The Floating Islands (31 page)

“It is the custom,” agreed the general. “The victor is assumed to have earned a free hand regarding the disposition of the commander of the defeated force.” He waited again, his gaze steady on Ceirfei’s face.

The Tolounnese, Araenè realized, really
did
think of war almost as a kind of game. Prince Ceirfei had been right: they hedged it about with all kinds of rules of proper conduct. The Tolounnese general was arranging the surrender of his men as he might have tipped over a piece on a game board to concede a match. She wondered if it had occurred to him that the Floating Islands were not at
all
thinking of the Tolounnese invasion as any kind of game. But then she realized what he must mean by “the disposition of the commander of the defeated force,” and understood that, indeed, the Tolounnese commander could not consider
that
a game.

But Ceirfei said, gracefully matching his response to Tolounnese expectations, “That is not the Island custom; however, as I have a free hand … I guarantee you honorable treatment and release without ransom, General Rouharr, in return for your surrender. I believe that is your due,” he added, with a sudden edge to his voice, “for declining to destroy half the male population of Canpra on the way to your eventual defeat.”

A murmur went around the room. The general answered graciously, “We are grateful the wisdom of the Islands permits us to avoid both the useless slaughter and the inevitable defeat. We are glad, Prince Ceirfei, to trust the honor of the Floating Islands in your voice and hands.”

Ceirfei inclined his head, mollified.

General Rouharr cleared his throat and held out his hand. Somebody drew a sword and put it into his hand, and he stepped forward—Araenè tensed, she couldn’t help it, but Ceirfei did not seem concerned, and he was right, because the general only dropped to one knee and laid the sword at Ceirfei’s feet.

“Prince Ceirfei,” he said formally. “Into your hands I give myself and all my men. Will you accept my surrender?”

“I do accept it,” said Ceirfei, remembering to add, “on my own behalf and in the name of Terinai Naterensei, king of the Floating Islands. I will ask you … draw your men in close, General Rouharr; keep them in order. You need not yet disarm them, but I will expect you to decline any engagement offered before news of your surrender is widely known. Indeed, I will expect you to decline emphatically.”

“I understand, Prince Ceirfei. All that you require will be done.” The general paused, then added quietly, “If you will permit me to speak plainly. You need not try to anticipate all eventualities: you may trust me to hold close the spirit of this surrender.”

Ceirfei looked down at the older man for a moment. He said, “I do trust you,” and offered the general a hand to help him back to his feet.

Then he quirked a brow at Araenè. “A door,” he suggested. “And we shall see if we can find my uncle and catch this line from the other end as well.”

And proper fools they would both look, Araenè thought, if she couldn’t get an acceptable door to appear. But Ceirfei trusted that she could.

So she did.

15

T
rei tried not to be too happy about Master Anerii’s presence. He knew it was wrong to be so glad another kajurai was trapped here. He knew very well, once the first optimistic blaze of hope had died away, that the greatest likelihood was that nothing would change. Commanders were, after all, sometimes fools. The long sweep of Tolounnese history made that plain. Usually soldiers just endured those commanders. More than a hundred years, after all, had passed since the most recent great mutiny. The provincar of Teraica might be a fool, but so much more so than anyone else in the past age?

No, Trei concluded: he had been too enthusiastic by a wide margin. He wondered if he should say so. But then he decided the novice-master knew it very well. Of course he did. If there was any man in the world less likely than Novice-master Anerii to be swept away on the wild winds of blind optimism, surely there were not two.

But he was very glad, over the next days, to have the distraction of lessons. Master Anerii was right: Trei had never been good at wind magic. Now he learned how to coax the winds around even when there was hardly any moving air at all. It wasn’t easy. To his surprise, the novice-master was a patient teacher. He demanded Trei’s full attention when he was teaching, but as long as he got that, he didn’t seem to
have
a temper, not even when Trei was particularly stupid about learning something.

“And we’ll go on with Island history and kajurai law,” Master Anerii added, with what seemed to Trei unnecessary enthusiasm. “Nor is there anything to stop you from learning proper navigation, now that we’ve time to really develop the math. Pity we can’t see the stars better, but we shall contrive. Genrai said he thought you barely made it to the first waystation. I’m sure you now really
believe
that every kajurai truly needs to be able to measure angles by eye and calculate accurately in his head.”

“Yes, sir,” Trei said earnestly. He preferred mathematics to law anyway, and besides, it was true. Though he did fervently hope they wouldn’t have
that
much time.

“And you can teach me more about Tolounn’s recent history,” Master Anerii added. “I suddenly find it a compelling area of study.”

Trei only prayed he’d been right, in the conclusions he’d already drawn from Tolounn’s history. He looked involuntarily up at the sky, blocked from them by forty feet and the heavy iron grate. He could tell that it was late morning: he had learned to judge the quality of the light and the truncated angle of the sun. He had entirely lost track of the day; Master Anerii said he’d been brought down here on Moon’s Day, but how many days had it been since? Ten days? Twelve? More than that? The sameness of the days made it hard to remember.

More surely than the proper name of the day, Trei knew that this was not the day on which food and water would be lowered to the prisoners. That happened only every other day, almost always in the evening. They should be grateful anybody remembered the prisoners at all, the novice-master had pointed out, what with conditions in the city surely remaining chaotic. Trei knew this was true. He didn’t like to think about the earth breaking open underneath Teraica, about the chasms of fire that had battled the sea to reshape the line of the harbor.

That was another reason to be glad of Master Anerii’s company. He made sure Trei was too tired at night to dream—or if he dreamed, the master woke him out of his nightmares in such a matter-of-fact manner that Trei could hardly be embarrassed.

“Trei,” the master said patiently.

Trei realized that this wasn’t the first time he’d said his name. He said, embarrassed, “Sir?”

Master Anerii sighed. “If you—” he began.

The light dimmed, not as clouds or haze or even smoke would have dimmed it, but in the abrupt way that meant someone had bent over the grate. The master fell silent. Both he and Trei stared upward.

The grate clanged as it was hauled away, and the ladder came down.

Without a word, Master Anerii offered Trei his cupped hands for a step. Trei looked once around the familiar shaft of the oubliette and once, searchingly, into the master’s face. He wanted to ask,
Do you think—?
He did not ask. He let the master boost him upward, put his foot on the first rung of the ladder, and climbed up toward the light.

The fierce heat of the world above met him with shocking force; he had forgotten the overpowering southern sun. For those first moments, while a strong hand closed around his and drew him up into the light, Trei found himself stunned and blind. But no one demanded anything of him while he pressed his hands over his tearing eyes and tried, blinking, to see.

“Easy, boy. You don’t want to stumble back over the edge!” said a gruff, half-familiar voice, and the hand guided him firmly aside.

Trei cautiously lowered his hands and found himself looking into the face of the same soldier who had carried him away from the engines, right at the beginning. The decouan. Who now looked both grim and pleased, and patted Trei on the shoulder with friendly concern. “You all right, boy? Just stand steady for a moment and get used to the light.”

“Thank you,” Trei said, and looked around anxiously: surely they were bringing up the novice-master, too? Yes: there were half a dozen soldiers by the oubliette’s opening, and one was offering his own hand to Master Anerii. The master, too, was blinking and holding an arm up to block the light. But the soldier steadied him.

Trei let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding and tried to smile.

“This way,” the decouan said casually, gesturing down the hill. “Not too stiff? It’s a good walk down.”

Trei looked to be sure Master Anerii was coming and then obediently went the way the decouan indicated. “To the … palace?”

“That’s right,” the decouan said. He seemed pleased about it. “You and your master. That’s right, is it? The ambassador’s your own master, is he?”

Trei hesitated and then nodded.

“Yes, that’s what he said. When he came right to the palace asking after you.” The decouan obviously approved. “Watch your step here, boy.”

There were steps down the steepest parts of the climb, worn and awkward. Trei took them carefully, pausing in the middle to look out and down over Teraica. The city … was not at all as he remembered it. He did not remember the exact outline of the harbor, but he could see even from this height that there was a lot more harbor and a lot less city than there had been. And a lot of the remaining city had obviously burned. Down near the water, there were no buildings at all, only gray ash. Smoke still rose in thin streams from a deep crevice that stretched right across land that had once held crowded streets; he guessed how big that crevice must be, to be so clearly visible from this distance.

Trei swallowed.

“Hard to look on it,” the decouan said, at his shoulder. “Or so it should be. Did you know it would do that? Whatever that thing was you threw in the engine?”

“No,” Trei whispered. But he should have. He should have remembered his nightmares, and guessed what a dragon would do to Teraica.…

“Trei,” said Master Anerii, coming up beside him and gripping his shoulder. He gave him a little shake. “Trei!”

Trei swallowed, opened his eyes. Whispered, “Yes, sir.”

“Look up, not down!”

Trei lifted his gaze to the empty sky. There was still some haze … but the wind moved in countless layers of diamond and pearl, shifting with the currents of warm rising air and quiet cooler air … and high overhead, a great-winged figure that was not a bird turned in slow, graceful circles. Another. A third … Trei swallowed a stab of longing so piercing he thought he might die of it right here on this hillside.

“You’ll fly again,” Master Anerii said harshly. “Never doubt it, Trei.”

“Yes,” Trei answered, in a slightly stronger voice. He took the next step, and the next. The stair turned around an outcropping and hid the worst part of the view below. Trei knew it was still there. But the sky was still above, too, and the soaring kajuraihi.

“Amazing,” allowed the decouan, following Trei’s glance aloft. “But keep your eyes on the path, boy, or you’ll break your neck—and not even Master Patan would be able to do much about that! Step carefully.”

“If it is not improper to inquire,” Master Anerii said to the decouan as they resumed their descent, “may I ask whether you know why the provincar asked to see us?”

The decouan said, with an odd kind of grim good cheer, “Generous Gods, sir, it isn’t Provincar Atta called for you! Not likely. The provincar has retired from public life, as they say. No, sir, it’s the Little Emperor himself bade us bring you out of the oubliette. Decided you didn’t really ought to be forgotten just yet, ha? Arrived in Teraica six days ago, he did. I’m sure he’ll find something to say to you about the state of his city.”

Master Anerii didn’t even blink. “That seems fair enough. I certainly have something to say to him about the state of mine.”

For an instant Trei thought the soldiers might be offended. But then the decouan laughed, and he saw he’d been mistaken: all the soldiers were satisfied with the provincar’s downfall. They were ready to be tolerant of, even amused by, a foreigner’s effrontery.

“Just along here, sir,” was all the decouan said. “We’ll take you to the blue tower. You can wash and dress properly before you come before the Emperor.”

“Well, then, I thank you,” Master Anerii said after the barest pause.

“No need, sir: those are my orders.” But the decouan seemed pleased with himself and with his orders, and Trei thought that was a good sign.

The blue tower proved to be a prison, but nothing like the oubliette. Each floor held a complete apartment, and though the windows were barred and the doors heavy and guarded, the apartments were appointed as for noble guests. Master Anerii and Trei were led to the lowest tower apartment, where two large basins of hot water already waited, complete with warm towels and bowls of foamy soap. Clothing in proper Island style was laid out on a bench next to the basins: kajurai black and novice black and gray.

“The Little Emperor wants you at fifth bell,” the decouan told them. “So you have plenty of time.” He nodded toward a doorway on the opposite side of the room. “If you need anything else, ask the men outside your door, yes?”

“Thank you, ah …”

“Decouan Patnaon, sir, and I’m pleased to be of service. I’ll call you a bit before fifth bell, sir.” The decouan gave a nod both deferential and ironic and left them alone.

Master Anerii and Trei looked at one another. “The Little Emperor, is it?” Master Anerii said. “Tell me how to address an Emperor, Trei. I didn’t expect to meet an Emperor, and it’s been a long time since I studied high-level Tolounnese protocol. Does one stand or kneel?”

“Oh—one stands.” Trei paused, considering this. “At least, citizens of Tolounn stand. You kneel only if you need to, well …”

“Impress the Emperor with your earnestness?” Master Anerii began to undo the laces of his shirt. “Ah! I thank the Gods for soap! One wouldn’t want to appear before an Emperor looking like a country sheepherder, I’m sure. Worse than a sheepherder. So a Tolounnese citizen stands on his feet before the Emperor? We will, too, then.”

“We’re not Tolounnese citizens,” Trei pointed out.

“All the more, then.” Master Anerii stepped into the first basin, sat cautiously down, and reached for the soap. “Put a towel in reach, will you? I won’t kneel to that man unless I have to; he’s the one who’s offended against us, not the other way around.”

Trei laid towels over the edge of each basin and stripped quickly, dropping his filthy clothing in a pile by the door. The hot water was wonderful.

And the clean clothing was even better. Trei wrapped the red sash around his waist and pinned it, lingering over the task. It seemed somehow odd to him to wear Island clothing here, to be familiar with the proper way to pin a sash. It seemed somehow a kind of repudiation of Tolounn. And that was strange, because if there had been any clear moment of repudiation, it was surely not this one.

Master Anerii said abruptly, “I suppose we’ve half a bell, at least. So tell me about this Little Emperor, then.”

Trei gathered his thoughts. “Well—he’s an enna Gaourr. You know that, of course, sir. Dharoann enna Gaourr. I don’t know anything except what everybody knows. His father was a nephew of the last Little Emperor, only he couldn’t ever keep his tongue behind his teeth; he argued all the time with the previous Little Emperor and sometimes with the Great Emperor. So he was exiled twice to Patainn and once, for
years,
all the way to Toipakom. Only each time the Great Emperor recalled him eventually. But
nobody
expected the Great Emperor to appoint his son as Little Emperor after his great-uncle died! You knew all that?”

“Go on. Don’t worry about what I might know.”

“I don’t
know
much else,” Trei said. “Only, he’s been Little Emperor for twelve years, and he’s the one who finally conquered Toipakom for the Great Emperor and brought it into Tolounn’s Empire. My father—” He stopped.

Master Anerii leaned his hip on the table and waited.

Collecting himself, Trei went on, “My father liked him. He said, ‘He knows how an Emperor ought to handle trade: let it alone.’ Every time the provincar of Rounn tried to raise taxes or put tariffs on trade goods or something, the merchants would appeal to the Little Emperor and he’d almost always rule in their favor. My father said, ‘He may be overfond of conquest, but at least he’s got more sense than to tax honest men just to raise gilded statues to his own glory.’ ” Trei opened his hands at Master Anerii’s snort. “That
is
what he said. He said the enna Gaourr appointment was the best decision the Great Emperor made in sixty years.”

“Huh. What else?”

Trei tried to think. “I don’t know, sir. I guess … the soldiers like him, you see? So he must be a commander they respect, and they must think he’s honorable. He’ll like an honorable enemy; he’ll respect courage and, I don’t know, the virtues of soldiers. I think.”