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Chapter 1:

The Voices From the Mountain

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I


Hanuvar knew some of the slaves applying shovels to the pastoral mountainside were Volani, but the figures were too distant for him to distinguish as he scanned the excavation site from horseback that morning. Antires, his friend and would-be chronicler, watched their activity from his driving bench on the carriage, but more for its novelty along this unexceptional road than for the condition of the workers.

Closer by, well-ordered tents half screened impressive mounds of soil that had once concealed the black walls of a ruined city curled around the mountain’s base. A lone sentinel returned Hanuvar’s scrutiny from beneath a shade tree on a hill overlooking the work. Rich landholders lived nearby, so a well-appointed coach was surely no rarity, and presumably the watchman’s intense concentration centered on Hanuvar because he was the military escort, not because the man was suspicious of Hanuvar’s true identity.

After all, even an eagle-eyed veteran of the last war would have to be exceptionally imaginative to see him as Hanuvar, or even guess his true age. Up to last year his dark hair had been well peppered with gray, but owing to a peculiar incident much of that gray had vanished, along with his scars and the accumulated weathering of the enemy general that Derva sought. His features were not dissimilar from the natives of this peninsula and his straight-cut bangs with clean-shaven face marked him as an upstanding citizen of the realm.

The sentry’s attention shifted when a heavy crack, as of thunder, rumbled through the air. Birds and insects fell silent and the horses stopped in midstride with a nervous snorting and tossing of heads. The ground swayed as though a vast wave rolled beneath the earth. Hanuvar’s mount stamped in alarm, and he forced its dancing into a tight circle. The carthorses whinnied and jostled in their traces.

The quake ceased as quickly as it had begun. Hanuvar searched the cone of Mount Esuvia rising above the piney slope nearby, knowing tremors sometimes portended eruptions. Thankfully, no new smoke rose from the old mountain, or from those of its two distant sisters,1 just visible rising above the low green hills to the south.

A wide-eyed Antires sought reassurance, which Hanuvar provided with a nod. The ladies inside the carriage didn’t offer comment but spoke in low tones to one another.

Hanuvar prodded his horse forward and continued his inspection of the camp. Antires could be heard shaking the reins and soon they all were in motion again.

The workers returned to their duties quickly, and their guard resumed his impassive consideration of the traveler, as if such tremblers were common and inconsequential. No matter Hanuvar’s concern for them, the slaves excavating the ruin were a problem for another time. Their owner was disinterested in selling and those in his charge remained healthy as far as Carthalo’s contacts could ascertain, and so getting them free remained lower on the priority list.

Hanuvar had a more difficult task before him today, one that would have him looking into the eyes of children who had witnessed the bloody end of their parents, siblings, and society. He had spent most of his own childhood in his father’s army camp and most of his adulthood away from the comforts of family life so had little experience interacting with youngsters. He wasn’t entirely sure what to expect from them, and had relied on Izivar’s advice for today’s plans.

Antires swore from the driver seat as the rear carriage wheel struck a deep rut, and then the camp receded into the distance. They soon turned through an open wooden gate Hanuvar had been expecting and onto a dirt track barely wide enough for the carriage, where they passed a field of barley, and then patches of other grains and long rows of cabbages. A variety of rakes and sheers lay along the edges of the plots, but their wielders were absent.

Explanation for the abandonment became apparent soon after. While the tidy red-roofed villa stood intact, one small stone outbuilding had collapsed entirely and another was missing half its roof, the shingles of which had slid into a pile at its door. A small army of men, women, and children milled on the grounds outside the villa.

As Hanuvar’s group approached he perceived more organization than had been apparent from a distance. A number of adults cleared rubble and a few bent to inspect the villa’s foundation. Others kept knots of children well ordered: some sat in open-air teaching arrangements while others tossed a brown ball back and forth or played chase games. To Hanuvar’s eyes the boys and girls appeared happy, ordinary even, and not for the first time he questioned whether uprooting them was truly the best choice. Amelia had promised they were being acculturated into their new society and learning trades so that they might prosper upon their manumission at adulthood. Few were likely to have living relatives and it might be a kind of cruelty to take them from this welcoming place, force them onto a ship, and send them to an entirely new land peopled by strangers.

Amelia herself was directing the attention of a gray-haired man to the villa’s roof line. His were plain work clothes. Her dress too was unadorned, but clearly of superior fabric, a white short-sleeved stola of summer length over a whiter under tunic, and her dark hair was upswept with a spattering of tiny silver clips, which threw back the sun.

The track transformed into a bricked drive as it circled toward the villa’s entrance. A pair of sun-browned attendants hurried to assist the carriage as Antires brought it to a halt. Amelia registered their arrival and started toward them through the well-ordered garden enveloping her stately residence. It still looked the impressive summer home it was designed to be, rather than the orphanage it had become.

Hanuvar dismounted, passing his reins to a servant, then opened the carriage door. Izivar Lenereva had no need of aid, but took his hand as she stepped down, then brushed travel dust from her light clothing, a stola in two layers, the inner deeper blue than the outer. A tall, trim woman with dark, curling hair, her sleeves were long and ornamented with clever oval gaps that showed her clear brown skin. She favored Hanuvar with a dazzling smile she quickly abandoned, remembering her role as his employer in this mission. She squeezed his fingers as if in apology for her pretense, and moved away. Hanuvar then offered his hand to Serliva, Izivar’s gangly, sweet-faced maid. She stepped down with a bow of her head in thanks, and he relinquished her grip. A little taller than her mistress, she too wore a blue stola, though sleeveless, darker, and simpler.

Serliva ran fingers through her own locks then fussed with the shoulders of Izivar’s garment.

Antires had already hopped down from the driver’s bench and was patting down his green tunic. The handsome young man was one of those whose clothing always looked good on him, so he smoothed only a few wrinkles before abandoning the effort with disinterest. His dark, tightly coiled hair and his russet-brown skin instantly identified him as a Herrene. His chosen occupation as Hanuvar’s chronicler was less obvious, although Hanuvar saw him sizing up the grounds with the approach of Amelia and imagined him working out what words he’d use for his descriptions.

Amelia stopped before them with a pleasant hello.

The villa’s mistress was just as Hanuvar remembered; a stoutly handsome woman of middle years with a penetrating gaze and inborn aura of command. Apart from the pieces decorating her hair, she wore minimal jewelry.

The solemn, gray-haired steward waited at her left elbow. Coming up on her right was an aged Herrene with thin lips, a broad nose, and a gray beard cut straight across his chest as though he took grooming advice from ancient sculpture depicting philosophers. His long tunic was old-fashioned and formally pleated, and his curling hair was worn long and pushed back.

Owing to the others nearby, Amelia pretended not to be familiar with Hanuvar, and bowed her head instead to Izivar. “Welcome to our summer home, Lady Izivar. I hope that the little quake wasn’t too alarming for you.” Her voice possessed a slight rasp. Her husband had explained it had changed enduringly over the course of a long illness two winters previous.

Izivar bowed her head and addressed their hostess in lightly accented Dervan. “Thank you, Lady Amelia. The horses didn’t care for it much, but we managed. Is everyone here alright?”

“The children are fine, only frightened or terribly curious, and my staff are all accounted for.” Amelia gestured to the collapsed and damaged buildings with a sweep of her arm. “Fortunately those were just used for storage.”

Antires had left the carriage in the hands of two old slaves who were driving the vehicle away. He cleared his throat and spoke from Hanuvar’s left. “Forgive me, milady. Do these sorts of things happen often?”

Hanuvar was surprised by his bold address. Usually Antires was a stickler for remaining in character, and a cart driver would not ordinarily address a patrician out of turn.

Amelia replied easily enough. “Not at all, but still more often than I would prefer. Tremblors are the price one must pay for the lovely weather in Oscanus.”

Izivar gestured to Antires. “This is my advisor, Stirses. I believe he may have assisted your husband upon one of his projects.”

“I seem to recall the name,” Amelia said with a polite nod. “And you look familiar as well,” she said to Hanuvar.

“I just have one of those faces, milady.”

His answer raised a sly smile from Amelia, quickly discarded.

“This is Decius, my steward and personal guard,” Izivar explained, for the benefit of Amelia’s staff. “He is fluent in both Dervan and Volani.”

“A pleasure.” Amelia gave the barest of nods to Hanuvar. She did not bother naming her steward, and gestured instead to the Herrene on her right, introducing him as the scholar Galinthias, hired as the chief instructor for the children. He exchanged greetings with Izivar, and Amelia resumed her address. “Normally I would invite you inside before we saw to the purpose of your visit, but I wish to make certain the roof won’t fall in on us. Surely you would like refreshments, though.” Amelia looked to her steward, who bowed his head and hurried off. She faced Izivar. “Or would you like to meet the children first?”

“The youth, please,” Izivar said.

“Of course. Come with me.” Amelia led them across the dense green sward and past its carefully trimmed bushes and ornamental trees, asking Galinthias to speak of his charges as they walked. In a slow, pleasant voice, he described how those seven and younger were kept together with their caregivers. Boys and girls eight to fifteen were housed separately. Their numbers Hanuvar had long since committed to memory but the Herrene mentioned them as if to emphasize the breadth of his responsibility.

“We bought all that we could,” Amelia explained. “We were worried most for the young women of . . . marriageable age, but they were more expensive and we couldn’t purchase as many as we wanted.”

“If you had not protected those you did, who would have?” Izivar asked, voice rich with thanks. “I’m grateful to you.”

Amelia bowed her head.

That the majority of surviving Volani children had been purchased by the kindly Ciprion and Amelia was one small mercy among innumerable horrors, and Hanuvar would be forever indebted to them for their generosity. They had gone so far as to buy Volani caretakers and tutors for the children as well, and to place a Herrene in charge of their education, recognizing that the traditions of Dervan schools would be anathema to young people used to Volani ways. The couple had even insisted the girls continue to receive instruction in writing and mathematics and natural sciences, although as they walked Galinthias was describing additional training the young women were receiving in comportment and weaving.

Hanuvar kept his reaction carefully masked, and Izivar nodded encouragingly. Serliva’s expression was less guarded and betrayed her shock when she learned boys and girls were taught separately. How were they to be comfortable with one another when not allowed to interact from a young age? Before they had walked very far some of Hanuvar’s chief concerns had already been made manifest. If the children were left here for much longer, even the oldest might be substantially different people from whom they’d have been if raised within Volanus, and the youngest might be indistinguishable from Dervans.

As they drew nearer, the children’s caretakers halted their games or tutelage and separated the boys and girls further, grouped by age to await review. The littlest were made to sit. Older ones were told to stand in a line. Hanuvar already knew that there were more older girls than older boys, forty-four to twenty-one. The number of smaller children was fewer, and among those fourteen were three toddlers, minded by a young woman missing her left hand, another survivor, and likely another kindness of Ciprion and Amelia, for few would have much compassion for a one-handed slave.

Per their previous arrangement, Izivar and Serliva would handle the majority of the public interaction today. He meant to observe as unobtrusively as possible in case some sharp-eyed youngster recognized him even in disguise. His likeness had unfortunately been commonplace in murals and sculptures throughout Volanus.

A tall, graying tutor standing with the older girls watched Izivar with particular intensity, his expression shifting from caution to curiosity. When his inspection shifted to Hanuvar his gaze grew fixed. Finally his mouth gaped.

Hanuvar knew his observer. The man was Ahdanit, one of the leaders of the university faculty of Volanus. They had spoken many times during Hanuvar’s years as a shofet, for Ahdanit had been an advocate of his institution’s research projects, which frequently seemed to run over budget because of the scholars’ tendency to discover additional lines of inquiry during their investigation, most of which Ahdanit had supported. Hanuvar had usually agreed with his reasoning if not his every request.

The slim academic’s name hadn’t been among the list of survivors, so he was clearly here under an assumed identity. Hanuvar met his eyes and shook his head ever so slightly. Ahdanit recovered with a tiny head bow and closed his mouth, confused but resolved to silence.

Knowing Hanuvar’s hope for his niece Edonia, Izivar asked Amelia if they might meet the girls first, and Hanuvar readied himself for disappointment. He should be happy, he thought, that any of these young women had survived to be so well cared for. They and their clothes were clean, and they were well nourished. The youngest looked uninterested in their visitors, just bored or disappointed to have their activities interrupted, like any young people assembled before older ones.

Hanuvar had parlayed with more foreign leaders than he could quickly count, sometimes under very trying circumstances. And yet the thought of explaining to these children that they would be leaving here seemed a far greater challenge. They had good meals and decent bedding, familiar company, and routine. How would they react?

He was glad to yield lead in this matter to a more capable ally. Izivar would try to get a sense for how best to broach the topic and group the children during transport. For now, he confined himself to searching the faces of the dark-eyed girls.

Four years was a third of a lifetime for his niece Edonia. At seven, when he’d last seen her, she had favored her mother, sharing honey-brown eyes and pointed chin, though her unruly dark hair had looked more like his brother Melgar’s. Temperamentally she had resembled neither of her fiery parents, for she had been focused and deliberative. Hanuvar’s duties in Volanus left him too busy to frequently engage with his extended family, but he had known little Edonia because even at six she’d had the patience to sit down for games of draughts. While contemplating her possible moves and twisting her hair around her fingers, she had talked about her abiding interest in animals, and also about the great winged serpents who had made Volanus their home since the city’s founding. She hoped to become one of the maidens at the temple of the asalda.

Hanuvar had enjoyed his scattered moments with her, wondering if she was what his daughter Narisia had been like as a little girl.

Izivar bade the children good morning in their own language, introducing herself by her given, not family, name. The children looked surprised to hear this elegant outsider speak their native tongue.

Edonia didn’t seem to be present. But that short-haired girl there, or the one in back—no, her chin was too prominent. But her, on the left . . . It was unfortunate Hanuvar had to remain in a disguise he could not set aside. Surely, if his hair were parted and he wore a beard, Edonia would have stepped forward with a glad cry.

If she were here.

He turned to Amelia and addressed her softly. “Milady, might I visit alone with this instructor?” He indicated Ahdanit. He wished to make it clear to the scholar that he spoke with Amelia’s permission.

She inclined her head politely. “Of course.”

Izivar was already chatting to the girls about their daily routines while the Herrenic instructor looked on with some bemusement. Her grace and easy manner had them warming to her.

Hanuvar motioned Ahdanit aside and they walked apart, the scholar’s eyes drinking him in. Probably he wondered if this were some trick. Even if the man hadn’t seen Hanuvar’s plummet into the sea he would have learned of it from his fellow prisoners or the Dervans themselves. He might also have heard wild rumors of Hanuvar’s impossible return. But Ahdanit was an intellectual and a skeptic and would have judged those stories to be either fears or projected hopes.

Halting at the side of a myrtle twenty feet out from the children, Hanuvar spoke to Ahdanit in Volani. He got straight to the point. “It is me, and you and the children will be freed. But the boys and girls and the rest of the staff cannot be trusted with my name or our intentions until they are away from here.” He did not add that children might talk, and servants overhear to spread gossip beyond the family holdings. Ahdanit was bright enough to understand.

The scholar struggled to sound normal as he replied. “Of course, Shofet. Freed? But how?”

Hanuvar dared not reveal specifics. “With few complications, and very soon. And do not bother with a title.” Such honorifics were irrelevant here. He was glad he could offer further news. “Your wife lives. And your colleague Varahan.”

Ahdanit blinked, and his eyes shown with moisture. He wiped at them. His voice was a hoarse whisper. “She lives?”

“Yes. I saw her myself only last week. She’s free now.” He did not add that she had been one of those on board a ship for New Volanus. He had spoken with the great musician only briefly, but had been delighted by her beaming smile.

Ahdanit could not help laughing in pleasure. “I thank you . . . this news is hard to take in. And so are you. Is Varahan all right? How are you doing this? How did you survive?”

“He’s in good health. As for me . . . these are stories for another time. Now, tell me. Surely you’re not the only one under an assumed name here. Are any of these young ladies Edonia Cabera?”

Ahdanit’s expression fell. “I don’t believe so. Not that they’ve told me. And we’ve talked a lot over the months.” He took in Hanuvar’s troubled look. “If you will permit me?”

Hanuvar didn’t know what he was permitting but acquiesced with a head nod.

Ahdanit turned and called a girl’s name, Esherah. One of the older girls asked approval of Galinthias, and then Amelia and, given it, stepped clear of the others, her expression tentative. Ahdanit waved her forward and she started toward them.

The scholar looked to Hanuvar as she neared. “What do I call you?”

“Decius.”

The young lady stopped in front of them and sought reassurance from Ahdanit’s gaze. Her thick hair was combed forward, likely in an attempt to hide the long white scar visible along her forehead. In her girl’s stola and sandals she looked a proper young Dervan maiden, but as her eyes searched Hanuvar’s own he was reminded of an entirely different young lady of about the same age who also had assessed him mistrustfully. He did not outwardly reveal the pang he experienced in recalling Takava, long since buried in the sands of a distant isle.

“Do not worry, Esherah,” Ahdanit said in Volani. “Decius is a friend. Decius, Esherah is the clever young woman who warned children of the famous or those in training with coveted institutions to lie about their names. She’s one of my best students.”

Hanuvar supposed Ahdanit was teaching them mathematics. As far as the information he had shared about Esherah, Hanuvar understood Ahdanit meant it as a kindness to him in locating his niece, though he had little hope it would lead to anything useful. The scholar couldn’t know how diligently Carthalo’s people had already acquired the few Volani children outside this grouping from slave holders. Still, Hanuvar nodded his head politely to the girl. “Were there any such children among you?”

Her expression brightened in surprise to be addressed by a Dervan in such perfect Volani. She pursed her lips and gathered her thoughts. Hanuvar liked that she checked with Ahdanit a final time. The scholar nodded approval.

“I don’t know, sir,” Esherah responded respectfully. She glanced again at her instructor, as if asking for permission to provide more sensitive information.

“Speak the whole truth to him,” he insisted.

“I’ve been told that some of them were maidens at the temple of the asalda. One of them is here.”

The temple where Edonia had hoped to win a place, and where her mother had once served. Hanuvar kept rising interest from his expression.

“Why don’t you ask her over?” Ahdanit suggested. Esherah turned and called another girl’s name, waving her toward them, and that youngster sought approval from her minders, who then received permission from Amelia. Izivar and Serliva, meanwhile, talked animatedly with a now larger group of girls of mixed ages. The boys had been led aside, the younger playing fox and geese while the older were again seated before an instructor. Antires, standing with the ladies, looked longingly toward Hanuvar, but he had not been invited into the conversation and did not presume to intrude.

Soon a grave young girl with short, curling brown hair was standing closely to Esherah, her soft brown eyes searching. Hanuvar guessed her for nine or ten. She was introduced as Teonia.

Hanuvar took a knee and offered a smile. “Hello.”

She would not meet his eyes. One of her arms was streaked with burn scars.

“Were you a handmaiden at the Hall of the Asalda?” Hanuvar asked.

“I was in training, sir,” she answered after a long silence. Her voice was thin and remote.

“Do you know Edonia Cabera?”

She nodded; her expression revealed nothing more but she slipped further behind Esherah.

Hanuvar pretended calm. “Is she here?”

She shook her head no. Esherah took her hand, and the young girl clung tightly to her fingers.

That flare of optimism had been foolish. It would be painful, but another question was necessary. “Do you know if she survived?”

Teonia’s eyes were grave as she finally looked at him. He could not read her meaning beyond shyness, or perhaps fear.

And then she nodded. Yes.

Hanuvar managed to keep intensity from his voice. He did not want to frighten the girl. “You saw her? You are certain?”

Teonia nodded vigorously. “She was in the pens.”

“The slave pens in Derva,” Ahdanit explained.

Suddenly Teonia was talking quickly, although her voice was soft. “They let her in back at Volanus. But they wouldn’t let my cousin in even though he wasn’t too badly wounded. He could still walk a little. The Dervans took him away and I never saw him again.”

Some Dervan overseer must have decided there was little enough value to be had from a child, let alone one who would have to be nursed back to health. Young Teonia was fortunate that her cousin hadn’t been killed in front of her.

Hanuvar fell silent in shared remorse for the lost child, and bit back his anger. That another had survived only to be culled by a Dervan like a sickly lamb all but shattered his composure.

He mastered himself with a breath and concentrated on the more positive aspects of Teonia’s information: Edonia had lived to reach Derva, which meant she had to have been sold on. Hanuvar knew every name on the Dervan slave list, as well as those upon the supplemental lists of Volani purchased by citizens of other countries. Edonia’s had not been among them. It might be that she had an assumed name, like Ahdanit. “Do you know what she was calling herself?”

“She said to tell everyone she was Betsara.”

Edonia’s grandmother’s name on her mother’s side. And one among those Hanuvar had seen, listed as sold with two other young women to someone listed only as a foreign national. His nostrils flared as he inhaled in frustration. He mentioned their names as well. “Did you know them?”

“They were all my friends,” Teonia said. “The black-robed men took them. They led them away. They looked like wizards but weren’t really, or they would have known that my brother and I had the touch but Edonia and Varina and Danae didn’t. Not really.”

Hanuvar wanted to make sure he understood what she meant. “What touch do you have?”

She suddenly found her sandaled feet of immense interest.

“It’s all right,” Ahdanit said. “Decius won’t be afraid.”

She hesitated. “But he’s a Dervan. We’re not supposed to talk to them about magic things.”

Ahdanit addressed Hanuvar. “The comportment instructor has told them that civilized people don’t tolerate such ‘chicanery.’”

“It’s wise of you to be careful what you say,” Hanuvar told her. “But you can talk to me about this. Some of my friends have the kind of touch I think you mean, and pretending you don’t have it is like pretending you can’t hear. Who would want to do that?”

Teonia met his eyes then for the first time. She didn’t exactly smile, but her expression cleared, and he recognized a spark of warmth in her eyes. “That’s exactly how it is,” she said.

She had just confirmed she was one of the rare few who were tuned to senses beyond the commonplace; such had been prized by the asalda because they found them easier to communicate with. The girl grew more comfortable as she continued. “I can feel things from far away. Like the magic from the man in the mountain. I can sense him from here. So can my brother.”

“Teonia’s brother is here as well,” Ahdanit explained.

Hanuvar nodded his thanks and faced Teonia once more. “The man in the mountain?”

“He has many Volani voices with him, and he’s using the voices to talk to the mountain and its old stones.”

Hanuvar’s interest quickened. Could she mean the scholar working in the ruins with the Volani slaves? “How do you know they’re Volani?”

“I can hear them talking.”

“What are they saying?”

“They are crying. They’re lonely and scared, and he won’t let them go. But he’s lonely, too.”

Hanuvar didn’t care for the sound of that. His sources had told him the Volani under the thumb of this particular owner were reasonably well treated. “Do you know this man’s name?”

She shook her head. “He came to speak to the Lady this week.”

“She means Calenius,” Ahdanit explained, confirming Hanuvar’s suspicion, for that was the name of the scholar digging in the ruins. He had provided some sort of aid to the Dervan authorities during or soon after their campaign against Volanus. “He was there, at the siege. I remember seeing him wandering around the enclosures, and I heard his name called.”

Hanuvar had heard that as well. “And he’s a wizard?”

“That I do not know,” Ahdanit said. “He’s investigating some ruins south of here, on Mount Esuvia. I’m not sure what he spoke with Lady Amelia about.”

Hanuvar smiled reassuringly to the girl and put his hand out, palm up. Hesitantly, she extended her own, and then he gently squeezed her fingers. “Thank you, Teonia. I am sorry about your cousin. And I’m sorry you have to hide.”

Her expression was blank. Sorrow and sympathy were poor currency, so he continued. “But you have given me good news, and I’m grateful. Now I can try to find Edonia.”

“Why?”

“So I can help her.”

“Are you going to take us away?” Esherah asked. The older girl’s eyes were suddenly piercing.

He could not tell her the truth, yet, but he could not lie to her. “Do you want to stay here?”

“I want to stay with my friends.”

“I’m sure you will,” Hanuvar said. He debated asking which of the girls were her favorites, the better to know which ones should be kept together during the wagon transport to the coast, but he didn’t want to imply that any of them would be parted.

He doubted his answer fully satisfied her, but Esherah asked a different question rather than challenging him further. “Are you really a Dervan?” From Teonia’s searching look it was clear she wondered the same thing.

“Does it matter? The important thing is that I’m a friend to Lady Izivar, and she’s Volani. I will help her all I can.”

They mulled that over.

Hanuvar climbed to his feet. “Thank you. Why don’t you rejoin the others?”

They nodded politely to their elders, and then Esherah led the younger girl off by the hand.

“Your niece lives,” Ahdanit said softly.

“So it seems.” While Hanuvar struggled to adjust to this welcome news, he was already considering the obstacles lying in front of Edonia’s recovery. “Black-robed men” wasn’t an especially useful description, but it was a start. The important thing was that Edonia survived, and she was among girls from her own people. If her owners thought her some kind of specialized worker that was all to the good, because that virtually guaranteed her better treatment.

After a moment, Ahdanit spoke with quiet restraint. “Shahara, she is well? She suffered no . . . hardship?”

Hanuvar understood Ahdanit’s reluctance to mention terrible fates by name, as if doing so might give them the power to be real. And he realized he’d allowed himself to become too fixated upon his own worries, while this man had quietly waited for further word about the woman he loved.

“Forgive me. I should have told you more. She looked well, and she hadn’t been treated harshly. She’d been working as a musical tutor. Her owners had even gifted her with a high-quality flute.”

“My darling,” he said softly. “She wasn’t in the pens. She was visiting relatives in Elanthes when the Dervans came.”

“So great was her renown that she was sold before she even reached Derva.”

“I had no hope for her,” Ahdanit said, his voice shuddering. “To have lost someone of such a talent . . .”

“She will ensure our musical heritage survives.” Hanuvar thought of the fledgling academy in New Volanus, probably more advanced in the year since he’d seen it, but surely to benefit from Shahara’s skill and passion. Hanuvar shifted topics before the scholar could ask for more details. “How well are you and the children being cared for here?”

He answered after only a moment of reflection. “The rest of the instructors and I have been very lucky. The children . . . They’re doing so much better now than when we first came.”

“They look healthy.”

“Yes. They’ve been lucky, too, overall. When I think of all those who didn’t make it, it’s hard to complain, but—”

“Your honest assessment,” Hanuvar said, striving not to sound curt.

Ahdanit gathered himself and stopped dithering. “They have plenty of food, the company of their own people, even an education probably better than a lot of Dervans receive—it is nothing to object to. But Galinthias’ lectures are wandering, like a comic imitation of a Herrenic philosopher, and the children have learned how to get him off on tangents so that he often isn’t teaching them much. He could certainly be far worse, of course. He’s never abusive.”

Hanuvar nodded encouragement, and Ahdanit continued. “The Dervan language instructor is actually quite sweet, but completely oblivious about why any of these children would be disinterested in the finer points of Dervan society. The woman I mentioned who teaches the young ladies comportment is rigid and disliked, but the worst thing is that there aren’t any real apprenticeship programs. Some of the older boys and girls were already apprenticed in Volanus. There aren’t many crafting positions being offered here. And if you’re a young woman, the only skills you’re allowed to practice are the household arts. Young Esherah could be a world-class mathematician, and she seems to enjoy the academic pursuits immensely, but I think they intend her to be a ladies maid.”

Hanuvar knew this to be a profession Dervans considered desirable for unmarried women from nonpatrician families. He happened to think a skilled assistant was invaluable to any enterprise, but he’d hate to see someone gifted in one profession forced into another. “If that’s not what she wishes, that’s not what’s going to happen now,” he vowed.

Ahdanit searched his eyes as if assuring himself Hanuvar’s confidence was warranted.

Hanuvar hadn’t paid particular attention to the bright chirping of orioles until they suddenly went silent. He knew another tremor was on its way a breath before the ground shook. The rumbling arrived this time with the shrill screams of young children. Adults called for calm, though some of them cried out in fear as well.

He spotted Izivar seated on the ground near the girls, far from danger, caught sight of Serliva and Amelia and Antires, then turned to scan Esuvia, as he had during the earlier tremor. The mountain’s gray cone rose above its green-girt slopes just to the west.

But there came no smoke, nor even an avalanche, much less roiling ash plumes, and the cones of the old volcano’s two distant sisters to the south were quiescent as well.

The shaking grew more violent. Behind him a louder crack of stone sounded, and he turned as a corner of the villa gave way. Red shingles slid from the roof to break in a clattering heap.

And then, only a few yards from himself, the earth was rent asunder. The grass parted and a gap of darkness yawned. Dirt and chaff mushroomed. Hanuvar struggled to keep his feet and threw out a hand to steady Ahdanit.

The quaking ceased just as suddenly as it had begun. Silence persisted for long moments, and then a few cautious orioles resumed their songs, joined quickly by the shrill whisper of starlings, angry about the disturbance.

Hanuvar again checked the children, and the volcano, and his friends. None seemed harmed. He strode for the gap that had opened, for he thought he’d glimpsed dark bricks within.

He had not imagined it. The earth had revealed a subterranean structure. Only ten feet down the crumbling slope lay a floor of incongruously shining black pavers, half hidden by mounded dirt, collapsed walls, and broken stone that was almost certainly a fallen ceiling.

Ahdanit came to stand at his side, peering with him. “What is that?”

Hanuvar didn’t know. “A hallway, I think.” Some fifteen feet of passage had been exposed. A few pavers were cracked or pushed diagonally upright, but the majority remained flat and even as a Dervan highway, stretching into lost darkness beneath the earth.

After a moment, someone smelling of clover and scented bath oils drew beside him. Amelia, who stepped fearlessly to the edge. Hanuvar kept at her side, ready to grab her should the ground give way. Divining his intent, she frowned irritably, as if to assert that she was perfectly capable of watching out for herself.

Antires and Izivar arrived a moment later, though neither ventured as close to the side.

“What do you suppose this is?” Amelia asked him.

“Something Calenius will be interested in,” Hanuvar said. “I’m told he came to see you.”

“He did. He wished to dig on our ground, if he could not buy it outright. He said he expected there were ruins beneath.”

“Looks like he was right,” Antires said dryly.

Amelia ignored him and continued speaking to Hanuvar. “Why does that interest you?”

“He holds Volani slaves that he will not sell. What did you tell him?”

“That our land was not for sale, nor was it currently for rent. He countered with the offer of large sums merely to explore, and I told him I would consider it. Now, I believe you’ve something in mind.”

He did. There was little more he would be useful for here. He had satisfied his own curiosity as to the children’s general health and the quality of their education, and learned more than he’d expected in that his niece was likely still alive, though probably far away. Izivar would carry out her strategy for evaluating the rest of the situation, and his part in it was very small. An opportunity like this couldn’t be ignored. “Let me act as your negotiator. He’s likely to offer more now that there’s proof these ruins exist.”

“And you will ask for the Volani slaves as part of the fee.”

“If you would permit me.”

Amelia hesitated. “It was my thought his excavators should not have close proximity to pretty girls just this side of puberty.”

“A prudent precaution. What will you do with the land once the children are gone?”

She considered him gravely. “How soon are you planning to leave with them?”

“In a matter of weeks. Perhaps sooner, for their own safety.”

“Safety?” Her expression darkened, and then she understood his meaning was not a rebuke for her standards of care. “Oh, this is nothing. The quakes happen from time to time. Esuvia just turns in her sleep. You do realize that the younger children have already grown attached to this place? And many are showing affinity for the skills they’re learning. Wouldn’t they be happier, here, settled and with a more certain future?”

Hanuvar kept his voice level. “The colony is settled. And they will be among their own people.”

“I expected you would say that.”

“Just as you would, if our roles were reversed.”

No matter her intelligence, Amelia’s blank stare suggested a mental block in conceiving a mirrored version of their fates. She recovered, returning to her central concern. “As someone who has many more years of direct experience with childcare, I ask for you to think not of the prior wrongs done to these children, but the benefits to them having a stable situation. Rather than displacing them. Again.”

“It has given me some significant pause already,” he admitted. “And I’ll certainly consider your experienced counsel. But as to the matter of Calenius, I suggest you offer to have him inspect this tunnel. I can accompany his every move after you relocate the children far from view.”

Amelia considered her reply only briefly. “Very well. I’ll arrange things on this end. Tell him the price of examining the tunnels is the freeing of your slaves. If he wishes to do more, then he and I will have to come to an agreement. Size him up. I expect you to avoid bringing anyone back here that you can’t protect us from.”



II


Izivar’s pleasure about Edonia’s survival shown in her eyes the moment Hanuvar shared the news, though she refrained from extensive reaction with so many people nearby. Hanuvar had come to treasure her earnest compassion even more than her predictable competence. She had no hesitation in remaining with Serliva to continue her meetings with the children while he left to negotiate more releases.

Antires, however, insisted upon accompanying Hanuvar, who had him drive the carriage, the better to convey the slaves he hoped to free. Hanuvar preferred to take his horse, a reliable roan he’d invested a lot of hours training, and so once again rode at the vehicle’s head. Antires shouted to be heard over the crunch of the carriage wheels on the dirt road.

“I’d like to point out again that this would all be simpler if you were just willing to acquire other slaves and trade them out for the ones Calenius bought. He only wants sturdy, reliable workers, doesn’t he?”

“That’s what he told Carthalo’s agent. But I’m not buying anyone except to set them free.”

“There are slaves all over the Inner Sea,” Antires objected, not for the first time. He had been brought up surrounded by the societal distortions of slavery, and little understood Hanuvar’s deep seated hatred of the practice.2

They retraced their route along the mountainside, noting the same sentry who took to his feet as they turned into the narrow dirt path leading to the tents and the excavation. Several dozen men were hard at work digging a trench with picks and shovels. Others trundled soil off in carts.

While Antires pulled the brake on the wagon and undid part of the harness so his horses could graze, Hanuvar left his trusted bay roan to join them and started forward. The sentry, rather than greeting them, retreated into the complex.

A few of the slaves looked up, but none halted their labors as Hanuvar and Antires walked to a portal in the field wall where they paused to take in the work beyond. The digging had exposed more than Hanuvar had anticipated, for the ground on the wall’s far side had been extracted six feet further down, revealing an ancient street similar to those of Derva itself, complete with a bricked road and a sidewalk of shining black stone. Square pillars stretched skyward, the supports for some long-vanished pediment.

While they were taking in the sights, the beefy sentry rounded a corner to challenge them at last, two other guards at his heels. He declared the area unsafe and reminded them it was private property. His manner was unwelcoming and he moved as if he knew how to use the spear in his left hand. Hanuvar judged him a former gladiator.

Hanuvar affected the stiff demeanor of a servant on an uncomfortable errand and explained they had come to speak to the scholar Calenius at the behest of his neighbor, the Lady Amelia. After a calculating frown from the gladiator, they were conducted down steep stairs chiseled out of the dirt, then led into a maze of ancient streets.

Their guide was dour, a dark-brown man of likely Arbatean extraction, wearing a laborer’s sleeveless tunic held up by a single shoulder strap. His well-made spear was honed to a razored point. He did not offer a name nor inquire about theirs. The two behind were smaller, younger, and armed with the kind of short blade common throughout Tyvol; one appeared half Ceori and both seemed intent enough to die in the line of duty, should the need arise. Hanuvar was more interested in the surroundings but he strove to seem appropriately uneasy for the benefit of his escorts.

Several city blocks had been partially revealed, and Hanuvar studied the buildings they passed, fascinated that they had been fitted with stones that not only showed no mortar, but were perfectly smooth and symmetrical, as though all had been manufactured to incredibly precise standards. The interiors of most buildings were filled still with dirt, visible through ancient doorways and windows, but debris had been cleared from the streets and the building fronts themselves. There was something familiar in the sweeping lines and symmetrical archways, yet he could not identify the culture that had made them—it must be older than the Dervans and the Turians or Oscani before them.

Antires took in all of it keenly but said nothing.

Their guide halted finally where the street widened into an oval. The excavation ended at the far side, where human architecture stopped at a flat wall carved from smooth volcanic rock and rising forty feet into the air before the mountain’s green slope slanted upward. Precisely etched letters decorated the stone every few inches, from a curving alphabet Hanuvar did not recognize. There were also fanciful images of men and women and beasts, and temples, and, towering over all, a mountain cone that must be Esuvia. To either side, a detailed relief of some kind of bull-serpent hybrid pointed a horned nose toward the height.

Hanuvar had heard rumors of ancient ruins dotting the southern half of Tyvol, but had little personal experience with them, aside from some old Turian fortresses, which, though formidable, had been much less intriguing.

While Antires advanced a few steps for a closer look at the images, Hanuvar watched the progress of the Arbatean sentry, who approached a taller man standing wide legged before the wall and speaking at a thin slave who made notes on a wax slate. The slave was a Herrene little older than Antires, dressed like the others in a work tunic with a single shoulder strap. The man addressing him, though, was almost certainly Calenius, whose memorable description from Carthalo’s agents had still failed to convey the impact of his presence.

Even from the back this “scholar” was an imposing figure. Muscles corded the calves below his fine crimson tunic, and his arms and shoulders were immense. His hair was the red of burnished copper, worn long as Hanuvar’s daughter’s, when last he’d seen her, and in a queue no one wanting to blend with Dervan society would have dared. A long sword hung from his fine brown belt along the right side, as though he himself were left-handed. The belt also supported an axe, a wineskin, and a variety of pouches that would have made a smaller man look overburdened.

The precise nature of the advice Calenius had provided the Dervan government during the Third Volani War was not known to Hanuvar’s sources, but the man had been awarded equestrian status as a result, and a plain gold band on his left hand denoted his position in society. It gleamed on his finger as he emphasized some point that his secretary nodded understanding about while writing.

Calenius held up a hand to the secretary as he was interrupted by the Arbatean. The scholar, who looked nothing like an academic, listened briefly to the sentry’s words, then turned and walked toward Hanuvar and Antires, waiting with their silent guards. He moved with ease, radiating confidence. When he drew to a stop before them he towered half a head over Hanuvar, and his cool blue eyes were those of a seasoned killer. He used his gaze like a weapon, boldly peering at Hanuvar to assert dominance.

For a moment, Hanuvar was tempted to return that look. But he played a role, and so gave in to the unaccustomed discomfort he registered and glanced away towards Antires, who seemed to have no trouble appearing uneasy. The guards stood well back as if only awaiting dismissal rather than remaining alert to protect their employer.

“Welcome,” Calenius said, cordial enough with his status established. His voice was rich and deep. His Dervan was smooth and faintly accented, but Hanuvar couldn’t guess his native language. “What do you think of my excavations?”

Antires cleared his throat before answering in the nervous tone of a visiting tutor hoping for a permanent post. “I think you’ve exposed some lovely masonry. I don’t fully recognize the style, although it looks a little like some work I’ve seen from Arbatea.” His friend sought to draw the scholar out with appreciation; not a bad tactic given the circumstances.

A faint smile touched Calenius’ lips. “An interesting observation. What makes you say that?”

“The sharp lines used to construct the figures themselves. They’re stiff but still suggest motion; it’s superior to typical work out of Hadira, although I’d warrant its even older.”

“That’s true. You’ve been to Arbatea?”

Antires shook his head no. “I’ve been in Cylene, and saw an exhibition of some of their tables in a temple there.”

Calenius nodded and considered an image of men and women bearing produce-filled baskets down from the mountain. Hanuvar had still not managed to place his origin. Calenius seemed acutely conscious of power, but not in a Dervan way, for he, like his watchmen, hadn’t bothered introducing himself, or asking their names. But then much of Dervan status had to do with generational landed bloodlines, and this man would not have those to lord over them.

“This work predates anything you’d find in Arbatea, or Hadira,” Calenius said to Antires. “And you’re right about the connections.” He seemed to have grown bored with the interaction, though, for he changed the subject. “You’re servants of Lady Amelia, I hear. What does she want of me?”

“There’s been a collapse on her property,” Hanuvar answered readily. “An underground tunnel has been exposed.”

Calenius’ absorption shown in his sudden stillness.

“The tile work’s very similar to these streets,” Hanuvar continued.

Calenius’ left brow rose minutely. “Will she give me access?”

“She will permit you to inspect the collapse only. You will have to negotiate with her more specifically over excavation rights.”

“I see.” He studied Hanuvar intently now. “And is there a price for seeing what there is to see?”

“The award of several slaves.”

Calenius frowned. “I need workers, and these meet my needs.”

“Are they as hard to replace as this opportunity to see what’s on the Lady’s land?”

“This is about the Volani slaves, isn’t it?” Calenius asked. “I thought it might have been her husband who sent those inquiries.”

It had been the agents of Hanuvar’s capable intelligence chief who’d approached Calenius, but Hanuvar saw no point in clearing up his confusion.

“Why do they want them so badly?”

“Why do you want these tunnels?” Hanuvar asked.

Calenius provided no answer but smiled indulgently as he swiftly made a decision. “Very well. I’ll make a gift of my Volani slaves to the Lady Amelia so long as it seems worth my time when we get there. If it is, she must permit me to fully explore the material exposed, for the price I offered. I suppose she’ll want something in writing?”

“I would be remiss if I did not request it.”

“One moment.” Calenius stepped away and motioned for the Arbatean watchman who’d guided them, patiently waiting near his fellows. When he came forward his employer spoke quietly to him, at length. As soon as the man acknowledged his instructions, Calenius sent him running, dismissed the other two, then called for the secretary. That man listened to his master’s commands, then dug through his shoulder bag and quickly produced inkwell, stylus, and parchment. Calenius dictated while the secretary wrote.

Antires spoke softly to Hanuvar. “He’s drawing up the sales document right now. This was easy.”

“So far, yes.”

“Why?”

“I’ll explain later.”

“You think he’s listening?”

“Someone might be.”

The answer was that Calenius was desperate to find something far more valuable to him in Amelia’s tunnels than these slaves. Hanuvar was curious about what that might be but even more intrigued by the contradictions the seeker himself presented: he moved like a man half Hanuvar’s age but commanded like an experienced general; he was clearly a foreigner, but radiated the assurance of someone at home; and he was no more attached to his slaves than a wealthy man to his spoon yet hadn’t sold at an earlier and more remunerative opportunity.

Soon the secretary was scattering sand over the surface of the paper to accelerate its drying, and the Arbatean sentry was returning with eight able-bodied workers, a mix of rangy teenagers and seasoned men as old as forty. Most were smudged with dirt and sweat, and all carried shoulder bags. Hanuvar didn’t see any he knew, but stepped into the shadow of a wall, for citizens of Volanus he’d never interacted with might recognize him, and Calenius would be an awkward audience to overhear that particular sort of conversation. He searched for signs of mistreatment but saw nothing obvious. Hanuvar thought that they looked troubled, but that could well owe to nervousness that this change in their routine portended some unfavorable shift in their fate.

“Your Lady’s new slaves, provided I like what I see on her property,” Calenius explained, and the men exchanged openly worried glances at that, though none dared speak. He motioned for the document the secretary had supplied him and popped it into a scroll case, then capped it. “Everything’s ready for the Lady Amelia. I’ll ride ahead on my horse.”

“I’ll join you,” Hanuvar said.

“Well then. Your man can follow with the Volani.”

Antires’ expression fell in disappointment. He always preferred to be a direct witness rather than to hear summaries. Just because he often missed out on moments he thought likely to be interesting didn’t mean he’d become inured to it, but Hanuvar gave him a meaningful stare after nodding toward the slaves and the younger man tightened his lips in acknowledgement. He’d provide the reassurance they needed as they left this place for good.

Hanuvar briefly wondered how Izivar would take these sweaty men riding in her carriage with its ornate decorations and delicate foot rests but decided she’d accept it. He hurried after the big scholar, mindful of his promise to Amelia.

At the road, another of Calenius’ muscular slaves already waited with a burly black stallion. By the time Hanuvar was mounted, Calenius was under way. The man’s self-possession in riding out alone seemed somehow more ominous than bringing a bevy of personal guard for “Decius” to monitor.

Calenius was focused forward, signaling his disinterest in conversation, but Hanuvar addressed him anyway as he urged his horse alongside, thinking his role as servant could permit a little inquisitiveness. “You’re a student of history?”

“You could say that.”

“But there’s something specific you’re searching for.”

The scholar glanced sidelong at him. “We’re all searching for something, aren’t we? Power? Wealth? Many of us are searching for death, and never even know it.”

Hanuvar decided any implied threat in that statement was indirect. Calenius sounded more like a philosopher than he looked. “Are you saying that’s what you’re doing?”

“I have, in the past. It never quite worked out.” Calenius flashed a mirthless grin at no one in particular. “No, this time I happen to be searching for life.”

“In cities of the dead,” Hanuvar pointed out.

Calenius only grunted.

“Should Lady Amelia be concerned about what you’re searching for?”

“My dig’s not going to hurt her.”

His slight emphasis on the second word caught Hanuvar’s ear. “Is there danger from another source?”

Those piercing blue eyes shifted to him, seeming to reassess. “What are you to her, exactly?”

“A family friend.”

“A friend of her husband’s,” Calenius guessed. “From the service.”

“I advise them both.”

“Well, an advisor should know that there are always dangers. The volcano’s probably fine for the next few months but she might want to consider moving by fall.”

“You know about volcanoes?”

“Among other things.” Calenius feigned boredom once more. Hanuvar sensed he remained alert, however.

“Who built these ruins you’re looking into?” Hanuvar asked.

“The culture was an ancient ancestor of the Turians. The Oscani.” Calenius did not appear to care that it sounded as if he were lying.

Hanuvar supposed that these could be ruins of the fabled Vanished Ones. Their abandoned settlements were said to lay scattered throughout the Inner Sea and those who lived near routinely blocked openings to dank, subterranean passages worked into their weird temples, for legend had it unpleasant things crept out from them at night.

But he decided against pressing further. Despite his remaining questions, it occurred to Hanuvar that if that sharp intellect turned from its own interests Calenius could prove treacherous. Hanuvar shifted in his seat as if uneasy and instead devoted his thought to plans for securing the additional eight kinsman fortune had granted while keeping the children and his allies safe from the scholar’s mysterious machinations. His silence appeared to content the big man, for Calenius neither volunteered nor asked anything further for the duration of the journey.

Ciprion’s field slaves were still absent from their implements, which didn’t surprise Hanuvar, for the buildings required substantial repair. Once beyond the gate, though, Hanuvar ascertained that some additional new and unwelcome event must have transpired in his absence. Instead of retreating to a back patio to enjoy wine or juices, both Izivar and Amelia frowned down at the crevice that had opened while a quartet of male slaves prepared a rope ladder and the lead instructor, gray-haired Galinthias, peered into the depths with a mirrored lantern despite the bright of the sun. The children were entirely absent.

Hanuvar urged his gelding faster, leading the way across the grounds toward the group, and Calenius kept pace just behind. There was no missing the brows furrowed with consternation on every head.

Amelia spoke before the two had even dismounted. “Good. You’re here. Calenius, you are free to investigate this tunnel straight away. I’m certain Decius has arranged the price.” She looked to Hanuvar for confirmation then proceeded. “But I must ask that you will keep alert for two of our children who’ve apparently entered it.”

Calenius was terse. “You’re sure of this?”

“Which children?” Hanuvar asked.

“One of the two you met,” Amelia said, with a sharp look. “Teonia. And her brother Bannos. They tried to get others to go with them. They told their friends they heard wondrous music from down there.”

Galinthias chimed in, “I have warned Geedis that hiding games should not be permitted.” Amelia merely deepened her frown at this apparently repeated attempt to cast blame.

“We’ve heard no music.” Izivar returned to the line of exposition Amelia had started. “And they took no light. Yet they went. And we’re not sure how. No adults saw them go in but little Illia ran all the way back to get us. She was the only one they persuaded as far as the verge.”

Hanuvar groaned inwardly. There might be no music that could be heard by those with normal perception, but that didn’t mean Teonia and her brother hadn’t sensed something magical. Had he inadvertently encouraged their exploration by reassuring the girl about her gifts?

The carriage rumbled onto the bricked road to the villa. Calenius looked toward it, thinking, then faced Amelia. “I will find the children, if they still live.”

“I’ll be going with you,” Hanuvar said.

“As will I,” Amelia asserted.

Calenius shook his head disdainfully. “This is no place for either of you. I have experience with the hazards these passages can present.”

“Then I’ll let you lead,” Amelia said, breezily adding, “Decius and I will assist.”

Calenius glanced at Hanuvar, not so much to verify that this was his name as to pin it to him. “The ground may have shifted. Old tunnels may not be safe.”

“They seem to have held up quite well from ancient times,” Amelia returned. “One of my men climbed down the side and shined a lantern along for a fair way. I’ve just sent him back to the villa for more.”

Calenius glowered. “What would I say to your husband were he to ask how his wife and friend died beneath the earth?”

“You will have nothing of the sort to explain if you return us safely.”

Calenius opened his mouth as if to object further, then waved his hand in a huffy acquiescence before striding off toward the carriage now pulling to a stop on the distant drive. The younger Volani that had jogged beside the conveyance stood attentively at his approach while older ones disembarked looking bemused. Antires hopped down to hurry toward his friends without seeing to the horses or the men.

Hanuvar spoke in low tones to Amelia as Izivar moved closer. “I don’t like this—I’ve not been able to figure out what he’s truly after, but it’s old and powerful and there’s probably something magical involved. Teonia and her brother are sensitive to such things.”

Amelia’s look wasn’t so much blank as uncomprehending, and he realized that to her magic was the province of mountebanks. “They are children. With vivid imaginations.”

“They are children, but they’ve probably been drawn by something quite real. If you descend with us, it’s not just cave-ins we’ll need to deal with.”

“Monsters from myth?” She scoffed.

“Secrets, I mean, that Calenius may wish to keep hidden. Are you sure you want to go down there? If the situation becomes unfriendly—”

“Nonsense,” Amelia interrupted firmly. “I’ll help you keep an eye on the man. And besides, these children are still my responsibility.”

Hanuvar recognized that she would not be swayed and fell silent, but couldn’t suppress the image suggested by Calenius’ protest about explaining her death to Ciprion. He was wryly heartened by the thought that such a scene would never play out because he’d be dead too.

Antires joined them, and a band of Amelia’s slaves arrived with lanterns and rope and tools, so she stepped aside to organize what they’d brought. Hanuvar nodded to Antires, but spoke softly to Izivar.

“Don’t tell me you want to go along as well?”

“No,” she replied. “We all have our fields of expertise; I think you can manage this far better than I. And someone needs to keep an eye on things up here.”

“Antires will help.”

“You want me to stay here?” Antires scoffed. “Believe me, I’m not excited about going into another dark hole, but you need someone to watch your back. Calenius is dangerous.”

“That he is. But we have eight newcomers here; they’re going to be anxious about their new circumstances and two of them might have resentments toward the Lenereva family.” He didn’t have time to explain about the dispute the former shipwrights had brought to the council back when such things mattered. “You’re needed here.”

His friend sighed in resignation, but his frowning acknowledgment signaled he understood that the recovered men, for all that they were Volani, were an unknown commodity. Hanuvar returned his attention to Izivar. “What’s your assessment of the children?”

“The ones below? Or all of them?”

“All of them.”

“Oh, they’ve been well cared for. There’s no doubt of that.”

He heard an unspoken qualifier in her voice. “But?” he prompted.

She hesitated briefly. “I never realized how much of my time in Volanus I’d taken for granted. There are greater divisions among these children than I remember from my youth, hierarchies with cruelties and resentments. I suppose the stress they’ve been under could account for some of it, but I can’t help thinking that their time among the Dervans may be intensifying the conflicts. One of the boys actually accused me of lying when I told him I was Volani and free, and some of the girls treated me as if I were an exotic goddess.”

“Understandable,” Hanuvar said, though his tone was grim.

“I hate that there are no meaningful apprenticeships, virtually no understanding of cultures outside Tyvol, absolutely no instruction in self-defense, and an almost paranoid separation of the boys and girls most all the time.”

“Ciprion and Amelia intended to make them a part of Dervan society,” Antires said. “They had no idea we’d happen along. This is how things are done here.”

“I thought I was prepared until I saw this,” Izivar said. “The younger ones don't seem to remember Volanus and several don't speak the language anymore. We’re going to have to get these children out sooner than I planned if we want them to do well in New Volanus. And I don’t think some will be as happy up north. Amelia’s right about that. I’d hoped to give them the rest of the summer here.”

Calenius returned, leading the Volani to the far side of the crevice. After studying him, Izivar soberly held Hanuvar’s eye and he understood that she was advising him to act with extreme caution. With a slow nod he assured both her, and the still troubled Antires, that he appreciated the risk.

The wizard and his group stopped at the point where one of Amelia’s men had driven a pair of pitons into the ground. Robust ropes tied to them draped into the exposed tunnel. They joined Calenius in testing the knots.

“He’s thorough,” Antires said grudgingly.

It was almost time to leave. Hanuvar spoke again to Izivar, keeping his voice low. “Make sure the slaves we brought are the ones we’re seeking.”

“I don’t have the list.”

Hanuvar quietly recited their names, and she shook her head in amazement. “I still can’t believe you memorized them all.”

He had told her he’d done so because he’d feared he might have to destroy the list, for it was true and Izivar would understand that. But Hanuvar possessed an attention to detail others found remarkable, and that included precision memory for the written word, down to position of letters on a page. As a child he’d been surprised to learn friends and elders couldn’t remember things the same way, and thereafter discussed it only rarely, for his only sibling with the same gift, after whom he had named his daughter, had said it was wrong to think yourself superior through some accident of birth. “You can be proud of what you do, not who you are,” Narisia had instructed gravely. At twelve she had seemed incredibly wise, but then he had been six. “Use your gifts to aid your family, and your nation.” Almost certainly she was repeating something their mother had said, but he had taken that advice to heart, for he had loved her, fiercely. He understood as he aged that she had been uncommonly perceptive.

“What’s wrong?” Izivar asked sharply. “Beyond the obvious, I mean?”

“I was thinking about my sister.”3

Izivar’s expression gentled. She looked as though she wished to touch him, but wisely restrained herself. The person he pretended to be was probably standing in too familiar a way with his employer already.

“I would tell you to be careful . . .” Izivar said, affecting stiff formality. Her voice was still pitched just above a whisper.

“But you know he’ll do whatever’s needed regardless,” Antires finished her thought quietly.

Hanuvar eyed both. “Take care of them.”

Antires nodded solemnly and Izivar’s lips thinned. The two understood this as a warning of what to do should he not return.

Amelia approached with a pair of slaves shouldering their own supplies.

Calenius waited impatiently at the top of the rope ladder the slaves had arranged, then took in Amelia’s force. “You need these additional people?” His tone bordered on scathing.

“To help us search.” Amelia bristled but did not otherwise show offense.

“Very well. But you must go only where I say. An area may appear perfectly stable, but you must trust my counsel. I’ll examine the supports as we go.”

“I shall rely upon your experience,” Amelia promised stiffly.

The workers had transformed the twin anchored lines into a thick rope ladder with corded lattices. Calenius only climbed down part way before dropping and landed solidly on the exposed black pavers. He’d switched out of sandals to boots. Hanuvar would have done the same if he’d brought additional footgear.

The scholar inspected the exposed flooring and used lantern shutters to direct his beam down both ends of the tunnel, where it stretched into the darkness. Hanuvar told Amelia he’d await her below. He made short work of the descent, resisting the impulse to drop like Calenius. He had nothing to prove and was amused at his instinct to the contrary. He then held the ladder steady while Amelia climbed awkwardly down.

The Lady’s two slaves came next. She had picked them well. They were athletic and watchful. And while it was generally true that Dervan masters kept weapons from their slaves, hers were apparently trusted with knives, which suggested both that they were loyal and that they knew how to wield them. He thought he could at least count on them to cry warning if things turned. One lit a lantern with practiced ease while the other used a shovel blade to test a nearby support pillar.

Scrapes along a set of exposed tree roots showed Hanuvar where the youngsters had climbed down.

There were stranger signs to note. Firstly, the cracks in the paving stones Hanuvar had seen earlier that day appeared smaller at close range, rather than larger, which went contrary to logic. Then, too, he remembered floor tiles thrust up at odd angles by the quake, including one that had jutted almost vertically. Now every paver lay perfectly flat.

He knew he had not imagined the floor’s earlier condition. He contemplated the smashed roof tiles scattered among the dirt, half expecting to see them sliding slowly into alignment. They remained where they had fallen.

The second odd sign wasn’t evident until Hanuvar and Amelia moved closer to the scholar himself, turning left into a cross tunnel with lantern shining. The place smelled of rich earth and cold stone and Hanuvar paused to adjust his eyes to the dimmer lighting. Untold centuries of dust lay thick on the floor here and two small pairs of sandaled footprints headed through it into the section of tunnel angling away from the estate, so close together that the children had likely been holding hands. They overlaid a set of clawed footprints broad as a bear’s. The front and back legs revealed by those tracks were too far apart to be confused with a bear’s, though, even had Hanuvar supposed one made these passages its home. The creature responsible for those prints dragged a long tail, the passage of which made a wavy line in the dust behind it.

Alarming as this was, at least the children obviously had come after the animal, for their sandal prints trod over the edges of some of the tail and claw marks.

Hanuvar halted. His voice was stern. “Before we go any further, you need to tell us what’s crawling around down here.”

Calenius answered without turning. “There are many beasts in the deep earth. One must have climbed higher due to the quake.”

“Are the children in danger from it?” Amelia asked.

“We’re all in danger.” Calenius faced her and replied with gruff dignity. “This really isn’t a place for noncombatants, my Lady. And I encourage you, again, to go back.”

Amelia’s lips firmed. “I think I’ll manage long enough to find the children.” Her slaves glanced at each other but said nothing.

Calenius shrugged his heavy shoulders and started forward. They went with him.

Hanuvar searched the ceiling for low points or cracks and saw an intact ribbed vault, carved of a greenish stone that had marble’s gleam, though he had never seen marble of its kind. Every few feet scalloped columns rose, supporting black or green arches carved with whirling images suggestive of the foaming sea, or storm clouds.

The tunnel stretched on into the darkness.

“Who built this?” Amelia asked.

Calenius answered, though he did not take his eyes from the path. He was no more forthcoming to her than he’d been with Hanuvar. “An ancient people. Older than the Turians.”

“Vanished Ones?” Amelia suggested, as if in jest.

Calenius did not dispute her assertion. “Some call them that. The legends make them sound wise and sinister. They were just people. Like you and me.”

Amelia didn’t ask how he had come to that opinion. “Why did they build these underground tunnels?”

“They tapped into the deep forces of the earth to power their works.”

“And you’re trying to figure out how to access that power?” Amelia speculated.

“No. I’m seeking lost information. A kind of book about their lives and customs.”

“Will this knowledge help people?”

For the first time there was true passion in Calenius’ voice. “More than you could possibly guess.”

Amelia looked doubtful at this pronouncement. But Hanuvar could tell Calenius was saying something he thought was true.

“Perhaps you should call for the children,” Calenius suggested to Amelia. “Would they come if you commanded?”

Amelia surely knew she was being directed away from her course of inquiry, but her chief priority here was her charges, and thus she shouted into the darkness for Teonia and Bannos. Four times she cried out their names, pausing for long moments after to listen. Only her echo returned.

Hanuvar looked over his shoulder. Amelia’s slaves studied the ceiling and the walls as if expecting imminent collapse.

They arrived at a substantial subterranean crossroad. A wall to the left had given way, disgorging a small mound of black dirt, through which the children’s tracks were clearly visible, skirting its edge and turning further left. The monster’s passage had preceded the damage to the corridor, for there was no sign of its prints in the mound or the wide swathe of dirt scattered after.

Calenius bent beside the dirt pile, scooped some in a massive hand, and watched the drift of it slipping through his fingers. He then produced a yellowed ivory wand from one of his belt pouches, a stubby tool less than a foot in length. He crouched and applied it against the mound, indenting short, sharp lines. Hanuvar didn’t recognize the language of the letters, though their construction reminded him of those he’d seen upon the walls of the ruins. By the time Calenius etched the seventh and final glyph, a slash with two intersection points and a curlicue, Hanuvar’s arm hairs stood on end, as though clouds were about to birth a lightning storm. He wasn’t the only one troubled by the sense of an ill wind. The man had openly worked magic, as if careless both of witnesses and the wrath of revenants. Both slaves gulped nervously and Amelia frowned.

“What was that for?” Amelia asked. “They’ve clearly gone this way.”

“I’m just taking precautions.” Calenius cat-footed forward.

“Precautious about what?” Amelia demanded.

Calenius didn’t answer, for his lantern light had caught two slight bodies lying on a much larger dirt pile released from a collapsed tunnel beyond the intersection.

Hanuvar pushed past him and knelt by the children. So pale was their skin he was certain they were dead, and was surprised to discover the little girl’s faint pulse. Her brother was even smaller than she, probably no older than seven. He, too, lived, and Hanuvar reported the information to Amelia.

She crouched at the side of the boy and spoke sharply to Calenius. “What’s happened to them?”

The scholar hesitated, then answered brusquely, as if he’d decided the time for any evasion was over. “They heard the sound of the magic flowing here and followed it. They might even have detected the sorcerous emanations of the creature. It really depends upon what kind of gifts they possess. It found them and consumed their magics. And since their magic is interwoven with their life force, that left them weak. They may not survive.”

Hanuvar had any number of questions about all their safety in present circumstances, but Teonia’s breathing slowed to barely detectable. “What can be done for them?” His tone betrayed more authority and more urgency than he’d used with Calenius to this point—he sounded too much like the seasoned commander he was.

Calenius eyed Hanuvar with renewed interest. His finger wagged at him. “They matter even more to you than they do to her, don’t they? The Volani children. The Volani slaves. Are they for her, or you?” He appeared faintly entertained, as though he were just beginning to understand a joke.

Hanuvar didn’t care for his attention. “These children need help. They’re fading.”

Any suggestion of amusement passed from the scholar’s face. “I understand you. I do. But I need my powers for when the beast returns.” Calenius then faced Amelia. “I think these tunnels shall be of use to me. You can have the slaves.” He lifted the scroll case with their sales papers. “Perhaps we can negotiate the price of full access.”

“And the price of saving these children?” Amelia’s voice was sharp.

“What happens if we simply carry them back to the surface?” Hanuvar asked.

Calenius looked doubtful.

“I demand that you help them,” Amelia ordered.

That was the wrong tack. Hanuvar had briefly glimpsed fellow feeling in the eyes of the man beside them, but any hint of it vanished the moment Amelia’s voice assumed an air of primacy. Calenius stood quiet as a figure of stone. In his absolute stillness there lurked a threat, something dark and ages old. Hanuvar thought to hear him issue a challenge, or even a warning, so he was surprised by the man’s words. “I shall help them for my own reasons, Lady.” He handed his lantern down to Hanuvar then took a knee before Teonia and her brother.

Hanuvar climbed to his feet, passed the lantern to Amelia, then briefly scanned the dark corridors around them. Amelia’s frown deepened.

Calenius breathed out, then with surprising gentleness held a massive hand over each of the tiny forms lying in the dirt before him. His breathing altered; after a moment Hanuvar realized it matched that of the pale little bodies now in synchronization with the scholar.

Amelia’s look to Hanuvar spoke volumes—she did not like the situation and she did not like the man. Hanuvar stepped further from Calenius. The slaves shone lanterns of their own upon the wall beside a damaged pillar to the east, studying a large crack. One tested it gingerly with the blade of a shovel. Hanuvar walked past, seeing what he’d taken for a stretch of dirt beyond the north side of the crossroad was actually a yawning pit of darkness. He was reluctant to step too close to its crumbling edge. These tiles, at least, were too damaged to repair themselves.

Hanuvar returned to Amelia and the children, over whom the big man still leaned.

Calenius breathed heavily. Beneath his palms the children’s pale skin took on the healthy flush of life. They shifted then, as if in sleep.

The scholar lifted his hands from the children, shaping them slowly into fists, then climbed to his feet. His magics must have wearied him, for his step was uncertain, though his voice remained steady. He addressed Amelia. “You and your people should take them back. Now.”

“They’re well?”

“They will be fine. I restored some of their magics, and that will speed their healing.”

“I thank you,” she said.

He looked sidelong at them. “I have worked directly for the revenants. They know of my magical expertise.”

“Look to us for gratitude,” Amelia said. “Not threats. My family has no interest in speaking with revenants, on any subject.”

He weighed her words while Amelia called for her men to come up; she bent to retrieve the boy. One of her men set aside his shovel and scooped up the girl as a scuttling, scraping sound reached their ears. Something large drew near. It was then Hanuvar understood how the expenditure of Calenius’ magic had served his purpose. Calenius had suggested the monster had been drawn to the magic it had detected in the children; probably his healing sorceries had called it back.

A glittering thing emerged into the intersection beyond, a shape so brilliant Hanuvar had to narrow his eyes. The creature seemed fashioned of sunbeams laced with diamonds.

Calenius drew his sword, a long, straight weapon suited for his huge hands, and shouted for them to run.

Amelia’s men needed no encouragement and pulled their mistress back; Amelia barked for “Decius” to come too.

Hanuvar remained and freed his own sword. He’d seen Calenius was weakened and didn’t have full faith the other man could stop the advancing creature. He thought he saw the animal waddling, lizard like, but details were a challenge. It was as though he faced into the sun.

The beast bore straight for Calenius.

The man had made no noise with his previous spell, but this time he chanted and stirred the air with his free hand. Hanuvar’s neck hairs rose and a chill wind came.

Whatever Calenius’ magic had done, it did not halt the monster, which accelerated to meet him.

Calenius’ arm shook as he readied his sword. A dark spot appeared in the shining mass racing toward them, and after a brief moment of confusion Hanuvar recognized it for a black maw filled with sharp teeth. The beast had opened its mouth. Calenius leapt to its left and the monster turned with surprising speed. He slashed once, drawing a line of darkness with his blade tip along what might have been the thing’s skull.

Hanuvar still had difficulty fixing upon its shape. Calenius, though, interacted without issue, which set Hanuvar guessing he’d thrown a spell to aid himself. He set aside his sword and picked up the shovel left by Amelia’s slave, thrusting it into the nearby dirt. He sent soil raining down across the creature. Three quick throws and part of its side was better visible as a scaley body with four stubby legs and a large snakelike head even now snapping at Calenius. With it had come a wave of heat warm enough to raise sweat beads on Hanuvar’s forehead.

The big man leapt back from the lizard’s assault. Hanuvar dashed forward and drove the shovel blade into its side. The beast turned to hiss at Hanuvar, its tail slamming Calenius across the legs. The mage was flung backward. He landed along the pit’s edge, and slid, scrabbling for purchase in the loose dirt. The creature spun to follow him.

Hanuvar snatched his sword and slashed at the lizard’s tough, shining hide. It proved incredibly dense, for his second slice drew only a slim trickle of dark fluid.

Now the shining lizard turned its open maw upon Hanuvar. Enough dirt had coated the thing that it could be looked upon, though many points of brilliance glittered through the gloom. It tasted the air with an enormous tongue then turned, irresistibly pulled toward Calenius, straining still to pull himself free from the pit edge. Hanuvar strove to keep the thing centered on him, slashing through the heat-distorted air with his blade, and wishing he carried a falcata. Not only was the blade of his people longer that the short sword he wielded, its heavy end would be far more effective at breaking through the creature’s scales. His strikes succeeded only in annoying the beast.

It plodded after him, hissing with primordial rage, and pushing out heat like wind-driven flame and baring its fangs.

Only then did Calenius return. His earlier weakness had passed, and he leapt to land astride the creature’s front shoulders. His long blade glowed an eerie blue, as if lit from deep inside. The great lizard turned its head but could not evade the blow, driven through its skull all the way to its questing tongue. Stinking ichor blossomed widely.

It should have died then, but writhed on, and Calenius somehow retained his position, striking twice more. Hanuvar did not think the man’s manifest strength was responsible for slicing through hide and bone, but the sorcery shining within his blade.

Finally the beast sank to the stones and stilled. Calenius climbed clear. He stood panting beside the still bright length of body, its blood shining oddly purplish along his lit sword. As Calenius recovered, the blade’s glow ebbed, just as the lizard’s scales had begun to do.

Hanuvar wiped sweat from his brow and, breathing heavily, said: “Nicely done.”

Calenius looked at the sword, then at Hanuvar, as if asking whether he wished to comment about the sorcery. When Hanuvar did not, he said: “You could have run.”

“Then it might have had you.”

Calenius appeared to have trouble digesting this explanation, for his stare was searching. “Who are you?”

“Who are you?”

Calenius smiled, then laughed, an open, expansive sound. Hanuvar had the sense it was not something he often did. The big man then turned to the creature, the glow of which had faded almost entirely. Once again the sword blazed beneath its coating of blood, and then he drove the weapon through its dull throat scales. Reeking gore burst upon the sodden ground. Calenius used his other hand to feel through the wound, at last withdrawing an orb of shining crimson hue, dripping with fluids.

He lay down his weapon, then wiped the orb on the bottom of his spattered tunic and stared into its depths. Hanuvar saw nothing within but swirling blackness, but decided to peer no more deeply. Being in the presence of the orb left him as comfortable as facing a battlefield’s corpse wind.

Apparently the monster had carried whatever the sorcerer sought in these tunnels. Hanuvar wondered if the spherical object were the true source of magic that Teonia had sensed and pursued. Certainly it seemed to attract Calenius.

After a long moment, the big man dropped the orb in disgust. Whatever he’d wanted there was not within. There must be others. The object struck the old tile and chipped it, though took no damage itself. Nor did it roll. Calenius’ eyes were hard as he considered Hanuvar. “Do you mean to cause me trouble?”

“If I wanted to make trouble for you, I wouldn’t have helped you.”

Calenius grunted. The answer seemed to satisfy him in one way, though he continued frowning. “True enough. You distracted it so it wouldn’t come after me. And after you’d achieved your own objective. You had nothing to gain. You’re not quite what I would expect.”

Calenius then offered his hand to Hanuvar, who took it, surprised the other man gripped his fingers rather than his forearm, as was custom through most of the Inner Sea. Hanuvar returned the peculiar gesture.

“The children will live,” Calenius said, with the air of a king making pronouncements. He released his grip. “Tell the woman I will search the rest of these tunnels, and I will pay what I offered when we first met. As for you, I will tell no one of your presence or your aims, Hanuvar, so long as your activities pose no interference with my own.”

Sheer force of will prevented Hanuvar from gaping in surprise. He could not help the blood draining from his face, and this time, when he met the frigid blue eyes of the man across from him, he fully understood just how dangerous an adversary Calenius would be. He was larger and stronger, and at least as fast. A skilled and veteran warrior, he was also a sorcerer. And one apparently connected to the Dervan Revenants.

Hanuvar was not a complete stranger to being overmatched. There had always been stronger men, more accomplished warriors, and sorcerers, but never had he encountered a single individual possessing all three traits. Most disconcerting of all, Calenius’ intellect was at least equal to his own. It was not that Hanuvar had never encountered others more clever than himself, but they had always been gifted in other fields. To see that level of perception in another warrior was more than disconcerting, it was frightening, and not just for reasons of pride—the depths of which surprised Hanuvar at some remove, for he liked to think of himself beyond such conceits—but because of the direct threat this man posed to the future of his people.

And against any other man, that danger would have prompted Hanuvar into immediate and lethal action. Those cold blue eyes bored deep into his own with a level of understanding that suggested Calenius knew that.

In the end, after taking a longer moment to consider his course than he was accustomed to requiring, Hanuvar said: “I see no reason for our activities to overlap, or for us to meet again. But I am not without resources of my own, should my plans be endangered.”

“I would expect nothing less.” Calenius’ smile wasn’t quite mocking; it was amused and strangely respectful, as if he had just heard the pronouncement of a gifted child.

They broke their grip at the same moment.

Hanuvar retrieved his sword, wiped it clean by driving it into the dirt, then sheathed it. He picked up one of the lanterns then nodded to Calenius. He did not bid him farewell before starting the long way back.

Antires saw Hanuvar just as he emerged squinting into the sun’s light and comforting breeze. The sweet scent of barley and growing things was welcome as a lover’s touch. The Herrene called out to him. Hanuvar blew out his lantern and was soon up the rope ladder where his friend waited with Izivar and Amelia.

Izivar’s relief was palpable even though her expression remained subdued. Her shoulders relaxed; she breathed slowly but deeply then nodded politely to him. She was remembering to play a role in front of Amelia’s servants. “I’m glad to see you’re well.”

“Thank you.”

Antires was more demonstrative, and grinned, barely restraining himself from an embrace.

Members of Amelia’s staff lingered just out of earshot, with a handcart holding pitchers and cups. Seeing them, Hanuvar realized how thirsty he himself was.

“Would you care for a drink?” Amelia asked. It was curious to find relief in her eyes as well.

He said that he did, and Antires promptly handed over a wineskin, although Hanuvar had one of his own. He drank deep, then capped it. “How are the children?”

“Weak, but awake,” Izivar answered. “What happened down there? Where’s Calenius?”

“We fought the guardian and he killed it,” Hanuvar said. “It had something magical that he was after, but it wasn’t the one he wanted. He’s still searching for it.” It no longer surprised Hanuvar that the sorcerer would proceed with his search unaided.

Amelia frowned and scrubbed at a spot of dirt she had noticed on her sleeve. “I will leave some men with refreshments for when he emerges. Thank you for your help.”

“I’m grateful to you for yours.” Hanuvar looked to Izivar. “How were the men Calenius turned over?”

“Astonished to be speaking with a kinswoman,” Izivar replied. “They were the ones from your list. If they knew what Calenius was after, they were unwilling to discuss it.”

“I don’t think he’s the kind who shares much.” He faced Amelia. “But he said he’ll pay you the rate he offered for access to the tunnels.”

“I suppose that will do.” She frowned. “I have changed my mind about housing the children here. It’s not at all safe if there are . . . things wandering around so close that could turn up any time there’s another quake.”

“I’ll have to return north to accelerate arrangements for their move,” Izivar said. And simply from the way the two women stood it seemed clear invisible lines of tension between them had dissipated; they had found accord.

“Well,” Amelia said, “let’s get out of the sun and see you refreshed, Decius. My steward tells me he believes the villa is secure. Without a doubt the courtyard is. We have shade and some wonderful honeyed lemon juice, with mint. And a banquet. I can guess you’ll want something to eat. I certainly do, and I didn’t fight any monsters.”

Hanuvar was hungry, and in need of a wash basin, although he was in little mood to be entertained. Still troubled by his exchange with Calenius, he’d rather have been on his way to Izivar’s villa. But he recognized Amelia wanted to host them as she had originally intended, and had no desire to offend her. “It would be a pleasure.” He gestured for her to precede him.

Instead, Amelia fell in at his side and they started across the grass. Izivar walked on his right. Antires trailed behind. Hanuvar didn’t see Serliva, and supposed she was with the children.

“Do you have any idea what Calenius is truly after?” Amelia asked.

“Not much. I think he was sincere when he told us he meant to help people. I just don’t know which ones. There’s something he means to do, to right some wrong, and nothing matters to him more than that.”

“You make him sound like you,” Amelia said. “Although I do not see it. But then I used to say that about you to my husband.”

“Oh?” Izivar inquired politely.

“Calenius is arrogant and rather rude. He seems like a man who takes what he wants without much regard for others.” Amelia added, after a moment: “He is nothing like Decius.”

Amelia had just complimented him doubly, admitting first that Hanuvar might be similar to her honorable husband and then implying an approval of the way he conducted himself. He’d never expected to hear anything of the kind from her lips. While he found both statements oddly touching, he did not embarrass Amelia by discussing them. “Calenius has warned that the volcano may erupt by autumn.”

“How does he know that?” Amelia asked. “Do you believe him?”

“I think I do,” Hanuvar replied.

“You sound as though you trust him,” Antires suggested.

“No. I partly understand him, which is a different thing. But I hope never to cross his path again.”

decorative stars

For a time it seemed Calenius would be a one-time acquaintance. We did not see him before our departure that day.

Izivar soon left our company entirely, returning to Selanto with the astonished former slaves of Calenius. If any bore animus against the Lenereva family they never showed it. You may think the Volani who’d worked with the wizard possessed more details about his motives, but they had simply excavated where he pointed and followed his orders. That they might abandon digging and return to their trades of shipbuilding, cooperage, carpentry, and blacksmithing still felt a dream as impossible as their freedom. I spoke with them several times and could not believe that they had been crying out lonely and frightened while working for Calenius, as Teonia had described, for they all claimed the wizard had been a fair master to those willing to work. I dismissed the girl’s account of fearful Volani voices as childish exaggeration, which proved a mistake.

As for Teonia and her brother,4 both seemed to have no lingering effects after their experience, and their magical senses were restored, along with their health. They had never witnessed the lizard clearly, seeing only a shining thing that hummed with magics and put them to sleep. A few weeks later we were to learn they were troubled by recurring dreams of a strange power beneath the soil. Sometimes they spoke of tunnels linking dark cities clustered at the base of the mountains, fueled by that flowing light, and the bright lizards—pets or guardians—emerging at night to walk upon ebon-paved boulevards.

As for Hanuvar and myself, we took up residence in Izivar’s villa at Apicius and began to oversee the challenging recovery efforts that lay before us. While I helped organize portions of the villa for a secret influx of children, Hanuvar left for an evening engagement in a nearby resort town. He had planned only to scout out the situation and get a sense of the man who’d refused to sell a trio of Volani singers. He always preferred to get the lay of the land before acting. This time, though, currents would sweep him into a situation that required immediate, and constant, improvisation to save not just the singers, but himself and an unexpected ally.

—Sosilos, Book Twelve





1. All three volcanoes had been quiescent in living human memory, although Mount Milenus had erupted four generations before, blowing its summit into fragments that rained inland. Old Turian murals can still be found displaying its original distinctive high, bent peak, but by this time squat Mount Delania stood hundreds of feet taller.—Silenus

2. Antires Sosilos actually seems to have understood the horrors of slavery and eventually advocated for laws protecting the welfare of slaves and preventing the worst abuses against them, but like many people of his time, it was impossible for him to consider how homesteads and entire economies might function without forced labor.—Sosilos

3. While Hanuvar had two sisters, the youngest died a few months after her birth, soon after her naming ceremony. Whenever he spoke of his sister, he meant Narisia rather than little Sonirla.—Sosilos

4. When I spoke with Bannos many years later, what he chiefly recalled from the entire incident was the beauty of the melody. He had become a skilled musician, in part, he told me, because he wanted to find his way to the astonishing loveliness of the song he and his sister had heard. “I’ve not found it yet,” he confessed with a wry smile. When asked why he and Teonia had felt compelled to journey into the dark, he told me that the tunnels were not dark to them. They apparently beheld a ghostly image of their former splendor, complete with rounded lanterns and shifting pinpoints of light upon the ceiling. It had seemed a wonderland, one of incredible allure. I could not help speculating that some of those said to have been lost to the darkness over the centuries were themselves magically gifted, and like Teonia and Bannos too young to recognize the hazards.—Silenus


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