of her father's library. Shelves upon shelves of scrolls rose twenty feet into the air in all directions. There were no ladders. When Psander called a name, a scroll rose off a distant shelf and fluttered down to her outstretched hand.

“I'm afraid that dragons are not my expertise,” she said, “though they were a hobby of my mentor. He had many more writings about them in his own tower, before it was destroyed. He was trying to compile a codex about them, I believe. A codex is a wonderful thing, you know. It's marvelous not having to find your place in a long scroll, but being able to save your spot with just a piece of straw, or a chicken bone, or what have you. My mentor was altogether enamored of them.

“Where was I? Oh yes, dragons. I know something of them, and of your people. In fact, I have here a short piece of writing by Gardanon, about the regime of the Dragon Touched in Ardis. The original text is over two hundred years old, though mine is but a copy. It was written very shortly after the dragons' war ended. I believe it's the sort of book you're looking for.”

“How do you know what I'm looking for?” Criton said. “Was that really you, in my dream?”

She smiled that dangerous smile of hers, and kept the scroll pressed against her chest. “Of course. It is always best to know everything you can about subjects before you have to deal with them. It's just the same with people. But I didn't have to walk your dreams to know that you were Dragon Touched. Just as you saw my true form the moment you gazed upon me, I also saw yours.

“Mind you, I'm not all that surprised that there were some Dragon Touched who survived the purge of Ardis. What really astonishes me is your companion, Bandu. She has all the markings of fairy magic, but I could swear she was a pureblood human. I'd love to know how she does it.”

She was keeping that scroll from him, after making such a big show of it, and now she was changing the subject. “Can I have that scroll?” Criton asked. “Do you want something for it?”

Psander nodded and spoke on, still meandering. “I traveled extensively after my mentor died, but when I say that I have settled here, I mean that quite permanently. Circumstances have changed, and I would rather not go out and draw attention to myself. But there are things I still need from the outside world, things that I would pay quite well in order to acquire. The Boar of Hagardis, for example. Have you heard of it?”

Criton shook his head. “It is a monster,” Psander went on. “A boar the size of a horse, they say, or a bull. It terrorizes the whole region of Hagardis, but the warriors of Ardis do nothing to stop it because boars are sacred to Magor. Yes, that same Magor whose followers killed the last of the Dragon Touched. Or, you'll pardon me, what were
thought
to be the last of the Dragon Touched. If someone were to bring me the boar's carcass, I would pay dearly for it. I would happily give you this scroll, and perhaps another one or two of the little I have on dragons.”

She waved her hand at the shelves behind her, as if to suggest that what little she had on dragons could fill more than a few of them.

“The size of a bull?” Criton asked in dismay. “I don't know much about animals, but couldn't such a boar tear us all to pieces?”

“Well yes, I don't doubt it could. But you would have help. That's what the Gallant Ones are for.”

That gave him pause. “The Gallant Ones? You have dealings with them?”

Psander laughed. “Oh, yes. I have much that they want, not that they will ever retake Atuna even with my help. The Sun God has taken up with the people's council there. Unless He could be made to abandon them, or they Him, all my magic in the Gallant Ones' hands would only serve to make Atun angry.”

Criton looked at Psander suspiciously. She invaded people's dreams, and she had dealings with the Gallant Ones. Was there anything she wouldn't do?

A horrible thought came to him. “Are you the one who sent the Gallant Ones to the village, to extort them and scare them into coming here?”

Psander lifted an eyebrow. “How brilliantly unscrupulous that would be of me. No, I'm sure I didn't.” She was not very convincing.

Criton thought about Bandu's warning. What would he be getting into, if he started dealing with this wizard?

“I'll think about it,” he said.

When he turned to go, she called after him, “Do send for your friend Hunter. I think I'll speak to him next.”

B
andu did not
like this place. The wind did not speak here, and when birds flew above, their voices could not be heard. The villagers knew it. They called their new home Silent Hall, and spoke in whispers even when Psander was not around. The animals lowered their voices too, even the goats. Kids and lambs cried out in desperation, afraid of their own shrill bleating. Despite ample room and good water, Silent Hall was not really a place for sheep. It was the den of a predator, and the animals knew it.

Narky felt something too. “I feel weird in this place,” he said, scratching at his chest. “Unwatched, somehow.”

“I don't think I know what you mean,” Phaedra said. They were sitting in Bandu and Phaedra's room, waiting for Hunter to come back from his talk with the wizard.

“I feel watched here all the time,” Phaedra continued, “even when I'm dreaming. It's frightening, feeling like that wizard knows all about us, and yet we don't know anything about him. Her. Her, I meant. It's so odd seeing that bearded man and knowing that it's really a woman!”

“It's not Psander I was talking about,” Narky objected. “I mean, you're right, Psander's watching us all the time. But it's something else.”

“What is?” Hunter had come back, and was standing in the doorway. “She wants you next, Phaedra.”

Phaedra hopped to her feet, motioning for Hunter to take her spot on the bed. She wasn't one to sit still for very long anyway. It had not taken Bandu long to realize that Phaedra liked to be in constant motion, in her body no less than in her mind.

Criton looked up at Hunter curiously. “Boar of Hagardis, right? What did she promise you?”

“Nothing specific. She just talked about what a menace that boar is, and said she'd be grateful if we'd deal with it. I don't need anything from her. If the rest of you want to go, I'll come with you anyway.”

Narky raised his eyebrows. “Do you think it's really possible for us to hunt the boar without getting killed?”

Hunter shrugged. “Psander seems to think so. She's probably right. With thirty Gallant Ones, it should be fine. I don't know if they'll even need us.”

“You should have asked her for something then,” Narky said. “If she's willing to reward you for doing what you would have done anyway, take her up on it! I mean, if she'll give you a sword that always stays sharp or something, then why not?”

“I
like
sharpening my sword,” Hunter told him, and even Bandu could tell that he was missing the point. What she didn't know was whether he was missing it deliberately.

“I think she is a wicked woman,” she said. Her mind was still full of the dreams that Psander had forced upon her. Bandu hated those dreams. She did not believe them.

The others went on talking, but Bandu did not listen. She was saving her head for her own talk with the wicked woman. She knew there would be a talk. The wizard was meeting with all of them, one by one. Soon Phaedra came back holding a metal tube and sending Narky off in her place.

“I don't know what good I'll be at boar hunting,” she said, “but Psander offered me access to her library if I come along and make sure you get back safely. I'm trusting you, Hunter, that this is doable. I told her I'd only go if she gave me one scroll now, in advance. You should have seen how quickly she agreed! I should have asked for more.”

“What did you get?” Criton asked her.

Phaedra presented the tube triumphantly. “This is a treatise on Ravennis, written by a priest who was an attendant for the Laarna Oracle in his acolyte days. I don't know much about the God of Laarna, and obviously I should. I've been thinking about the mark on Narky's chest. I don't think it's just a sign of his punishment. I think it's more of a brand, to signal Ravennis' ownership. It might come with expectations that Narky ought to know about.”

Phaedra pulled a dry curled-up sheepskin out of the tube, uncurled it, and spent the next half hour staring intently at one side of it. Bandu went over to see what she was looking at, and found that Phaedra's side of the skin was covered in black marks. Now and then, Phaedra opened her mouth and spoke as if she was the priest of Ravennis herself, which made Bandu think that perhaps the priest's spirit was trapped in the skin, and trying to possess Phaedra's body.

“Phaedra!” she cried, and Phaedra immediately turned to her and said, “What's the matter?” It must be all right then. Phaedra's spirit was younger and stronger than the one in the skin, and she could come back if she needed to.

After another ten minutes or so, Narky returned to them. He was trying to look more angry than frightened, but it was the other way around. He didn't tell anyone what the woman had said to him, or what he had said to her. But he insisted that they had to bring her the animal she wanted.

Then it was Bandu's turn. She met Psander in a big dusty room full of dried skins, all curled up on shelves. “Bandu,” Psander said quietly. “I've been looking forward to speaking with you.”

“You are a wicked woman,” Bandu spat back at her. “Your dreams are lies, and the birds do not sing in your den.”

“You're right about the birds,” said Psander. “I do miss the birdsong, but it was a necessary casualty of my solitude. You're wrong about your dreams, though. They are
your
dreams, Bandu, and
your
memories. I only called them up and probed them a little, until you expelled me.”

“You lie!” Bandu leapt forward and scratched at Psander's face, and the older woman fell back in surprise, a spot of blood welling on one cheek. Bandu burst into tears. “You wicked woman, dreams you give are not real!”

Psander had sat down heavily on a stack of marked skins and dried leather, but she now stood up again. “I'm sorry,” she said, wiping her cheek and looking ruefully at the red spot on her sleeve. “I only wanted to know more about you. I thought perhaps, if I looked into your past, I might discover how you came to learn fairy magic. I didn't find what I was looking for, if it makes you feel any better.”

The apology seemed sincere enough, but Bandu still hated her. “You are selfish,” she said.

“Yes,” Psander said, “I'll admit that. But I think I can help you, if you'll help me.”

“You don't help me.”

Psander picked up one of her little stacks of dried skins and began idly flipping through it. It was bound on one side, Bandu saw.

“There was once a great warrior mage, whose wife died while she was still young,” Psander said. “By magic, he tore his way into the underworld and retrieved her, and she lived with him another fifty years.”

Bandu picked up a curled skin and smelled it. It had been goat once, definitely goat.

“You say I have magic, just like Narky says before. Magic is a way of tearing things?”

This surprised Psander. “You don't even know…?” The wizard shook her head in disbelief. “Where do I start? There are rules that everyone knows about the world, right? Simple rules. People cannot fly. Animals cannot talk. Magic is really a word for anything that seems to be breaking those simple rules. Now it gets very complicated, because there are different kinds of magic: God magic and dragon magic and fairy magic, which is what you do without knowing it. And those magics aren't
really
breaking rules, they're just obeying rules that most people don't understand.”

“I don't understand your words,” Bandu said, even though she thought she might, “and I don't care.”

Psander's eyes flashed, but she said nothing for a time. Bandu could tell that she had hurt her, and it made her glad. After the dreams, Psander deserved to be hurt.

“Either way,” Psander said, gritting her teeth, “this wizard I was telling you about went and rescued his wife from the underworld. Now personally, I would never attempt such a foolish expedition. It is more than dangerous. It imperils your body, your mind, your very soul. But research on the underworld is substantial, and comes from sources both clerical and academic, from priests and blasphemers alike. There is even some guidance as to how such expeditions might be attempted again.
Now
do you understand what I am offering you, Bandu?”

Bandu shook her head. She was not just trying to hurt her this time: Psander's words were big and unfamiliar. They made Bandu feel stupid – stupid because she did not understand, and stupid because she could not ask Psander to repeat herself.

“You want to give me something?” Bandu ventured. She knew the word
offer
well enough.

Psander's mouth tightened. “I do not
want
to give you anything. What I would
like
is to spend some time studying you, to see if I could ever replicate your form of magic. But what I am
offering
you, in return for your help, is the opportunity to use my research to your benefit. I'm offering to give you Four-foot back.”

When Bandu got back to the others, they were all looking expectantly toward her, waiting to hear what she would say.

“If Psander wants a dead pig,” she said, “we give her a dead pig.”