The Law of Isolation (38 page)

Josiah stared at her, only belatedly nodding along with Elkan and the others’ grim agreement.
Sar, you wouldn’t really—

Only if there’s no other way to keep Tevenar safe.

Josiah remembered how the donkey had demanded that he help sink the bandits’ ship. He swallowed.

It’s unlikely to come to that.
Sar flicked a relaxed ear at Josiah. Josiah took comfort from his familiar’s nonchalance. Sar couldn’t know for sure what would happen, but he had a very good sense of what was probable.

All the wizards took their places. Master Dabiel walked down the length of the dock, Buttons huffing in her wake. They took up a position near the end, where a number of sailors waited to make the ship fast. She beckoned Elkan, Hanion, and a few other masters to stand with her. Josiah hesitated, but followed when Elkan jerked his head. They ranged themselves in a loose semicircle behind Master Dabiel.

The ship glided upstream, propelled by a few small patches of sail, tacking back and forth against the wind. When it drew close, sailors swarmed its rigging, taking in the sails. A boat was lowered from its deck, full of people in strange garments. They put out oars and rowed toward the dock, dragging the huge ship behind them.

Josiah had plenty to hold his interest in the alien outline of the ship and the oddity of the clothes its inhabitants wore. But even so he was shifting from foot to foot long before the tedious process of docking was completed.

The sailors aboard the ship and those waiting on the docks eyed each other warily, but apparently the procedures for docking were universal enough they were able to work together. They ran a plank from the deck of the ship to the dock. After an agonizingly long time, a half dozen men in identical garments, long knives hanging from their belts, strode across and ranged themselves to either side, fixing emotionless stares on the watchers who faced them. Josiah’s stomach lurched. But their own watchers far outnumbered the foreign ones, so even if the strangers did prove hostile, surely there was nothing to fear.

A man ventured cautiously across the plank. He was of middle years, thinning hair giving him a high forehead. His clothes shone with rich colors and a variety of soft and shiny textures, glittering here and there with gold. He raked the delegation waiting for him with intelligent eyes and came to stand directly in front of Master Dabiel, a few feet away.

He swept the floppy hat from his head and flourished it before his chest as he bowed low. Josiah clamped his jaws together to stifle the laugh that bubbled up in response to the ridiculous gesture. There was no humor in the man’s face. But no coldness or anger, either, just an intent, searching alertness.

When he spoke, his tone was exquisitely polite. He pronounced his words with a strange accent, but enunciated them so clearly Josiah had no problem understanding. He used a formal, antique grammar that sounded to Josiah as if it came straight out of the earliest Histories. “My name is Gevan Navorre. Matriarch Verinna Fovarre of Ramunna has sent me as her personal envoy to the land of Tevenar. Do I have the pleasure of addressing Master Dabiel Dyerkin Wizard, Guildmaster of the Wizards’ Guild and head of the Council of Guildmasters?”

Josiah’s heart raced. He
must
have gotten his information from Ozor. How else could he have learned Tevenar’s name, or the name of its leader? He turned the strange words over in his mind. Ramunna—there was a city named Ramun in ancient Ravanet, according to the Histories. Could the names be related?

Master Dabiel nodded at him. “I’m Dabiel.” Josiah saw the hand hanging at her side relax fractionally from its tense, poised position, but the other remained firmly planted on Button’s broad head. “On behalf of the people of Tevenar, I greet you. What business brings you here, so far from your home?”

Gevan inclined his head. “The Matriarch has heard that in Tevenar, wizards descended from those of ancient Miarban still wield the power of the Mother. She wishes to invite a representative of these wizards to visit Ramunna and enjoy the hospitality of her court. She has empowered me to negotiate on her behalf to bring about an agreement between our realms. Great good can accrue to both our peoples if we are able to come to a mutually beneficial accord.”

Master Dabiel’s hand tightened on Button’s head. “While we wish nothing but good to you and the people of your home, your coming presents us with a dilemma. The Law the Mother has given us forbids any contact with those who dwell across the sea. We tread perilously close to breaking that Law just by allowing your ship to dock and conversing with you. But you’ve found your way to us, so we must consider the danger posed by your presence here, and the even greater danger that could come if we allow you to depart and carry news of our existence back to your Matriarch.”

Gevan stiffened, and his voice took on an even more formal tone. “I’m afraid it’s too late to prevent that news from reaching Ramunna. Travelers from Tevenar have already come to our land. They provided the maps Captain Yosiv used to chart our course here. If we don’t return, the Matriarch will send more ships to discover our fate and bring us home. Ramunna’s Armada is the envy of all Ravanetha. We have proven our prowess by victories in many battles with the forces of Marvanna.” He swept his gaze in a slow, deliberate arc that took in the fishing boats at the other docks and the sprawl of Elathir on the riverbanks. Josiah imagined a huge fleet of ships like the one in front of him sailing up the river, and quailed at how vulnerable his home suddenly seemed.

Gevan returned his attention to Master Dabiel. “I’m sure you have as little desire as I do to force the Matriarch to consider Tevenar her enemy.”

Master Dabiel didn’t betray by any motion of her body or change in her voice that Gevan’s words had intimidated her, but somehow Josiah sensed her weariness. “I understand. Of course we don’t wish to provoke the Matriarch’s anger. I doubt we’ll be able to give you what you want, but we’ll listen to your proposal.”

Gevan bowed again, though he didn’t remove his hat this time. “That’s all I ask.”

Master Dabiel stepped back and swept her hand to indicate the shore. “There’s no need for us to stand out here in the wind. I invite you and whatever delegation you wish to bring with you to enjoy the hospitality of the Mother’s Hall for the duration of your stay. After you’re settled and we’ve refreshed ourselves with the evening meal, we can continue our discussion.”

“Thank you. I am happy to accept your invitation. I believe most of the ship’s complement will prefer to stay aboard. But I would like a few companions to accompany me. Captain Yosiv, my aide, two bodyguards. And, with your permission, my daughter.”

“We welcome them all, in the Mother’s name.” Dabiel inclined her head.

Gevan spoke with one of the guards in a low voice. The man returned to the ship. A few moments later, several people filed across the plank to the dock. First a short, deeply tanned man, dressed in clothes nearly as elaborate as Gevan’s, who Josiah guessed must be the captain of the ship. He was followed by a nondescript man in plainer garments who carried a leather case. They joined Gevan, along with two of the blue-uniformed guards. Several sailors carried bundles and bags across to the dock.

A swirl of activity on the deck of the ship accompanied the last visitor to disembark. Many sailors reached hands to steady the girl who stepped onto the plank. She accepted their help graciously, but walked steadily even when she moved beyond their reach. Josiah caught his breath. The girl was strikingly beautiful. She couldn’t be more than a year or two older than he was, but she carried herself with the assurance of a master. Her dark hair was piled atop her head in an arrangement of many intricate braids. The garment she wore fitted closely around her upper body, but swirled around her legs with an excess of fabric. But Josiah only noticed these things tangentially, because he couldn’t take his eyes off her face. Her features held the most marvelous combination of sweetness and strength. Her skin was a smooth, flawless olive. Her dark eyes took in the strange sights around her with undisguised eagerness. They roamed over the cluster of wizards, her graceful lips parting to reveal straight white teeth. Josiah only realized he was staring when her gaze passed over him with the same fascination she displayed at everything else she saw. He ducked his head, his cheeks hot.

Gevan extended his hands to her and helped her step down. A little smile played around his lips as he surveyed the reaction she provoked. Josiah realized he wasn’t the only one struck by her beauty; most of the other young men and quite a few of the older ones showed similar reactions. Gevan cleared his throat, prompting most of them to look away. “My daughter, Lady Kevessa Navorre.”

“Welcome, Lady Kevessa. Come, all of you.” Dabiel turned and led the way down the dock. Gevan, Kevessa, and the rest of their party followed. Josiah fell into place behind them with the rest of the wizards. The procession wound through the streets of Elathir to the Mother’s Hall.

Nineteen

G
evan drank in the sights as they made their way through the city. He felt as if he’d stepped through one of the fabled windows into the mythical past. He still couldn’t quite believe all this was real. These people’s ancestors had come from Miarban in the era of the oligarchs and the wizards. Everywhere he looked he saw echoes of architecture he’d only ever seen in ruins or in artists’ depictions. Smooth white stone buildings shone in the golden light of the setting sun. Brilliant mosaics glittered above doorways and around windows. At each intersection a green park surrounded an elaborately carved fountain.

But he quickly noticed signs of decay. The fountains were dry, dirt and dead leaves clogging their basins. They passed through what was clearly a market, but many of the shops were locked and empty. The people crowding the streets to see the foreigners had a haggard look to them, though their clothes, plain as they were, were well made, not the tatters of Ramunna’s beggars. At first Gevan assumed they were all men, until he noticed one unmistakably female shape, and realized with a start that many of them were women, clad in the same breeches and tunics as the men. He swallowed and turned his eyes away. Nirel and the others had told him that was the custom in their homeland, but seeing it in person was different.

He glanced at Kevessa to see how she was coping. Outwardly she was as calm and poised as ever, but he could tell from the lightness of her step and the little wondering half-smile on her lips that she was even more thrilled than he was. Every now and then she looked around at the city, but mostly she watched the cloaked woman who strode in front of them, her hand resting on the head of the giant hog at her side, or twisted around to glimpse the cluster of people and animals following them.

It was hard for Gevan not to do the same. Curiosity burned in his heart, mixed with a generous dose of apprehension. If what the members of Ozor’s company had told him was true, these were wizards, wielders of the lost power of the Mother. He desperately wanted to grab one and demand an immediate demonstration of their alleged magic. He could hardly bear the suspense of waiting to see the truth behind all the myths, rumors, and speculation. But as the Matriarch’s ambassador, he could never do something so undiplomatic. He’d just have to be patient until the proper time came. He hated to admit it, but the part of him that feared what he would learn was happy to put off that moment as long as possible.

They came to a large open plaza at the top of a gentle hill. Dabiel led them to the rectangular building that stretched across the whole far side of the square. Ranks of windows marched along its breadth. A short flight of steps led to a tall set of doors. Above them a round mosaic in warm tans and browns depicted a pair of cupped hands.

“The Mother’s Hall,” Dabiel told him. She stood aside and gestured for him to precede her through the massive doors. “In the Mother’s name, we welcome you here.” She turned to one of the people who followed them, a tall young man whose hand rested casually on the head of an enormous cat. Gevan had never seen anything like it. It was as big as the lions that roamed the wilds of eastern Marvanna, but leaner. “Elkan, would you show Gevan to one of the guest rooms? The third to the left of the stairs, I think; it’s the largest.” She gestured for Gevan to accompany him before addressing several others of her people. “Hadara, if you wouldn’t mind, you can help get Kevessa moved into the one next to it. Hanion, Savir, Vethon, if you’ll take care of the others. Once they’ve had a chance to get settled, bring them to the dining hall. After we eat we can continue our discussion.”

Gevan eyed the huge cat warily. It looked back at him with disconcertingly intelligent eyes before turning away and padding off beside its companion. He swallowed, but diplomacy allowed him to do nothing but politely follow where the young man led.

At least the older woman assigned to Kevessa was accompanied only by a relatively small creature perched on her shoulder, with a ringed tail and a mask-like pattern on the fur of its face. She looked trustworthy enough, carrying herself with the calm assurance of her years. She took Kevessa’s arm. “Come, my dear. You must be tired after your long journey.”

“Thank you,” Kevessa murmured, going where the woman led her. The rest of the party from the ship, along with those carrying their baggage and the other wizards Master Dabiel had singled out, followed. Their escorts led them across the wide open space of the main Hall, up a flight of stairs, and along a corridor lined with doors.

Gevan made sure Kevessa’s room was suitable before allowing his guide to usher him to his own. The rooms were very pleasant, though plain, spacious and well-lit by large windows. He supervised the unpacking of his bags and the distribution of his belongings. Most of them consisted of the wardrobe the Matriarch had provided for him. She’d sent a ridiculous number of outfits; it took a long time to get them all hung in the wardrobe and tucked away in the drawers of the dresser.

“Where would you like this?” Gevan turned to see a boy, around Kevessa’s age or maybe a bit younger, pulling the window-glass case from his pack.