The Ships of Air (The Fall of Ile-Rein) by Martha Wells Read Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Martha Wells
cities were falling,” he said, trying to be honest. “But their god-thing can fight the Gardier in ways we can’t. We’d be better off with their help than without it.”
Halian looked at Giliead. When the cities of the Syrnai sent a representative to foreign lands, it was usually a Chosen Vessel, but they all knew this was different. “You agree?”
Giliead nodded, as if he had already made the decision sometime ago. “Yes.”
Ilias took a deep breath. He had gone with Giliead to the Chaeans and to other lands, but he had the feeling that going with the Rienish would take them even further.
Halian leaned back against the wall, his face grave. He knew what this decision could mean. “Then we need someone to speak for us with them. Would Tremaine be a good choice?”
“She’d fight for us.” Ilias snorted. “And I don’t think she knows how not to fight dirty.”
Giliead’s mouth quirked. “That’s true.”
“All right.” Halian stepped back, nodding to himself. This wasn’t his first wizard war by a long stretch; Ilias just hoped it wasn’t the last one for all of them. Halian already looked worn down and older than Ilias was used to thinking of him.
Giliead must have had the same thought. “Get some rest,” he suggested.
Halian nodded wearily, clapping Ilias on the shoulder as he went back into the room. Ilias and Giliead looked at each other, then Giliead jerked his head down the hall, back toward the stairs. “I want to see what they did with Ixion.”
Ilias nodded. He was tired, his head hurt from the storm and his scars ached, but he was too keyed up to sleep. Besides, it was their job to make sure there were no curses lying in wait so the place was safe for ungrateful bastards. As they started down the corridor, he said, “I’m going to kick the shit out of Dannor.”
“He’s an idiot,” Giliead agreed grimly.
Dannor wasn’t really an idiot and they both knew it, but Ilias was tired of his word being disregarded as worthless because of the curse mark. All his other years of experience at finding and killing wizards aside, a sane person might think that someone who had actually been cursed and survived would be the best judge of what was safe and what wasn’t. It’s not as if you didn’t ask for it , he reminded himself. He took a breath, trying to look at it in perspective. “He was right.”
Giliead gave him a sour look. “If you say that again I’m going to kick the shit out of you.”
Caught by surprise, Ilias glowered back at him. “You think?” he said dangerously. They stopped, facing each other, but just then two Rienish women came into the corridor, and they had to step apart to give them room to get by. By the time the women had passed, glancing at them with nervous curiosity, the mutual urge to relieve their feelings by pummeling each other had faded. Still glaring at each other, they reached the room with the big staircase again and started up.
At the first landing Ilias stopped to get a better look at the Rienish-style painting mounted on the wall, forgetting his pique entirely. It showed a woman in a midnight black gown slashed with bloodred silk, a glitter of icy gems on her breast. She was sharp-featured but beautiful, with red hair coiled elaborately around her head. She was seated surrounded by a group of young men all in dark rich clothes, with long hair and beards. He had come across this kind of art when he had gone to Ile-Rien with Tremaine, Florian and Ander, and it was different from any type of painting he had ever seen before. “Look how they do this. It makes the people seem so real.” He stepped closer to look at the brush-strokes.
Giliead put a hand on his shoulder and drew him back, adding matter-of-factly, “There’s curses in that.”
“Really?” Ilias fell back a wary step, startled. “Tremaine said the paintings didn’t use curses.”
“The ones in those rooms she took us to didn’t. This one is different.” Giliead held
Halian looked at Giliead. When the cities of the Syrnai sent a representative to foreign lands, it was usually a Chosen Vessel, but they all knew this was different. “You agree?”
Giliead nodded, as if he had already made the decision sometime ago. “Yes.”
Ilias took a deep breath. He had gone with Giliead to the Chaeans and to other lands, but he had the feeling that going with the Rienish would take them even further.
Halian leaned back against the wall, his face grave. He knew what this decision could mean. “Then we need someone to speak for us with them. Would Tremaine be a good choice?”
“She’d fight for us.” Ilias snorted. “And I don’t think she knows how not to fight dirty.”
Giliead’s mouth quirked. “That’s true.”
“All right.” Halian stepped back, nodding to himself. This wasn’t his first wizard war by a long stretch; Ilias just hoped it wasn’t the last one for all of them. Halian already looked worn down and older than Ilias was used to thinking of him.
Giliead must have had the same thought. “Get some rest,” he suggested.
Halian nodded wearily, clapping Ilias on the shoulder as he went back into the room. Ilias and Giliead looked at each other, then Giliead jerked his head down the hall, back toward the stairs. “I want to see what they did with Ixion.”
Ilias nodded. He was tired, his head hurt from the storm and his scars ached, but he was too keyed up to sleep. Besides, it was their job to make sure there were no curses lying in wait so the place was safe for ungrateful bastards. As they started down the corridor, he said, “I’m going to kick the shit out of Dannor.”
“He’s an idiot,” Giliead agreed grimly.
Dannor wasn’t really an idiot and they both knew it, but Ilias was tired of his word being disregarded as worthless because of the curse mark. All his other years of experience at finding and killing wizards aside, a sane person might think that someone who had actually been cursed and survived would be the best judge of what was safe and what wasn’t. It’s not as if you didn’t ask for it , he reminded himself. He took a breath, trying to look at it in perspective. “He was right.”
Giliead gave him a sour look. “If you say that again I’m going to kick the shit out of you.”
Caught by surprise, Ilias glowered back at him. “You think?” he said dangerously. They stopped, facing each other, but just then two Rienish women came into the corridor, and they had to step apart to give them room to get by. By the time the women had passed, glancing at them with nervous curiosity, the mutual urge to relieve their feelings by pummeling each other had faded. Still glaring at each other, they reached the room with the big staircase again and started up.
At the first landing Ilias stopped to get a better look at the Rienish-style painting mounted on the wall, forgetting his pique entirely. It showed a woman in a midnight black gown slashed with bloodred silk, a glitter of icy gems on her breast. She was sharp-featured but beautiful, with red hair coiled elaborately around her head. She was seated surrounded by a group of young men all in dark rich clothes, with long hair and beards. He had come across this kind of art when he had gone to Ile-Rien with Tremaine, Florian and Ander, and it was different from any type of painting he had ever seen before. “Look how they do this. It makes the people seem so real.” He stepped closer to look at the brush-strokes.
Giliead put a hand on his shoulder and drew him back, adding matter-of-factly, “There’s curses in that.”
“Really?” Ilias fell back a wary step, startled. “Tremaine said the paintings didn’t use curses.”
“The ones in those rooms she took us to didn’t. This one is different.” Giliead held