The Last Stormlord (56 page)

“That stinking steward of hers must have betrayed us,” Shale said. “Amethyst thought he was Taquar’s spy. I wish I knew what happened to Terelle.”

Nealrith looked at Kaneth. “Sandblast it, how can we rainlords have been so blind to Taquar’s perfidy? Is he withering insane, dealing with a scorpion like Davim and stirring up trouble from one end of the Quartern to the other?”

It was Ryka who replied. “Power mad. How we get rid of him is the problem. We are hardly prepared to declare war on another Scarpen city, especially not on one that has zigger-armed guards.”

“The Council of Rainlords could vote him out of power,” Nealrith said, “just as it once voted to back the Cloudmaster’s decision to give him the rule of Scarcleft.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. He is long past listening to the council,” Kaneth said with heavy scorn. “It will take force to dislodge him now.”

“He’s the Cloudmaster’s
heir
,” Nealrith reminded them in anguished tones. “And my father thinks he’s the nearest thing we have to a solution to our problems.” He turned his attention back to Shale. “You say Taquar trained you in the use of water-powers?”

“Yes.”

“Can you shift water?”

“Yes.”

“How far? From here to the rim up there?”

Shale glanced upwards. “Yes.” Nealrith frowned sharply, and Shale knew he had heard the element of hesitation in his voice. He added, “Further. It’s not shifting water that is my difficulty. It’s separating it from impurities. I can’t get fresh water from salty.”

“Oh!” Nealrith thought that over before asking, “But Taquar thought you were a stormlord?”

“He was hoping I’d learn how to be, in time. I’m not so sure it’s possible. I never seem to get any better.”

In the flickering light of the fire, Nealrith’s cheeks looked sunken and gaunt. “Damn it, if we’d taken you to my father four years ago… That man may have destroyed any chance we have.”

“He has to be stopped,” Kaneth said.

“I thought you would support him,” Nealrith said.

“That’s unjust, Rith. True, I want a firm hand in Breccia ruling over the Quartern, but no sane man would hanker after a power-hungry tyant who would ally himself with a murderous band of renegade Reduners.”

Nealrith looked back at Shale. “Will you come to Breccia with us and learn the art of a stormlord? It will be hard work, and it will mean heavy responsibilities. In return, you will never want for anything, as long as you live. You will be honoured as a stormlord of the Quartern, or at the very least as a rainlord, and will have all the privileges that go with that rank. One day, you may even rule this land.”

Shale stared at him. “You are
asking
me?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Uh—I mean, can I refuse?”

“Yes, you can refuse.”

Annoyed, Lord Kaneth made an exasperated sound of protest, but Lord Nealrith held up his hand to quiet him.

Shale shuffled his feet, disturbed, and shot a glance at Kaneth before asking Nealrith, “What happens if I say no?”

“Nothing. I will still take you with us to Breccia. You can live there, under the protection of the city, if that is what you wish. We don’t turn people away from our gates.”

“I—no one has ever given me a choice before.”

“I’m not sure it’s much of a choice now, either,” Lord Ryka said. “If you don’t learn to stormshift and cloud-break, in all probability we will die, you included.”

“You don’t have to say yes yet,” Nealrith said. “Right now, I think we should ride on through the night. Taquar will be searching outside the walls for us now that Shale has escaped.” He waved Elmar over. “Break camp. We ride out at once, and we don’t stop until the pedes are exhausted. Shale, best you ride behind Soltar, I think, even though we do have a spare pede now.”

“And Terelle?” Shale cut in. “She ran, but one of Taquar’s men went after her with orders to kill her. Kaneth promised to go back and look for her.”

Kaneth nodded. “And I will, right now. I’d like to get Amethyst out of there, too, if I can.”

Ryka frowned. “You’re tired,” she said.

“Going back could be dangerous,” Nealrith added.

“I doubt Taquar wants me dead that badly. True, his men were trying to kill me earlier, but that was only because they didn’t know who I was. Once Harkel had control of the situation, we sorted things out.”

Nealrith took a moment to consider, then said, “All right. But your safety is paramount. A rainlord’s life is more important than a dancer’s or an apprentice waterpainter’s; remember that.” He walked away towards his pede.

Ryka stared at Kaneth. “Yes. You remember that,” she said. She sounded snappish.

Bitterness surfaced somewhere inside Shale. That was always the way of it. Some people were more important than others. Terelle would have said it wasn’t fair, and she would have been right.

Kaneth turned to Shale, his voice blade-sharp when he spoke, “Ryka was right earlier. The idea of choice is an illusion. You don’t have a choice.”

Shale looked at him solemnly. “I know. But at least Highlord Nealrith let me have the illusion.” He turned away.

“Louse of a lad,” Kaneth muttered to Ryka, but he was grinning.

It took them well over a day to arrive in Breccia. It was an unpleasant journey. They rode at a punishing pace, and anxiety about Terelle’s safety made Shale feel ill much of the time. During their brief rest stops, he found it difficult to eat and even harder to nap. So, evidently, did Nealrith, who used the time to question him concerning Amethyst’s relationship to Taquar, betraying his own battle with guilt. To Shale, Ryka appeared tense and worried. The guards were grieving the death of Gadri and did not talk much. The only good news was that there was no sign of pursuit.

It was a relief to arrive in the city, although Nealrith gave Shale no time to rest. He was taken straight to the Cloudmaster’s quarters, in Breccia Hall.

Shale stared at Granthon, shocked. His first meeting with the Cloudmaster, and all he could think of was how ill the man looked. Wasted, a fragile shell, so weak he could scarcely stand. When Shale was ushered in, Lady Ethelva was spoon-feeding him something soft and mushy, as though he was a toothless babe.

“Father,” Nealrith said after introductions and a brief explanation, “I’d like Shale to tell you his story.” He didn’t wait for the Cloudmaster to reply but said to Shale, “Tell him everything you told me, starting with the first day you met Taquar.”

As Shale related his tale yet again, the Cloudmaster continued eating, although his gaze never left Shale’s face. Ethelva drew in a shocked breath several times. At Shale’s description of Citrine’s death, she clamped her free hand over her lips. Once again, Shale skipped any mention of the power of waterpainting, deciding he would bring that up later. He was heartened to note a light of hope gleaming in the Cloudmaster’s eyes by the time he finished, and when Granthon spoke, his voice contained a sharpness that revealed the continued acuteness of his mind.

“At last!” he said. “Another stormlord.”

“We don’t know that for sure, yet,” Nealrith warned. “I will undertake his initial assessment if you wish. And train him, too, if I can, until he’s ready for you.”

“Yes, do, do,” Granthon said and turned his eyes back to the sea. “Hurry, Nealrith. I am not sure how much longer I can last.”

“And Taquar? What of him?”

“What of him?” Granthon repeated. “You may not agree with his methods, Nealrith, but at least he was willing to seize the chance to make something of this young man. He was motivated by his own desire for power, but he thought to build a new nation on a new stormlord.”

“But his
methods
!”

“Doubtless, he did what he thought was best at the time. Leave Taquar to his own problems and his own city.” Suddenly weary again, he lay back on his divan. The gleam in his eyes dulled, as if he was too weak to sustain even that.

Nealrith, his jaw twisting in his anger, persisted. “And what of this alliance of his with the Reduner rebel, Davim? He probably stole your storm in an attempt to impress the man.”

“You’ve no proof of that. And Reduners have no cause to join Davim. I never stopped sending them storms. Sandmaster Davim will fade away in time. Just a foolish hothead.”

Shale’s control crumbled. Ethelva, who was sitting next to him, reached out and gripped his arm, clearly signalling him to be silent, but he refused to obey. “My sister didn’t die on the whim of a hothead, Cloudmaster,” he said. “She was killed, brutally and deliberately.”

Nealrith intervened, diverting Granthon’s irritation towards himself. “Indeed, the news we have suggests Shale is right. Davim is no hothead but an unscrupulous and murderous leader. Think, Father. We have not heard from Bejanim in far too long. Nor from his brother, Sandmaster Makdim. Reports from the Red Quarter suggest Davim controls most of the tribes and that he slaughtered the drovers of Dune Scarmaker. We hear Makdim’s wife, Vara Redmane, leads a nomadic resistance to Davim. We hear Davim leads murderous raids into the White Quarter and even parts of the Gibber. Kaneth and his men have been doing their best to stop them, but they are too few.”

Granthon sighed. “I know. And we have that delegation from the White Quarter awaiting my decision with regard to aid.”

“They told us Samphire City has sent to us for help no less than four times, yet none of the previous delegations ever arrived here,” Nealrith explained to Shale. “They disappeared on their way.”

Shale felt sick. “There was an Alabaster trader named Feroze Khorash who rode out from Scarcleft about, oh, fifty days ago,” he said. “He wanted to see you. Did he ever get here?”

Granthon shook his head. “No, these are the first Alabasters we’ve seen in some time.”

Nealrith groaned. “Another man lost! And we do
nothing
?”

Granthon frowned at him, his white brows drooping across the top of his nose in an expression that was part weariness, part glower. “And what do you suggest we do, Nealrith? Send out an army to fight the Reduners? What army? They are the ones who have all the pedes, who have the warriors, who have the ziggers. All we ever had was rainlords and stormlords to keep them in check. Once, even the threat of our power was enough. Now? With so few of us?

“And if I send the few rainlords we do have, what do you think will happen here, in all of our cities, as water becomes more and more scarce? We need our rainlords here, to quell the coming riots simply by being present—or even by giving a few well-placed demonstrations of their killing power, if need be. Or do you think our guards are sufficient to put down huge crowds of thirsty and hungry citizens by themselves? Even Kaneth’s roaming the Quartern after Reduner marauders must stop. He’s needed here.”

“Riots?”

“You heard me. People will not sit quietly while they thirst and their children die. You had better bring Shale into his powers soon, Rith. And you, Shale, had better work hard to realise your full potential. Otherwise, this nation dies, quarter by quarter. We are already ailing.” His voice cracked, and he lay back, breathing heavily.

Ethelva glared at her son, but he would not be silenced.

“Then what about this evidence Shale has concerning the fate of Lyneth?”

“What evidence? A bracelet bearing a name? She was not the only lass to be called Lyneth.” He coughed, and Ethelva held a glass of water to his lips. He drank and lay back. “Taquar would never kill a potential stormlord. The idea is ridiculous. He did not kill Shale, did he? And by the young man’s own admission, he was treated well. Better than he had been by his own family.” He closed his eyes.

Shale stared at him, appalled, unwilling to believe that he had heard correctly.

Nealrith sent a despairing glance to his mother. She indicated with a jerk of the head that they should go, and she led them both out.

“He seems worse,” Nealrith said. “And not rational. Mother, we can’t let Taquar get away with this!”

“He
is
worse. He does nothing except create storms whenever he can, which is nowhere near often enough. He spends his days and nights reclining in front of the open shutters, waiting for his body to gather sufficient strength for one more storm. And then for another one. And another.” She bit her bottom lip. “He lives against all odds, and he brings the storms to the Warthago Range and the Red Quarter against all odds. Sometimes he even sends them to the White Quarter and the Gibber. Nealrith, you will not burden him with troubles that will drain him of what little strength he has.”

“I don’t
want
to! If I had my way, he would allow me to deal with these problems while he concentrates on storm-shifting. I do my best, but without his signature I can’t legally issue directives that concern the Quartern. Worse, the whole Quartern knows that he intends Taquar to rule after him. Mother, how can we stand by and allow our land to fall into the hands of a traitor? It is unthinkable!”

“Be warned, Nealrith, if you press this, he may publicly give the administrative powers to Taquar now.” She looked at Shale, and her tone softened. “At least in you we have a potential alternative. But we will speak of these matters another time. Shale, I will pray to the Sunlord that you are indeed a stormlord. And I will request water sacrifices for your success from the waterpriests as well.”