Master Tallyroth wasn’t the only one who had benefited from visits to the Wyrdwood. On their first trip to the Evengrove, Eldyn himself had been feeble and palsied. But as they sat with Master Tallyroth in the dappled light at the edge of the Wyrdwood, Eldyn watched the blue veins upon his hands grow lighter and recede a little more each day.
Though they never went away, not entirely. And each time he traveled back to the city, they would slowly begin to return, even if he worked few or no illusions. The effects of the mordoth might be lessened, but as they had seen in Master Tallyroth, it never truly departed one. And so an illusionist still had to be careful, and to never be reckless with his own light.
Eldyn continued through the dark labyrinth of the Old City. It was just two lumenals after Darkeve, and the thin sliver of moon above shed little light on the city. Nor did the twelfth planet, Cerephus, emit any sort of visible glow as it once had done.
A year ago, at the time of the alignment of the planets, something had occurred—some catastrophic event which had affected the new planet, altering its albedo so that it was now black as pitch. Astrographers were still trying to determine what had happened. Had the conjunction caused Cerephus to draw too close to the sun or one of the other planets, resulting in this change? Many theories had been proposed, but as of yet none had been confirmed.
What had been confirmed was that Cerephus remained in the heavens, for it could sometimes be detected, by means of ocular lenses, as a black disk against the sea of stars. It was beginning to gradually recede, though—returning to the void from whence it came. At the same time, the alternation of umbrals and lumenals had steadily become less wild and abrupt over the last year. Already astrographers were able to make general predictions about the lengths of future lumenals and umbrals, and they were confident they would soon finish calculating new timetables to publish in the almanacs. Eldyn supposed that was good. For it meant everyone would once again know exactly how long they had for drinking each night.
With this thought in mind, he turned onto a familiar lane and approached a familiar door. While this was still not a particularly reputable part of the city, nor was it so grimy and fraught with menace as before. Several streetlamps threw off flickering circles of light, and at the end of the lane a hansom cab waited for a fare.
That was something he would not have seen over a year ago, when to linger in a place such as this was to go begging for a robbing—or worse. But even as the nation had grown less desperate over the course of the last year, so had its citizens. True, ills that had been wrought over generations would take far more than a year to cure. But everyone had reason to believe that, before too long, the common multitudes would gain some portion of those benefits which had heretofore been reserved only for a rarefied few. After all, the nation had two rulers now, not just one. So at least for the present, most were inclined to hope things would in general proceed better under King Huntley and Queen Layle than before.
And if not—well, the people of Altania had changed their government once, which meant they could do so again. That was a lesson Eldyn hoped both the Crown and Assembly would not soon forget.
As he approached the door of the establishment, he saw that the sign above had been newly painted, depicting as ever (though more brightly now) a green leaf pierced by a silver sword. He nodded to the doorman, then went in and proceeded to the rear of the tavern. And there, in their usual booth, he found his companion already waiting.
“It’s about time, you rogue!” Rafferdy exclaimed. “I was beginning to think I was never going to have the benefit of a drink.”
Eldyn grinned as he sat. “Don’t tell me you’re out of money again.”
“Very nearly. I signed away the greater part of my lands this very morning. All for the general benefit of various townships and villages, and every nobody residing therein, and all for nothing in return. I am sure no one will so much as buy me a drink.”
Eldyn was exceedingly pleased to hear this news. “I will buy you one,” he said and took a coin from his pocket.
Rafferdy’s eyes shone in the lamplight. “A regal! Our amusement is assured tonight. Unless …” He raised an eyebrow.
“Don’t worry,” Eldyn said. “It’s real, not a copper in disguise.”
He hailed the barkeep, and they soon had a pot and two cups before them. For a while they paid attention to their drink and did not talk until they had each drained their cup.
“I’m very glad you were in the city,” Eldyn said, refilling their cups. “I did not think it would all happen so soon as this. But the winds are especially favorable, I am told, and everyone is anxious for the crossing.”
“So you really mean to do this, then? It’s not just the latest scheme of yours? Like clerking or being a priest or some such?”
“No, it’s not like that,” Eldyn said, wincing a bit. But then he grinned. “Or maybe it is. I suppose I was trying to make something of myself. Only in both cases, it was something other than what I really was, and that’s why I failed so miserably. But with this …” He shrugged. “No one will care if I was a clerk or a priest or an illusionist. It won’t matter where I came from, but only what I do.”
“What a deviant notion,” his companion said, and quaffed his punch.
Eldyn frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about what this world is becoming,” he said. “It’s absolutely dreadful, all this talk of fraternity and equality. If people cannot judge you by your name or your title or the expensiveness of your coat and carriage, what basis is left to judge you on?”
“On the basis of what lies in here,” Eldyn said, reaching across the table to tap his friend’s chest.
Rafferdy crumpled back into the bench, as if Eldyn had struck him a grave blow. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m afraid of.”
Eldyn shook his head. After all these years, his friend could still baffle him. Rafferdy was a lord, a magician, and a decorated hero of the war. What was more, he was one of those men who had never been especially handsome in his youth, but who was growing ever more striking as he aged. Given his height, in a few years he would be positively commanding. He would be able to pass laws through Assembly on sheer presence alone.
Though at the moment he did not look very commanding, slouched as he was in the booth. They resumed their silence again for a time.
“And how is Miss Lily?” Rafferdy said at last.
“You mean Madame Lockwell,” Eldyn replied.
“So, she owns the theater now?”
“Yes, it’s all official. Madame Richelour is off to the country to care for Master Tallyroth. But I think she has left the theater in more than capable hands. Lily is still very young, but she has a fine sensibility and great passion. And her new play is quite marvelous.”
“Yes, I saw it mentioned in
The Comet
this morning.”
It was still astonishing to Eldyn that an illusion play would be discussed in such a reputable publication, and not in a derogatory way. “I must say—while it is not due to her only, of course, but also the changing times—I think Lady Quent has much to do with the favorable light in which the theaters are regarded these days. When she visited the Theater of the Moon a couple of months ago, it caused something of a sensation in the city.”
“Yes,” Rafferdy said. “It did.”
Eldyn shook his head. “I didn’t think you were in Invarel at the time.”
“I read about it in the newspaper.”
“Ah, yes. Well, after the famous countess of Cairnbridge went to a playhouse on Durrow Street, it suddenly became the daring and fashionable thing to do. Just like how everyone is leaving the New Quarter and moving to the Old City these days.”
“She is a very remarkable woman,” Rafferdy said, rather glumly.
Suddenly Eldyn realized he had been dense. He should have known at once the source of his friend’s melancholy.
“So you’re not going to wait until she’s back in the city, then?”
“I thought I might as well go to the West Country and get the misery over with.”
“You underestimate yourself, I think.”
He looked up from his cup. “Do I?”
“Yes, you do. I know you never wanted power or position, Rafferdy. But that’s precisely why you’re the best person to have it.” He gestured toward the House ring on his companion’s hand. “That ring is part of you, Rafferdy. It can’t be taken off, not so long as you live. So you might as well start putting it to use.”
He scowled at this. “Surely you’re not suggesting I try to influence her with some enchantment?”
“No, I’m suggesting you try to influence her by not worrying about who you aren’t, and can never be, and instead by being who you are.” Eldyn leaned across the table. “You can never replace him, Rafferdy. But nor would she ever expect you to.”
Rafferdy gazed at his ring. Then, abruptly, he stood. “I think I’ve had enough punch for tonight, Garritt.”
“I suppose I have as well.”
The two men left the table and went out into the night. They clasped hands tightly, and both found it difficult to find words to speak. At last they parted.
“Well, then,” Rafferdy said, leaning on his cane. “Here we each of us go, my dear old friend.”
And before Eldyn could say anything more, Rafferdy turned and strolled away into the night, tapping his cane against the cobbles as he went.
I
T WAS MIDDAY two lumenals later when all was ready. Eldyn had made his farewells at the theater last night, and his things had been sent ahead that morning, so the only thing left was to see to it that he arrived himself.
Given that he had plenty of time, and the day was fine, he decided to walk. He made his way down Durrow Street, past a number of theaters which had reopened in the last year, then turned onto University Street and walked through Covenant Cross. As he went, he passed a number of coffeehouses, and all of them were bustling with activity. Now that all of the copies of the Rules of Citizenship had been torn down and burned, and the colleges at
the university had reopened their doors, the coffeehouses were once again bubbling pots where discussion and debate brewed.
A temptation came upon him to duck in, have a cup, and maybe see if he would run into one of his old compatriots. Only, if he were to see Jaimsley, he would inevitably be delayed. The last time they had met, Jaimsley had expounded upon a score of different things that Crown and Assembly needed to accomplish at once for the benefit of the nation. Finally, after Jaimsley had dominated all talk in the coffeehouse for an hour, Eldyn had told him he should save his wind for when he ran for a seat in the Hall of Citizens. A look of shock had crossed Jaimsley’s homely face at this, but then there came a great number of
Hear! Hears!
And at this reaction, Jaimsley’s crooked grin had manifested itself.
Eldyn hoped Jaimsley really would run for a seat in Assembly. He had shown both his cleverness and his capacity to lead during the revolution. The nation certainly had need of a man of his abilities at a time such as this. And if he did run, Eldyn had no doubt he would be elected.
Only Eldyn wouldn’t be able to cast a vote for Jaimsley himself. And as the sun was moving a bit more swiftly than he had thought at first, it was best that he did not tarry for a cup of coffee.
He continued on, passing through the Lowgate into Waterside and heading down a narrow lane. It was only when he saw a plain, two-story building across the street that he realized his feet had followed old familiar patterns. For there was the Golden Loom, the inn where he had dwelled for a time with his sister, and where he had made a great effort to avoid the obdurate affections of Miss Walpert.
Had the innkeeper’s daughter found a man on whom to lavish her plentiful, if insipid, affections? Eldyn hoped so. As for Sashie, he had managed to save her from the ruinous attentions of the highwayman Westen, only to lose her to a different sort of suitor, one whose hold upon her was now absolute.
Even as he thought this, he heard the distant tolling of the bells of St. Galmuth’s. It was nearly time. He continued on past the inn, then made his way down a steep cobbled row to the docks. A
number of ships moved to and fro on the broad silver river. He walked along the various piers and quays until he found the one he was looking for.
A breath escaped him as he caught sight of the schooner moored at the dock. She was long and sleek, and her sails billowed in the breeze off the river, as if she was anxious to sail. And indeed, her departure was imminent, for men hurried all over her, stowing cargo and throwing off lines.
Not long after the war, several more ships had gone east across the sea, to start the work of founding the proposed colony in the New Lands, on the shore of the main continent. Recently, the ships had returned, and unlike the ill-fated expedition to Marlstown, this one had been a great success. Now those ships, loaded with goods, were set to return to the colony, along with many more like them.
Ships just like the one before Eldyn now. Its name was the
Green Leaf
. In fact, it was for the sake of its name that he had selected this particular vessel, as it seemed propitious to him. He watched in fascination as the men worked to load the ship, marveling that it would be his entire world for more than a month. And then another world, vast and green, would stretch before him.…
“Waiting for someone?” spoke a voice behind him.
Eldyn was not at all startled. Rather, he grinned. “I was wondering when you were going to show yourself.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t miss this for anything. Say what you want, but I am going to this party with you, Eldyn Garritt.”
Laughing, Eldyn turned around and gazed into sea green eyes. Like Eldyn himself, Dercy had benefited greatly from his trips to the Evengrove over this last year. So had many other illusionists. Once knowledge of the effects of the Wyrdwood spread, it quickly became common for illusionists to travel from Invarel to the Evengrove, and to walk along its edges. Many Siltheri had benefited from this.
Yet, while the lines on Dercy’s face had been smoothed, they had not been entirely erased. Nor had the silver in his hair turned
to gold again. And as large as the Evengrove was, there was a place where there were far more trees. Indeed, it was said the primeval forests in the New Lands stretched from one end of the continent to the other.