You will call me Alban or cousin. " Iah nodded, and Sol continued to drill Iah on Krian culture, pausing only long enough for Mella to bring out their dessert when she returned from her walk.
*~*~*
Sleep was not forthcoming. Would he ever grow used to the permanent dark? Every morning he woke up expecting to see the sun, only to experience a moment of panic when he realized he couldn't see. That was followed by a wave of grief when he remembered he would never see again.
Only Sol and his summer voice kept the grief from consuming him. Steady and patient, the voice of a teacher or a priest. It was hard to fit it with what he knew of the soldier. Fourth General Sol deVry was well known for his magical dexterity and the burning yellow of his eyes—almost, but not quite, to the point where there would be no escaping the deadly effects of the flower the Salharans called arcen.
Doubts mingled with the fear that kept him awake. Fear for the moment of waking; doubts for his current circumstances. Only days ago he had been telling stories with his men around a campfire.
Then his commander had lost all reason, driving them into battle against a seemingly endless wave of Scarlet because he'd sensed the Breaker. Iah had felt it too at the end. Uncorrupted, untapped, and pure as forbidden crystal.
Had they really found their Breaker at last? What if the Scream had killed him? How many more years would they have to search for another? What if he had lived? Would he agree? Why should a Krian or Salharan agree to help?
But a Salharan was helping, and that brought more doubts to the fore. What was Sol's real game? A man who played all sides was conceivably playing more. How did a Salharan general come to know so much about what only a select few Illussor knew? Even he was not supposed to know as much as he did.
Iah shuddered and turned his mind off. Too many things. Too much of it wrong, and only the dark to turn to now. He'd never see his sister's face again, nor those of his friends. Not their graves, not their families. Never would he see his home.
An owl's call broke the still night, and Iah pulled his blankets up further. Opposite him, Sol slept soundlessly. He was as quiet in sleep as he was awake. Iah reached a hand outside the blanket, feeling the heat of the fire. Slowly he sat up and shifted and turned and fumbled until his head was nearer to the fire. Feeling the heat of it wash over him, he began to whisper softly all the Krian words he could think of, repeating them until he felt he had a grasp for how they should be properly pronounced.
There was no way anyone would think him Krian, not after only two weeks of study, but he would try, and die doing so if he must to bring the Breaker to his king. That Esta might smile again, though he would never see it, and his friends and comrades might not be as reviled by his blindness.
And, if he were honest, for that summer voice.
Gradually the words grew slower and fainter, until Iah fell asleep with Krian words half-formed on his lips.
*~*~*
"Ready, Cousin?" Sol spoke slowly, as if to a child—or a man badly injured in an accident.
"Yes," Iah said. His voice was low, and he pronounced his words carefully. There only audience currently was Mella and Sol's manservant—Dal?—but there would be no room for error later. Better to get it right from the beginning. He still felt as though he were dreaming, to be preparing for a journey into the heart of Kria. How many times had he heard his comrades and superiors bemoan their inability to breach Kria? None ever got past the Scarlet Fortress and lived for long.
He did not even begin to understand how Sol fit could fit so easily into not only Krian court life, but also apparently Illussor. Sol was tricky, no two ways about it. Spiegel—mirror. Interesting that his countrymen had given their Salharan spy a Krian name. No doubt it was part of the game.
A sharp wind blew up, and Iah felt homesick. In only a month or so the palace
*~*~*
Sleep was not forthcoming. Would he ever grow used to the permanent dark? Every morning he woke up expecting to see the sun, only to experience a moment of panic when he realized he couldn't see. That was followed by a wave of grief when he remembered he would never see again.
Only Sol and his summer voice kept the grief from consuming him. Steady and patient, the voice of a teacher or a priest. It was hard to fit it with what he knew of the soldier. Fourth General Sol deVry was well known for his magical dexterity and the burning yellow of his eyes—almost, but not quite, to the point where there would be no escaping the deadly effects of the flower the Salharans called arcen.
Doubts mingled with the fear that kept him awake. Fear for the moment of waking; doubts for his current circumstances. Only days ago he had been telling stories with his men around a campfire.
Then his commander had lost all reason, driving them into battle against a seemingly endless wave of Scarlet because he'd sensed the Breaker. Iah had felt it too at the end. Uncorrupted, untapped, and pure as forbidden crystal.
Had they really found their Breaker at last? What if the Scream had killed him? How many more years would they have to search for another? What if he had lived? Would he agree? Why should a Krian or Salharan agree to help?
But a Salharan was helping, and that brought more doubts to the fore. What was Sol's real game? A man who played all sides was conceivably playing more. How did a Salharan general come to know so much about what only a select few Illussor knew? Even he was not supposed to know as much as he did.
Iah shuddered and turned his mind off. Too many things. Too much of it wrong, and only the dark to turn to now. He'd never see his sister's face again, nor those of his friends. Not their graves, not their families. Never would he see his home.
An owl's call broke the still night, and Iah pulled his blankets up further. Opposite him, Sol slept soundlessly. He was as quiet in sleep as he was awake. Iah reached a hand outside the blanket, feeling the heat of the fire. Slowly he sat up and shifted and turned and fumbled until his head was nearer to the fire. Feeling the heat of it wash over him, he began to whisper softly all the Krian words he could think of, repeating them until he felt he had a grasp for how they should be properly pronounced.
There was no way anyone would think him Krian, not after only two weeks of study, but he would try, and die doing so if he must to bring the Breaker to his king. That Esta might smile again, though he would never see it, and his friends and comrades might not be as reviled by his blindness.
And, if he were honest, for that summer voice.
Gradually the words grew slower and fainter, until Iah fell asleep with Krian words half-formed on his lips.
*~*~*
"Ready, Cousin?" Sol spoke slowly, as if to a child—or a man badly injured in an accident.
"Yes," Iah said. His voice was low, and he pronounced his words carefully. There only audience currently was Mella and Sol's manservant—Dal?—but there would be no room for error later. Better to get it right from the beginning. He still felt as though he were dreaming, to be preparing for a journey into the heart of Kria. How many times had he heard his comrades and superiors bemoan their inability to breach Kria? None ever got past the Scarlet Fortress and lived for long.
He did not even begin to understand how Sol fit could fit so easily into not only Krian court life, but also apparently Illussor. Sol was tricky, no two ways about it. Spiegel—mirror. Interesting that his countrymen had given their Salharan spy a Krian name. No doubt it was part of the game.
A sharp wind blew up, and Iah felt homesick. In only a month or so the palace
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