Chapter 11

Amanda awoke and blinked at the bright light of morning. It took her a few moments to shake off the grogginess of sleep, so it was not until she stood and glanced out the window that she realized what was wrong.

Amanda approached the window. An ocean breeze teased her hair. A long shadow stretched into the distance as the sun rose to the east on the opposite side of the building. Waves churned softly against the beach.

She squinted at the deep azure sky. She knew what was wrong. It was well into morning and she was up first.

Amanda padded to the curtained doorway that separated her bedchamber from Sirinna's. Despite the fact that they were lovers, Sirinna felt the need to adhere to tradition, where the Trainer and Trainee slept in an arrangement similar to Mistress and slave.

She drew the curtain aside with both curiosity and concern. Sirinna was still in bed, her back to Amanda. Her sides rose and fell quickly, more so than Amanda thought they should.

"Sirinna?" Amanda called out softly. The only answer was a shift of one leg and a small moan.

Amanda stepped past the curtain, her heart thumping. If this had been anyone else in any other context, she would have said that Sirinna simply overslept. But that was something Sirinna never did. She was always up just before the dawn, often waking Amanda just before the morning sun peeked over the horizon.

As Amanda grew close, she heard Sirinna moan again. Something sounded wrong. It wasn't so much a moan as a whimper.

"Sirinna, are you okay?"

Sirinna's breathing became a shallow pant. She trembled and drew her knees closer to her body. Amanda stepped up to the bed and placed a hand on Sirinna's shoulder.

Sirinna jerked and gasped. She flipped onto her back and looked up at Amanda with wide, frightened eyes, then let out her breath in a long, relieved sigh. "Amanda ... I'm sorry ... I ... Oh my, it's late. Why didn't I wake up when... ?"

"Sirinna, is everything okay?" Amanda asked anxiously.

"Yes, I'm fine. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I was just ... well ... never mind."

Amanda looked at her lover oddly as she got out of bed. "What was it?"

Sirinna stretched and ran her fingers through her long hair to get the tangles out of it. She winced when she caught one that did not come undone as easily. "What was what?"

"What you were dreaming about."

Sirinna hesitated, then brushed her hair one last time before letting it fall against her back. She smiled faintly. "I hardly ever remember my dreams."

"But it looked like you were having one just before you woke up. It looked like a bad one, too."

Sirinna was already shaking her head. "I don't have bad dreams, love."

"I have bad dreams sometimes, even when things are going well."

"Not me. I think it may have something to do with the Draught. It prevents them somehow."

That was not something Amanda had ever considered, but it did make a certain amount of sense. If the Draught worked the way she believed it did, Sirinna would simply not have anything in her head about which to experience bad dreams.

But it seemed rather odd that Sirinna could have come to such a conclusion herself.

Amanda was unsure if she should be concerned. She hated the idea that Sirinna might be lying to her, even if it were just a misguided attempt to stop Amanda from worrying.

Sirinna smiled and stroked Amanda's hair. "Let's not talk about this anymore. It's really nothing to worry about. We should get something to eat before you head off to Master Vanlo."

Amanda gave Sirinna a weak smile and headed towards the door. Sirinna fell into step behind her, and the two of them emerged into warm sunshine.

Sirinna forced herself to hold her smile until there was a real emotion behind it. Fortunately, it did not take long. The imagery in her dream was as perplexing to her as it had been painful. Just a short span of moments from waking and understanding already eluded her. She could not comprehend why or how such pain could be inflicted upon her.

Thus, as detached from reality as it was, her dream faded from her consciousness by the time they joined the other slaves in the morning meal. Yet when she glanced at one of the older male slaves, she felt the tiniest of shivers and a momentary aversion. It passed quickly and became as forgotten as her dream was soon to be.

Roquan lifted his eyes from the parchment maps on his desk. "Enter."

Doran bustled inside. "My apologies, Roquan, Ambassador, for my lateness. I had an urgent..."

"Ambassador Norlan is not here."

Doran glowered. "Hmph! And he had insisted on taking several of your slaves for his pleasure last night! Perhaps he does not have quite the stamina his people boast of, eh?"

Roquan leaned back in his chair. "He is not here because he has taken leave of the Manor for a few days."

"What business would he have that he would leave in the middle of these negotiations? Unless he has given up on them!"

"Nothing so dire. He is headed for the island seaport. He has business with the trading guild there."

Doran's eyebrows rose. "Does he? This is good news, Roquan, and I could use some of that about now. It means he is arranging for a trader clan to pick up the goods I offered him. He is about to accept the treaty."

"Why does he not simply wait for Uridon's clan when they arrive in less than a quarter moon?"

"Because different clans handle ocean trade and over-land trade. Or did you not stop to wonder about the origin of the name of Uridon's clan? Ne'land?"

"Ah."

Doran crossed the room. He opened a cabinet and plucked a goblet from it. "Most likely he will be engaging the services of the Ne'mysea, or perhaps the Ne'trusea, if they've recovered from what those summer storms did to their cargo fleet."

"It would seem merchant clan titles are not so much names as advertisements."

Doran grabbed a wine gourd and filled his goblet. "And you never figured this out before now? You really ought to get around more, Roquan."

"And you really ought to give up the habit of drinking in the mornings," said Roquan mildly.

Doran took a large quaff before speaking again. "When I start getting more good news like this, I will curtail my drinking."

Roquan caught the implication and sighed. "What now?"

"Before I answer that, I need you to be honest with me. Have you ever spoken to Freya or Gronnus since the Conclave? Even the most innocuous comment? Even just discussing the weather?"

Roquan stood up and frowned. "I wanted nothing to do with them then, and I most certainly want nothing to do with them now. I have exchanged nothing with either of them. I would be very happy if I never heard from either of them again."

"Well, you'll be disappointed in that regard. Freya has dropped the hammer, or at least she thinks she can."

"In what way?"

Doran took another long drink. "She is claiming she has proof."

Roquan frowned. "Proof? Of what?"

"Of everything! Of you training a Draughtless slave. Of you using her to feed information to you."

Roquan held himself erect. "And has she produced this evidence she speaks of? Has she backed up her words with proof?"

"No, nothing. Not yet."

Roquan stepped up to Doran, his eyes hard. "There is no 'not yet, ' Doran, as there is no proof for her to find. Only you and Rennis know of this."

"And your Healer!" Doran declared.

Roquan's eyes became ice. "And my Healer, who I have already stated numerous times that I fully trust. So can you see any way that Freya could have even a shred of proof?"

Doran shook his head. "No, I cannot. But the confidence with which I understand she is making these accusations is worrisome."

"Surely the other Overlords are not buying into this. They would also demand proof."

"Oh, yes, they would demand it as well. But they may get annoyed enough at her that they will turn to you to offer something as counterproof so they can censure her."

"This is ludicrous. How would I even present proof that something did not happen?"

"Yes, they will realize that, too. So they will do the next best thing. A few Overlords will ask to have Amanda for a short while."

Roquan hesitated. "Have her? As in own her?"

"No, you would own her. It would be more like an extended Presenting." Doran sighed. "Roquan, it would be nothing more than an excuse for a few Overlords to help themselves to the pleasure of a D'ronstaq-trained slave! They will likely not look very hard for anything to confirm Freya's story. But the fact of the matter is that Amanda is Draughtless. You did use her to gain information. If she let any of that slip out..."

Roquan gave Doran a stony look. "If it comes down to that, Amanda will handle herself well. I am confident of that. I have the utmost faith in her."

Doran finished the rest of the wine and set the goblet down. "It is likely a moot point anyway. If Norlan is close to agreeing to this treaty, that will set her back. You'll be on top again."

Roquan's jaw tightened. He had to stop himself from reminding Doran once more that he was not interested in being "on top."

Doran headed to the door. "I will see you later, Roquan. Good day to you."

"Good day to you as well."

Vanlo sat as still as a statue, quietly brooding.

"You're going to have to tell her eventually."

The old Healer did not reply. The only thing he did in acknowledgment was to lean forward slightly, as if his tired gaze could somehow discern a pattern in the failure.

"You really shouldn't have promised her in the first place that you could..."

"Yes, Lanno, I am well aware of what I should have done," said Vanlo with an icy undertone to his otherwise gentle voice. He stroked his beard with one hand and turned the charred flask with the other.

"Was that the one you said you would try as a last resort?" asked Lanno. "The one with the Jonalla?"

"Yes."

"And it didn't work either."

Vanlo let out a slow sigh. "If you intend to stand there and continue to repeat the obvious, you can find somewhere else to do it."

Lanno folded his arms. "Look, I want to see this succeed, too. And not just because I fancy Amanda, either."

Vanlo looked up, his face betraying mild surprise.

Lanno frowned. "What, you think me such a monster that I would want a girl's brains scrambled just for someone's pleasure?" he asked sharply.

"No, of course not," Vanlo said in a more contrite voice. He withdrew his hand from the flask and leaned back in his seat. "Where is Amanda?"

"In the storeroom, cataloging our first aid supplies. You've been meaning to have that done for awhile."

"Please, send her to me. Then ... find something else to do."

Lanno was about to protest when he saw the depth of sadness in the old Healer's eyes. There was little of the perennial optimist left. Vanlo was not accustomed to failure.

Lanno nodded and headed away.

Vanlo stared helplessly at the apparatus. His lifetime of tremendous achievement had somehow been rendered meaningless by a single flask filled with a tarry mess of nonreactive chemicals and failed binding magic. It again raised all his doubts about his faculties.

Amanda appeared at the door. "You wanted to see me, Master?" She picked up on Vanlo's mood as well, and her eyes widened. "Is something wrong?"

Vanlo gestured for her to come inside. Amanda hesitated, as if suddenly afraid of what was in the room. Her eyes flicked over to the blackened flask as she stepped inside. "Um ... you need me to clean out another one for you?"

"Yes, but I fear that it will be the last one you will need to do for me."

Amanda's lips parted, then closed again. She looked away for a moment.

Vanlo's heart twisted "I am sorry, Amanda."

Tears threatened to well up in her eyes. She closed her eyes tightly until the feeling passed. Vanlo deserved more than to see her fall apart. "So there's no way to do it," she finally said in a shaky voice. "No way to reverse the effect at all. On anyone."

"I have committed a grievous sin with you, Amanda," said Vanlo. He stood and placed a hand on Amanda's shoulder. "And I would not blame you if you hated me for it."

Amanda looked up, her eyes glistening. Her tightening throat would allow no words to come forth. She sought strength but came up short.

"I led you on. I let you believe that it could be reversed in someone already Draughted. Even if I had found the right formula, it would work only on those that had not yet had the Draught."

"Wh-why not?" Amanda demanded. She forced herself to pause. Stop it. I'm not allowed to be a child anymore. When she spoke again, her voice was more calm but quavered no less. "Why not, Master?"

"The Draught erases memories, Amanda. They are gone. One cannot bring back something that has been destroyed. Thus it stands to reason that the degradation of intelligence is also permanent. I should have made that clear from the start. That was my fault."

Amanda was suddenly struck by a memory. Something Tanyee had said to her back when Amanda was first becoming acquainted with this world, when Amanda had brought up the subject of the Draught.

Sometimes I have dreams. Small snippets of peoples and places I've never seen before, yet they seem familiar. I wonder sometimes if they are from my past.

And there was Sirinna. If she really had lied and actually had a bad dream, something that the Draught was supposed to prevent...

"So this was, in effect, an exercise in futility. Even if I had managed..."

"What if the Draught didn't erase memories, Master?" Amanda said suddenly. "What if it only blocked them?"

Vanlo paused. "That is not what I have been told of the Draught's function," he said cautiously.

"But what if that was wrong?"

"Realize, Amanda, that this formula has been used by the Overlords for many, many years..."

"What if they were wrong?"

Vanlo stroked his beard. "Then there are the Healer Elders, who conceived of the basic formula. It is they who have indicated that all the functions of..."

"What if they were wrong?"

Vanlo was silent for a long moment. "If they are wrong, then ... then the solution would call for an approach entirely different from what I have been doing..."

His voice trailed off. He had just put to words to the feeling that had crept over him since he started this endeavor. He had felt like he was on the wrong path, but he had no alternative.

He looked back to the apparatus, his face filled with wonder. "A belief handed down for two centuries concerning the way behavioral herbs work. Accepted without question. Taught to every new Apprentice. And it could be utterly wrong. What an intriguing thought!"

Amanda's heart leapt. "Could that be it, Master? If the Draught really did just block memories, then you can unblock them, right? Which means the effect on intelligence can be reversed, too, if it's just another kind of blockage!"

Vanlo stared at the apparatus for what seemed an eternity before giving a single, determined nod of his head.

He swept the tarred flask from the table and presented it to Amanda, moving like someone half his age. "Please set to work on cleaning this, Amanda, I will need all my equipment in proper working order if I am to continue my work."

Amanda beamed and grabbed the flask. "Right away, Master!"

"And send Lanno in here immediately!" Vanlo ordered as she scampered out of the room.

Vanlo looked over the assembled bags of herbs on the table. He shook his head, clicking his tongue. "No, no, no, these are all wrong. They will not combine right if the basic underlying assumption is wrong. What is taking that boy so long?"

"That 'boy' is right here," Lanno said sourly from the door. "What is it?"

Vanlo looked up and pointed. "Take these herbs away. Bring me Tirrassa, Jyrlla, and Writroth instead."

Lanno blinked. "Huh?"

"Really, Lanno, do I need to repeat every order to you?"

"It's just ... what do those have to do with... ?"

"Now, who is performing this experiment here? Who is the teacher, you or me?"

"You have another angle to pursue? You figured something out?"

Vanlo sighed in impatience, but then slowly smiled. "If this works, we will have Amanda to thank for it. Now, get to work, so I can get to work."

Lanno nodded and quickly picked up the bags of herbs before heading off to the storeroom.

He didn't understand what was happening, or why Amanda was wearing the biggest smile he had ever seen on her. All he knew was that Vanlo's fire had returned, and when that happened, things tended to bode well indeed.

The carriage rattled along the rutted road just south of the wharf, winding its way into the burnt embers of dusk. When the carriage shuddered to a stop at a bend in the road, it was greeted with a cacophony of seagull cries rising from the shallows near the base of the pier. Sea spray salted the air as foam boiled up to the top of the low cliff.

Ambassador Norlan stepped from the carriage. The moist ocean breeze tore at his hair and cloak. He grabbed the edge of the latter and drew it around him, waving to the driver with his free hand. A snap of the reins and the carriage trundled off, tipping drunkenly as it negotiated a pitted turn.

Norlan turned towards the small shack at the edge of the cliff. A narrow path in far better shape than the road wound out of sight towards the piers. As he approached, the din of conversation and raucous laughter pounded at his ears as hard the surf.

The Ambassador allowed himself a small smile as he entered the crowded tavern. The air was thick with the smell of ale, the sea, and sailing merchant men. It was not the kind of crowd a Urisi aristocrat would normally find himself. Nor could such a typical aristocrat help but stick out like sore thumb.

Norlan looked around. Almost to the last, each man sported a full beard. It was a common cultural staple of seafaring merchant clans, not just in Oceanus. The reason for the tradition was lost to time. Ask four different clans and get four different answers. But all of them told the same refrain, the same saying passed down through generations: "We are all brothers in the beard."

Norlan rubbed as his own modest beard with confidence. No one would bother looking twice at him, despite his more upscale attire.

He approached the bar. The barkeep, a stocky, barrel-chested man, ambled over to him. "What's yer pleasure?" he boomed.

"Information," said Norlan.

The man smirked. "Real high-roller, huh? What kinda infermation are ya lookin' fer?

"The local Overlord had a Tradesman. I need to contact someone that knows anything about him."

The barkeep looked thoughtful. "Huh. Normally, these fellers don't go that far inland to the Manor. Ya need a land-clan fer that."

"Merchant clans always mix with other merchant clans," Norlan said, keeping his gaze steady. "They exchange information as well as goods. Information is goods to them."

"Huh. Mebbe."

"So perhaps you know of a clan here that has some information from the land."

The barkeep rubbed his chin. "Huh. Dunno. Lots of clans come through here, y'know? Any one of 'em could have what yer lookin' for. Hard to say which one."

"Surely you have some idea, though."

The barkeep shrugged.

Norlan slowly smiled. "Or perhaps your memory needs some jogging?"