The End of Magic - Chapter 15
Mar. 29th, 2021 06:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
desastristaThe End of Magic is an original multichaptered fantasy work that I am currently publishing on both AO3 and Dreamwidth. You can find the master post of all chapters here or just click the "end of magic" tag. (AO3 link here)
Nothing happened for several days and each day where nothing continued to happen was a torture.
Ozal was not sure what he had expected. Perhaps that the Imperial Magician would call for him again. Or maybe just send a messenger. Even a letter. But there was only silence.
Ozal had been reassigned to a better position in the Palace. It was still a far cry from being secretary to the Ambassador of Vaspahan, but it was enough of an improvement that a single question had begun to cloud his thoughts.
At what price had he purchased this new post?
He learned the answer on a chilly morning as he approached the gates of the Palace.
These gates were often decorated with the heads of the criminals of the Empire. The sides of their faces were painted with their crimes: thieves were marked with yellow, murderers with red. The crimes were usually petty and the corpses did not garner much attention. Even the weather-binding, which took place in one of the public courtyards nearby, usually attracted a larger crowd. But not today. Today a large enough throng of people had gathered that they blocked the very entrance to the Palace.
Ozal felt a cold bite of dread in his chest. He abandoned any pretense of decorum and left Kadim standing in confusion by the carriage as he pushed against the crowd and tried to make his way to the gates. He needed to see what had invited such a spectacle.
He found himself staring into the lifeless eyes of Ardeshir, his face marked with red.
The Vaspahanian Ambassador looked strangely peaceful even in death. Perhaps his fate had not taken him by surprise: he had, after all, obliquely threatened both the Ambassador to Vaspahan and the Imperial Magician. Or perhaps he was unbothered because he knew how much more Kadehir had to lose with his death than Vaspahan did.
Ozal’s knees felt weak. He leaned suddenly, heavily on his cane. Had they told Ardeshir on whose testimony they would brand him a murderer?
“Master, are you alright?” he heard a voice call out. Kadim had managed to push through the crowds as well and follow Ozal.
He was about to respond, just as he heard the man beside him said, “They are saying the Vaspahanian navy will answer.”
The man was talking to his companion, not Ozal. But still the words stole Ozal’s answer from his mouth. The man’s companion, however, seemed unbothered. “Let them come. I am not afraid to die for my Emperor.” Ozal turned to stare. They appeared to be two younger men, both wearing white turbans. Newer magicians, then, who had probably still been children as the Summer War ended.
Ozal wondered if he should tell them about the ships that never came back, the magicians and Mucevheden that never saw the Stand again, the lands that the Empire had lost. But then the first man replied, “If we had the magic of the settlers, there wouldn’t even be a war.” Ozal had heard enough; he turned around in disgust.
He found himself face to face with Kadim, whose dark eyes were filled with concern.
“We have to go,” Ozal said shortly. He did not wait for Kadim’s response before he started to walk towards the Palace. He needed to get away from those accursed gates; he could not stand another minute listening to other men of the Stand boast about how they would kill themselves for the meme memory of faded glory.
Nadide was starting to lose her patience. Ozal would not talk to her. He would not discuss anything to do with Savaner kishah, except to say that war was coming to Kadehir. Nadide had already gathered as much. Letters were starting to arrive for her. Mostly they were from other daughters of Kadehir, suggesting that she might find a husband among the “heroes the city was about to create”. It was kind of them to think of her, but Nadide still remembered the last war. How long until the letters from relatives further inland arrived, asking them if they wanted to take shelter in their villas? How long until food was rationed, the markets grew scarce and the offers became irresistible?
She had another concern now, too: would a war steal from them any chance to bring Savaner kishah to justice?
Ozal could not, would not answer those questions. Ahmad could not either. The desert magician knew even less than she did about the matter. Once, Ozal had made the mistake of asking him about the situation.
“What is Vaspahan?” he had responded.
So Nadide carried her worries alone. There was nothing new about that. But still, when the town criers announced that the Stand would be opening the Inner Courtyard to the public for prayers the next morning, she knew at once she had to take Esma and go. Even if no one in this world could help her, the Gods might still hear her.
The two of them left home when the sun was still only a faint sliver in the sky, and yet by the time they arrived at the Stand, a crowd had gathered. Nadide knew better than to be surprised. It was not often that those outside the Stand were permitted to see the God-trees. Usually one had to wait until the Stand opened its gates for a holiday or else be fortunate enough to be invited to a magician’s wedding. It was customary for a magician to wed under the boughs of the God-tree to whom he had pledged. Nadide had always thought she would be married like that one day, but now twenty-five and dogged by Savaner kishah’s rumors, the idea seemed almost laughable. She would have to wait for special occasions like today, just like everyone else in the city.
Today everyone else did really seem to be the entire city. There was enough of a crowd that Nadide had to draw her cloak tighter to her to avoid any unwanted contact. All around her there was the sound of prayers -- muttered and shouted -- to the Gods. Many people were singing, and distantly Nadide thought she heard drums being played. Flowers and other offerings piled around the God-trees. The air was thick with incense. The mood would have been boisterous, but there was no missing the edge with which everyone carried themselves.
On the eve of war, the Stand had invited Kadehir to beg the Gods for protection and the city had answered in force.
Nadide made her way tentatively towards the Sage to begin her prayers. Looking at the bounty before her, she could see that there were many praying for His wisdom. But then again, there was an indiscriminateness about the prayers today -- there were even those who bowed before the Shadow now. Esma gripped her arm tightly as she walked. No doubt she was also nervous to be out, and regretting that her mistress had not done the proper thing and insisted on a male escort. Nadide had her own doubts. It would probably have been easier to visit by magic-walking.
But she had gotten too wrapped up in her own thoughts. It took a minute to realize that someone was calling for her.
“Nadide janum! Nadide janum!” A man’s voice that she did not recognize called out. Finishing her prayer, she turned around and saw a young man with sun-wrinkled skin waving to her. She blinked. It had been months, but she recognized Ayberk, the Imperial Magician’s physician. He moved towards her, bowing courteously and keeping his gaze respectfully away from her. She frowned slightly. What business could this man possibly have with her?
“I am so glad to see you here,” he said. “What brought you here today?”
Nadide took in the spectacle around her. “I am here to pray that the Gods smile on Kadehir, wherever they might choose to take her.”
She had meant the words blandly; she was surprised at how they made him flinch. “Of course,” he agreed, “I am curious -- has your brother said anything on the matter?”
He has barely said anything recently. “No,” she replied. “I do not think he wishes to burden me.”
“Of course. A young woman like yourself --” His voice trailed off. Nadide watched him intently. She could tell that he wanted to hear more. There was that slight tinge of desperation in his words with which Nadide was so familiar. She’d heard it in her own voice often these days. She bit her tongue and, sure enough, he continued, “Is your brother here? I had hoped to speak with him -- you know, with all the rumors --”
“What rumors, bajedi?” she asked innocently.
“Well,” Ayberk stammered, realizing too late he might have said too much but still eager to say more. “I have heard so many people praising him lately. Of course, there is much about Ozal bajedi to praise. It is just that they say he gave his testimony against the Vaspahanian ambassador -- and, well, when he talked to me about the matter, he seemed to think -- has he spoken to you about this?”
There was no missing the desperation now. It hung heavily between those words he could not yet bring himself to say. Ayberk wanted answers. Nadide thought of the answers she could give him, the things she could say about Savaner kishah and Eryadin bajedi and Vaspahan itself.
Then she thought about what those answers would sound like, coming from her and it turned out she had actually very little to say. She tried instead to respond with a smile. It was a poor, jagged thing, but the man was too distracted to notice. “I do not know anything about that, bajedi,” she apologized. It was not really a lie. Ozal had not said anything about his own testimony recently. She and her brother were good at keeping secrets from each other, apparently.
“Of course,” the physician replied, nodding agreeably, but Nadide could tell he was disappointed. “It’s just been so strange, with everything that Savaner kishah has been saying --”
The hairs on Nadide’s arms rose. She folded them to hide this fact, as if there was any chance Ayberk was paying her enough attention to notice. Tilting her head in polite confusion, she pressed, “What has Savaner kishah been saying, bajedi?”
The man waved his hand in dismissal -- these words for which Nadide was waiting with baited breath were apparently of little importance to him. “Oh, he has been talking about a display. Says the magicians of the Stand should keep their eyes on the horizon tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Nadide echoed.
“That is when the navy is set to sail. Perhaps he means to do something beforehand. Something to raise the spirits of the city. You can see it if you like -- there should be a crowd by the shore tomorrow.” Ayberk’s voice betrayed no enthusiasm at the prospect.
“My brother will be there to watch, definitely,” Nadide responded at once.
The physician nodded and Nadide took her leave. She left the physician wearing his unease like a second robe. If he was smart, she thought, he would keep those doubts and keep them to himself. As for Ozal, though, Nadide finally had news that might rouse him from his stupor.
The wind whipped at Ozal’s beard as he tried to shield his eyes from the sun. Perhaps Savaner had thought there was something poetic about telling the magicians of the Stand to watch the horizon, but it was actually quite an annoyance. Sitting next to him, though, Tolga bajedi appeared completely indifferent to the inconvenience. He was leaning forward, completely intent on the horizon.
Ozal could see nothing but sand and sea. The same as usual. Oh, there was the full Imperial Navy at the ready. But they had been at the ready for weeks, just waiting for the Empire to formally announce its intention to use Ozal’s lies to start another war it could not win.
“There’s just the faintest sign of them,” Tolga said beside him.
“Hm?” Ozal asked, trying quickly to feign interest.
“At the very edge of the horizon. If you look carefully, you can see those accursed ships.”
Ozal leaned forward. They were sitting on a platform on the beach that gave them some advantage in being able to see past the mass of white sails of the Navy, but not much. A few other dignitaries shared the stage with them. Ozal was surprised to see that Gokberk was not among them, but apparently -- and unsurprisingly -- he was with the ships, playing at being a military leader. The beach was filled with spectators: a mass of magicians, men, women and Mucevheden. In the distance, Ozal could make a few women sitting together, all veiled in white. His eyes lingered, wondering if Alev janum was among their ranks. Was this what she wanted as a memorial for her late husband?
Ozal forced himself not to stare and to scan the rest of the spectators. Somewhere out there, Ahmad and his Mucevhed searched. Ozal found himself distantly glad that at least Nadide had stayed home and spared herself this farce. She said she would pray for Ahmad’s success today and pray for the Empire.
Ozal wondered which needed her prayers more.
“If the Vaspahanian navy is here --,” he said to no one in particular.
“It will take a while for our magicians to reach them,” Tolga agreed. Ozal heard none of his own hesitations reflected in the other man’s voice.
“I wonder if they’ll be able to see Savaner kishah’s display then.” Ozal looked around. “I would have thought he would be here by now.”
It had seemed simple enough. They still needed a confession. It might not be able to stop the ships today, but the truth about what had struck down Eryadin bajedi could help quiet some of the relentless calls for vengeance from the likes of Alev janum and the rest of Kadehir. To get that confession, though, they needed Ahmad to get close to Savaner kishah again. If the kishah was going to perform a display for the Imperial Magician, he should have been here by now.
Tolga seemed unbothered. "I am sure he'll be here any minute now."
Ozal drummed his fingers against his cane impatiently. With nothing else to do, he looked again over the horizon. This time, he could make out the black flecks in the distance. The Vaspahanian navy was getting closer. The Kadehirden ships started to unfurl their sails. War was coming again to Kadehir. He and Eryadin bajedi had tried everything in their powers to stop this, but they had failed. Only the Gods could stop it now.
Ozal closed his eyes slowly, only to reopen them with a start when he heard Tolga bajedi say, half to himself, “Now that’s odd.”
“What is it?” he asked.
“Look at the sky,” the Imperial Magician gestured. A few of the other people on the stand -- a gaggle of priests, a few elderly kishahs whose swords hadn’t been unsheathed in years, a startlingly large number of whom Ozal did not know or did not know well -- began pointing. Ozal felt his mouth go dry.
Far above the waves, a patch of the sky had gone dark. It was small, but growing rapidly. It had a thin white border that was familiar, although it had been years since Ozal had bothered to visit in person.
“Someone is weather-binding?” he asked, dumbstruck.
“I’ve never seen -- it’s been generations since anyone at the Stand has been able to cast their weather-binding so far away. It’s right above the Vaspahanian fleet!” There was a breathless, almost giddy quality, to the Imperial Magician’s voice.
The black circle in the sky continued to expand. Ozal thought he recognized the pattern. Storm clouds. In the distance, there was a faint noise that could have been thunder.
“I don’t understand,” Ozal whispered.
He might as well have been speaking to the empty air. The Imperial Magician was talking excitedly to one of the kishah beside him. Ozal was sure he heard Savaner’s name. It felt like a blow to the gut. Actually, no. That would have been far kinder. Because of course this had to be Savaner kishah’s doing. He had promised a demonstration. And yet -- if he was not here -- if the storm clouds were so far away --
“This is the kind of magic that we have not seen since the settlers!” The kishah exclaimed. “He was always talking about how it could be brought back -- and he has done it!”
A feat of magic previously believed impossible. A spell that no one else in the Stand could understand or even hope to replicate. How could they not see? The truth of the matter was right in front of the eyes of all the magicians assembled here. But from the elated expressions that Ozal saw before him, they had already forgotten about what it was that had brought them to this war.
A sudden flash of light illuminated the horizon. A few people screamed -- in surprise and delight -- from the beach. Ozal continued to stare in disbelief as a low groan of thunder rolled across the ocean. And then came a flash of light. And another.
It was the storm the likes of which Kadehir had not seen for more than a century. It was stronger than anything that had been done in Kadehir of any recent memory. Tolga bajedi was right about one thing: this really was the magic of the settlers. And it was unleashed on the assembled Vaspahanian navy, well before they were in the range of the Kadehirden ships.
“He has done it!” Tolga bajedi laughed. “They’ll have no choice but to sue for peace -- Savaner kishah has won the war before it even started.”
His eyes briefly met Ozal’s. Ozal wondered what he saw there. Could he see the anger, the simmering resentment, the betrayal? It did not matter. The Imperial Magician glanced over him and turned to embrace the kishahs and priests around him who shared in his joy. After all, Savaner kishah had done it. A confession would be pointless -- had probably been pointless for longer than Ozal wanted to admit. Savaner kishah was a hero to the Stand. And no one would want to know about the bodies he had buried along the way.
Nothing happened for several days and each day where nothing continued to happen was a torture.
Ozal was not sure what he had expected. Perhaps that the Imperial Magician would call for him again. Or maybe just send a messenger. Even a letter. But there was only silence.
Ozal had been reassigned to a better position in the Palace. It was still a far cry from being secretary to the Ambassador of Vaspahan, but it was enough of an improvement that a single question had begun to cloud his thoughts.
At what price had he purchased this new post?
He learned the answer on a chilly morning as he approached the gates of the Palace.
These gates were often decorated with the heads of the criminals of the Empire. The sides of their faces were painted with their crimes: thieves were marked with yellow, murderers with red. The crimes were usually petty and the corpses did not garner much attention. Even the weather-binding, which took place in one of the public courtyards nearby, usually attracted a larger crowd. But not today. Today a large enough throng of people had gathered that they blocked the very entrance to the Palace.
Ozal felt a cold bite of dread in his chest. He abandoned any pretense of decorum and left Kadim standing in confusion by the carriage as he pushed against the crowd and tried to make his way to the gates. He needed to see what had invited such a spectacle.
He found himself staring into the lifeless eyes of Ardeshir, his face marked with red.
The Vaspahanian Ambassador looked strangely peaceful even in death. Perhaps his fate had not taken him by surprise: he had, after all, obliquely threatened both the Ambassador to Vaspahan and the Imperial Magician. Or perhaps he was unbothered because he knew how much more Kadehir had to lose with his death than Vaspahan did.
Ozal’s knees felt weak. He leaned suddenly, heavily on his cane. Had they told Ardeshir on whose testimony they would brand him a murderer?
“Master, are you alright?” he heard a voice call out. Kadim had managed to push through the crowds as well and follow Ozal.
He was about to respond, just as he heard the man beside him said, “They are saying the Vaspahanian navy will answer.”
The man was talking to his companion, not Ozal. But still the words stole Ozal’s answer from his mouth. The man’s companion, however, seemed unbothered. “Let them come. I am not afraid to die for my Emperor.” Ozal turned to stare. They appeared to be two younger men, both wearing white turbans. Newer magicians, then, who had probably still been children as the Summer War ended.
Ozal wondered if he should tell them about the ships that never came back, the magicians and Mucevheden that never saw the Stand again, the lands that the Empire had lost. But then the first man replied, “If we had the magic of the settlers, there wouldn’t even be a war.” Ozal had heard enough; he turned around in disgust.
He found himself face to face with Kadim, whose dark eyes were filled with concern.
“We have to go,” Ozal said shortly. He did not wait for Kadim’s response before he started to walk towards the Palace. He needed to get away from those accursed gates; he could not stand another minute listening to other men of the Stand boast about how they would kill themselves for the meme memory of faded glory.
Nadide was starting to lose her patience. Ozal would not talk to her. He would not discuss anything to do with Savaner kishah, except to say that war was coming to Kadehir. Nadide had already gathered as much. Letters were starting to arrive for her. Mostly they were from other daughters of Kadehir, suggesting that she might find a husband among the “heroes the city was about to create”. It was kind of them to think of her, but Nadide still remembered the last war. How long until the letters from relatives further inland arrived, asking them if they wanted to take shelter in their villas? How long until food was rationed, the markets grew scarce and the offers became irresistible?
She had another concern now, too: would a war steal from them any chance to bring Savaner kishah to justice?
Ozal could not, would not answer those questions. Ahmad could not either. The desert magician knew even less than she did about the matter. Once, Ozal had made the mistake of asking him about the situation.
“What is Vaspahan?” he had responded.
So Nadide carried her worries alone. There was nothing new about that. But still, when the town criers announced that the Stand would be opening the Inner Courtyard to the public for prayers the next morning, she knew at once she had to take Esma and go. Even if no one in this world could help her, the Gods might still hear her.
The two of them left home when the sun was still only a faint sliver in the sky, and yet by the time they arrived at the Stand, a crowd had gathered. Nadide knew better than to be surprised. It was not often that those outside the Stand were permitted to see the God-trees. Usually one had to wait until the Stand opened its gates for a holiday or else be fortunate enough to be invited to a magician’s wedding. It was customary for a magician to wed under the boughs of the God-tree to whom he had pledged. Nadide had always thought she would be married like that one day, but now twenty-five and dogged by Savaner kishah’s rumors, the idea seemed almost laughable. She would have to wait for special occasions like today, just like everyone else in the city.
Today everyone else did really seem to be the entire city. There was enough of a crowd that Nadide had to draw her cloak tighter to her to avoid any unwanted contact. All around her there was the sound of prayers -- muttered and shouted -- to the Gods. Many people were singing, and distantly Nadide thought she heard drums being played. Flowers and other offerings piled around the God-trees. The air was thick with incense. The mood would have been boisterous, but there was no missing the edge with which everyone carried themselves.
On the eve of war, the Stand had invited Kadehir to beg the Gods for protection and the city had answered in force.
Nadide made her way tentatively towards the Sage to begin her prayers. Looking at the bounty before her, she could see that there were many praying for His wisdom. But then again, there was an indiscriminateness about the prayers today -- there were even those who bowed before the Shadow now. Esma gripped her arm tightly as she walked. No doubt she was also nervous to be out, and regretting that her mistress had not done the proper thing and insisted on a male escort. Nadide had her own doubts. It would probably have been easier to visit by magic-walking.
But she had gotten too wrapped up in her own thoughts. It took a minute to realize that someone was calling for her.
“Nadide janum! Nadide janum!” A man’s voice that she did not recognize called out. Finishing her prayer, she turned around and saw a young man with sun-wrinkled skin waving to her. She blinked. It had been months, but she recognized Ayberk, the Imperial Magician’s physician. He moved towards her, bowing courteously and keeping his gaze respectfully away from her. She frowned slightly. What business could this man possibly have with her?
“I am so glad to see you here,” he said. “What brought you here today?”
Nadide took in the spectacle around her. “I am here to pray that the Gods smile on Kadehir, wherever they might choose to take her.”
She had meant the words blandly; she was surprised at how they made him flinch. “Of course,” he agreed, “I am curious -- has your brother said anything on the matter?”
He has barely said anything recently. “No,” she replied. “I do not think he wishes to burden me.”
“Of course. A young woman like yourself --” His voice trailed off. Nadide watched him intently. She could tell that he wanted to hear more. There was that slight tinge of desperation in his words with which Nadide was so familiar. She’d heard it in her own voice often these days. She bit her tongue and, sure enough, he continued, “Is your brother here? I had hoped to speak with him -- you know, with all the rumors --”
“What rumors, bajedi?” she asked innocently.
“Well,” Ayberk stammered, realizing too late he might have said too much but still eager to say more. “I have heard so many people praising him lately. Of course, there is much about Ozal bajedi to praise. It is just that they say he gave his testimony against the Vaspahanian ambassador -- and, well, when he talked to me about the matter, he seemed to think -- has he spoken to you about this?”
There was no missing the desperation now. It hung heavily between those words he could not yet bring himself to say. Ayberk wanted answers. Nadide thought of the answers she could give him, the things she could say about Savaner kishah and Eryadin bajedi and Vaspahan itself.
Then she thought about what those answers would sound like, coming from her and it turned out she had actually very little to say. She tried instead to respond with a smile. It was a poor, jagged thing, but the man was too distracted to notice. “I do not know anything about that, bajedi,” she apologized. It was not really a lie. Ozal had not said anything about his own testimony recently. She and her brother were good at keeping secrets from each other, apparently.
“Of course,” the physician replied, nodding agreeably, but Nadide could tell he was disappointed. “It’s just been so strange, with everything that Savaner kishah has been saying --”
The hairs on Nadide’s arms rose. She folded them to hide this fact, as if there was any chance Ayberk was paying her enough attention to notice. Tilting her head in polite confusion, she pressed, “What has Savaner kishah been saying, bajedi?”
The man waved his hand in dismissal -- these words for which Nadide was waiting with baited breath were apparently of little importance to him. “Oh, he has been talking about a display. Says the magicians of the Stand should keep their eyes on the horizon tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Nadide echoed.
“That is when the navy is set to sail. Perhaps he means to do something beforehand. Something to raise the spirits of the city. You can see it if you like -- there should be a crowd by the shore tomorrow.” Ayberk’s voice betrayed no enthusiasm at the prospect.
“My brother will be there to watch, definitely,” Nadide responded at once.
The physician nodded and Nadide took her leave. She left the physician wearing his unease like a second robe. If he was smart, she thought, he would keep those doubts and keep them to himself. As for Ozal, though, Nadide finally had news that might rouse him from his stupor.
The wind whipped at Ozal’s beard as he tried to shield his eyes from the sun. Perhaps Savaner had thought there was something poetic about telling the magicians of the Stand to watch the horizon, but it was actually quite an annoyance. Sitting next to him, though, Tolga bajedi appeared completely indifferent to the inconvenience. He was leaning forward, completely intent on the horizon.
Ozal could see nothing but sand and sea. The same as usual. Oh, there was the full Imperial Navy at the ready. But they had been at the ready for weeks, just waiting for the Empire to formally announce its intention to use Ozal’s lies to start another war it could not win.
“There’s just the faintest sign of them,” Tolga said beside him.
“Hm?” Ozal asked, trying quickly to feign interest.
“At the very edge of the horizon. If you look carefully, you can see those accursed ships.”
Ozal leaned forward. They were sitting on a platform on the beach that gave them some advantage in being able to see past the mass of white sails of the Navy, but not much. A few other dignitaries shared the stage with them. Ozal was surprised to see that Gokberk was not among them, but apparently -- and unsurprisingly -- he was with the ships, playing at being a military leader. The beach was filled with spectators: a mass of magicians, men, women and Mucevheden. In the distance, Ozal could make a few women sitting together, all veiled in white. His eyes lingered, wondering if Alev janum was among their ranks. Was this what she wanted as a memorial for her late husband?
Ozal forced himself not to stare and to scan the rest of the spectators. Somewhere out there, Ahmad and his Mucevhed searched. Ozal found himself distantly glad that at least Nadide had stayed home and spared herself this farce. She said she would pray for Ahmad’s success today and pray for the Empire.
Ozal wondered which needed her prayers more.
“If the Vaspahanian navy is here --,” he said to no one in particular.
“It will take a while for our magicians to reach them,” Tolga agreed. Ozal heard none of his own hesitations reflected in the other man’s voice.
“I wonder if they’ll be able to see Savaner kishah’s display then.” Ozal looked around. “I would have thought he would be here by now.”
It had seemed simple enough. They still needed a confession. It might not be able to stop the ships today, but the truth about what had struck down Eryadin bajedi could help quiet some of the relentless calls for vengeance from the likes of Alev janum and the rest of Kadehir. To get that confession, though, they needed Ahmad to get close to Savaner kishah again. If the kishah was going to perform a display for the Imperial Magician, he should have been here by now.
Tolga seemed unbothered. "I am sure he'll be here any minute now."
Ozal drummed his fingers against his cane impatiently. With nothing else to do, he looked again over the horizon. This time, he could make out the black flecks in the distance. The Vaspahanian navy was getting closer. The Kadehirden ships started to unfurl their sails. War was coming again to Kadehir. He and Eryadin bajedi had tried everything in their powers to stop this, but they had failed. Only the Gods could stop it now.
Ozal closed his eyes slowly, only to reopen them with a start when he heard Tolga bajedi say, half to himself, “Now that’s odd.”
“What is it?” he asked.
“Look at the sky,” the Imperial Magician gestured. A few of the other people on the stand -- a gaggle of priests, a few elderly kishahs whose swords hadn’t been unsheathed in years, a startlingly large number of whom Ozal did not know or did not know well -- began pointing. Ozal felt his mouth go dry.
Far above the waves, a patch of the sky had gone dark. It was small, but growing rapidly. It had a thin white border that was familiar, although it had been years since Ozal had bothered to visit in person.
“Someone is weather-binding?” he asked, dumbstruck.
“I’ve never seen -- it’s been generations since anyone at the Stand has been able to cast their weather-binding so far away. It’s right above the Vaspahanian fleet!” There was a breathless, almost giddy quality, to the Imperial Magician’s voice.
The black circle in the sky continued to expand. Ozal thought he recognized the pattern. Storm clouds. In the distance, there was a faint noise that could have been thunder.
“I don’t understand,” Ozal whispered.
He might as well have been speaking to the empty air. The Imperial Magician was talking excitedly to one of the kishah beside him. Ozal was sure he heard Savaner’s name. It felt like a blow to the gut. Actually, no. That would have been far kinder. Because of course this had to be Savaner kishah’s doing. He had promised a demonstration. And yet -- if he was not here -- if the storm clouds were so far away --
“This is the kind of magic that we have not seen since the settlers!” The kishah exclaimed. “He was always talking about how it could be brought back -- and he has done it!”
A feat of magic previously believed impossible. A spell that no one else in the Stand could understand or even hope to replicate. How could they not see? The truth of the matter was right in front of the eyes of all the magicians assembled here. But from the elated expressions that Ozal saw before him, they had already forgotten about what it was that had brought them to this war.
A sudden flash of light illuminated the horizon. A few people screamed -- in surprise and delight -- from the beach. Ozal continued to stare in disbelief as a low groan of thunder rolled across the ocean. And then came a flash of light. And another.
It was the storm the likes of which Kadehir had not seen for more than a century. It was stronger than anything that had been done in Kadehir of any recent memory. Tolga bajedi was right about one thing: this really was the magic of the settlers. And it was unleashed on the assembled Vaspahanian navy, well before they were in the range of the Kadehirden ships.
“He has done it!” Tolga bajedi laughed. “They’ll have no choice but to sue for peace -- Savaner kishah has won the war before it even started.”
His eyes briefly met Ozal’s. Ozal wondered what he saw there. Could he see the anger, the simmering resentment, the betrayal? It did not matter. The Imperial Magician glanced over him and turned to embrace the kishahs and priests around him who shared in his joy. After all, Savaner kishah had done it. A confession would be pointless -- had probably been pointless for longer than Ozal wanted to admit. Savaner kishah was a hero to the Stand. And no one would want to know about the bodies he had buried along the way.
