The Last Stormlord (48 page)

“I’m more than a rainlord, not yet quite a stormlord,” he said.

Amethyst suppressed a shudder. “Put it back,” she said sharply. Shale obeyed without, it seemed, any effort at all. “You had better tell me how you and Taquar came to cross paths. And speak softly, young man.”

Amethyst still did not know what to make of him: he was precise and logical, telling a tale of death and betrayal as if he spoke of everyday matters. Then she noticed: he had fire within, and a heart, this youth—no, this man on the verge of full maturity. When he spoke of his sister’s death and his brother’s probable enslavement, rage was there in his voice and grief in his eyes. She found herself feeling for him, even as she admired his control.

He finished by saying, “Terelle and Russet tell me people say Highlord Taquar is the Quartern heir. We have to change that. I have to get to the Cloudmaster in Breccia City, to tell him what kind of man Highlord Taquar is. I did try to get a message to Breccia through an Alabaster trader, but I don’t think it arrived.”

She almost laughed at his audacity. “You think to change the succession?” When neither of them answered, she asked, “What do you want from me?”

It was Terelle who replied. “It might be difficult for Shale to join a caravan with everyone looking for him. The disguise may not hold up. So we thought of sending a message to the Cloudmaster about Shale. Then he could send someone to fetch him. Trouble is, if we send such a message, who will bother to read it and who will believe it? And then I thought of you. People know of Arta Amethyst the dancer. A message closed with your seal would be taken seriously in Breccia Hall.”

“You don’t know what you ask of me. Have you
any
idea of what Taquar would do if he thought I was disloyal?”

“He wouldn’t ever find out—”

“No? What if the message was intercepted? If the messenger I chose was not trustworthy? Taquar has spies everywhere, even here in my home. Don’t be stupid, child! Who do you think the rainlord was who helped me when I was young?”

Terelle stared at the dancer in horror. “That was Highlord Taquar? You were the highlord’s…”

“Whore? Yes! Until he wearied of me. And being Taquar, that was not the end of it, you can be sure of that. He has spies everywhere making sure that there is no other man in my life, even though he himself tired of me long ago. Shale is right in what he has just said: Taquar loves control and power. He wears a mask of civility and polish—charm, even. He is not a man who glories in cruelty, but he is dangerous and ruthless beyond measure when crossed. There is no humanity in him then, just a cold and pitiless heart. He punishes disloyalty. Always.”

Shale sat still, his dark eyes considering her without expression.

Terelle looked stricken. She glanced at Shale and laid a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t know.”

He shrugged. “Will you betray me to him?” he asked Amethyst, his voice still cool and steady.

She marvelled at his lack of outward fear.
Ah
, she thought,
I know where that comes from. When you live within Taquar’s world, you learn to hide your true feelings deep. And this youth has spent almost four years seeing no one but the rainlord, Watergiver help him. He has courage.

She tried to be honest. He deserved that much. “Not—not willingly. But what of Jomat? He has seen you.”

Anxiety flared in his eyes. “He spies for Highlord Taquar?”

“I have never asked.”
Never wanted to be sure.
“But—yes, I have always believed so. Let’s hope he doesn’t make the connection between a young Reduner and the youth the reeves are looking for. Because if he does—” She considered. “If Taquar wants your skills enough, he may keep you alive, I suppose.”

Terelle flicked an anxious look towards the door and the stairs.

Shale’s gaze steadied. “Will you help me?” he asked. “Or at least advise me?”

“You would trust me?”

He shrugged again. “You hate Taquar as much as I do.”

“I also fear him,” she snapped, frightened that he had read her so easily.

Neither of them said anything. Terelle looked hurt; Shale was still expressionless.

“All right, all right, I will send the message. It is easily enough done. My patroness in Breccia Hall is Cloudmaster Granthon’s wife, Lady Ethelva. I have danced for her several times. I will send the message to her using the normal letter service; that’s probably the safest way to do it.”

“Can you do that without Jomat knowing?” Terelle asked.

“Even if he found out I sent a letter, he wouldn’t know to whom or what was in it. But it won’t go until the next caravan leaves, which might not be for days. Can Shale stay hidden all that while?”

“Artisman Russet has offered me a place with him and Terelle until I leave Scarcleft, if I stay inside the room. It will be no hardship for me; I am used to it. I will keep this Reduner disguise on as well, just in case I am seen.”

There was no change in his voice, but something told Amethyst he lied. He hated the confinement; perhaps he always had. She shivered and wondered whether her worry for him was necessary. He had inner strength, this man, and one day it might be Taquar who would need to beware. She looked away and said, “I will send a message to you when I hear something. You had better go now. And try to keep your face averted from Jomat on your way out, Shale. The less he sees of you, the better.”

“Maybe we can just show ourselves out,” Terelle suggested.

“No. Do nothing that is unusual.” Amethyst rang the bell on the table and waited for Jomat to make his ponderous way upstairs.

As soon as they were in the street again and Jomat had closed the door, Shale said, “That man really is repulsive.”

“Yes,” Terelle said. “I loathe him. Shale, I’m sorry. I was stupid taking you to Amethyst. I had forgotten she said she once had a relationship with a rainlord.” She took a deep breath. “Fortunately Jomat rarely goes out anywhere. He’s too fat. He gets the delivery boys to come to the house or he sends the servants out, so it’s unlikely he’s seen any posters of you.”

Shale said nothing.

She looked at him, her eyes wide with curiosity. “Don’t you ever get scared, Shale? Or even angry?”

He stared back, not understanding. Whenever he thought of Taquar, he was terrified. He was in the highlord’s city, surrounded by his guards and reeves and enforcers. In his heart, he knew Amethyst was right: Taquar was a cold, ruthless man. When he thought of being captured again, his mouth dried up, it was hard to get words out, and his stomach cramped. He was afraid, of course he was. Wasn’t it obvious?

When he didn’t reply, she turned away and started off down the street. “You don’t have any feelings,” she said. Inside the house, Jomat lowered his bulk into his favourite chair—one of the few that didn’t creak when he sat—and mulled over what had happened. There was something going on, he was sure of it. They were frightened, Amethyst and that slut of a girl with her uncanny eyes. But why?

He tapped podgy fingers on the arm of the chair and tried to think of anything that would explain the association between Terelle and a Reduner. It was so unlikely. And it was strange, anyway, that a Reduner so young was in Scarcleft. Those heathens always sent experienced traders and envoys, not youths still growing their teeth.

One thing was for sure: he would get to the bottom of this eventually.

Just before he dozed off in the chair, he noticed smudging across the stone flooring. There was red dust tramped in from the front door and up the stairs. “Dirty barbarian lout,” he muttered.

Scarpen Quarter

Scarcleft City

Artisman Russet’s room, Level 36

Once again Shale put away all thought of the desert, of the sky, of feeling the wind on his cheek or Gibber pebbles beneath his feet. As it was useless to taunt himself with what he could not have, he sealed his need for freedom inside him. He still had days of confinement ahead. And anyway, there was part of himself—the part that liked looking at Terelle—that did not mind so much. Better still, she was becoming a friend. The concept was new. The closest he’d ever had to friendship was his relationship with Mica, but a brother was different. When Terelle told him her story, he realised they were both people displaced by events beyond their control trying to find a place to call their own. She knew how he felt; he understood her predicament. There was something comforting in that.

To his amazement, he found Russet was both able and willing to help him further his water skills. “You’re a rainlord!” he exclaimed after the waterpainter explained an easier way to control water vapour by a trick of concentration.

“Not so,” the old man said, stabbing at Shale with a gnarled finger. “I be waterpainter. Different skill. Manipulate water through time, changing future being. Superior art to movement of water from one place to another! Waterpainters be
artists
.” His glare softened as he shrugged and added, “Watergivers understand moving water. If not, how we be Watergivers?”

For a moment, Shale thought the old man had accidentally mixed up the terms “waterpainter” and “Watergiver”. But then Terelle looked up from her spot on the floor near the fireplace, where she was putting the finishing touches to a painting, and asked, “Why do you always keep on referring to yourself as a Watergiver? There’s only one Watergiver. That’s what the priests say. His name was Ash-something and he came as an emissary from the Sunlord to show water sensitives how to manipulate the clouds.”

He laughed, giving an unpleasant cackle of mockery and derision that Shale was learning to hate. “Terelle, ye know nothing of world. More Watergivers be walking this earth than red drovers on dunes, Alabasters in Whiteout and priests in Breccia combined.”

“You’re saying you’re a Watergiver?” Shale asked. Did the man think he was an immortal being? Shale wouldn’t have been surprised if he did; there was something mad about him, mad and malevolent. “An emissary of the Sunlord?”

Russet merely shot a sly smile in Terelle’s direction. It was Terelle who answered. “Of course he’s not saying that.”

“And what ye be thinking I mean?” Russet asked her.

“I think it’s the name your people give yourselves because you worship the Watergiver.”

Shale didn’t say anything, but he didn’t think that was what Russet had meant at all. He sighed inwardly. Russet’s secrets and air of mystery drove Terelle crazy, but she usually restrained her irritation. He thought he knew why she never pressed Russet to give answers that made sense. When you were totally dependent on someone else for water, there were times when you bit your tongue.

The morning after the visit to Amethyst’s, Russet and Terelle spent a long time talking in the hallway. Russet was explaining a new painting technique to her. Shale stayed inside, but he heard snatches of conversation.

“Be very particular about the measurements.”

“
All
the agates?”

“No, not
that
grey—this one. Flax-grey that be called, or gridelin. Has violet tinge—without it, motley not right.”

“Oh. Like this?”

Eventually Russet came in, muttering under his breath. Terelle stayed outside painting until middmorning, when she stuck her head around the door and said, “I’ve finished, Artisman. Do you want to see?”

Shale watched from the doorway, first using his water senses to make sure there was no one else around. Terelle had painted a street scene featuring a gateway set into a brown daub wall. The wooden gate, studded with slices of red and white agate in a swirling pattern, was brightly coloured as if it had caught the rays of the morning sun, while the remainder of the street was still in shadow.

Russet asked, “Ye sure it be true?”

“I remember it exactly—the patterns, the colours, the shadows.” She looked at Shale. “It’s right, isn’t it?”

“That’s Amethyst’s house? I don’t remember the details. Do you? Really? All those swirls?”

She nodded.

Intrigued by her certainty, he waved a hand at the painting. “Even how many pieces of agate there were?”

She waved a hand at the painting. “That many.”

“You
counted
them?”

“No, I just remember.”

“Nobody’s that good.”

“I am.” She indicated the floating picture. “That’s how the arta’s street gate looks, right down to the patterns in the individual agates.”

“Blood runs true,” Russet said complacently. “Now watch. Amethyst’s message sent to Breccia, but how we know they send rainlord to protect Shale? We make sure! Remember I be doing this for ye, Gibberman.”

“Really? Why? If Taquar finds out, you’ll never sell another painting in Scarcleft. You’ll be thrown out of the gates tomorrow. Or worse.” More likely worse.

But whatever Russet’s motives were, the old man was not going to explain them. He ignored Shale’s question and sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the tray. Terelle knelt next to him. Neither of them said anything, but Shale had an idea Terelle was apprehensive about what was going to happen. He wanted to warn her, but didn’t know what the warning should be. For one wild moment he wanted to grab her by the hand and pull her away, take her downstairs and out into the safety of the street.