Angel of Storms (Millennium's Rule, #2)(45)

“You have not truly been listening to what I’ve said,” Tarren continued. “You’re still struggling with the idea that someone so powerful exists.”

Tyen nodded. He thought back over Tarren’s words. “You believe he is not as bad as people say.”

“Or as good. Look deeper, and you will find that their complaints are most often over the consequences of deals made with the Raen, theirs or others’. Much of what he is blamed for is the fault of his allies. His actions are those of a man with a purpose, not the senseless evil of someone who delights in harming others.”

“And that purpose is?”

“Maintaining control and order, such as it is. Control he must re-establish now. The worlds have grown used to him not being around. He may need help.”

Tyen felt his stomach sink. “To conquer worlds? I wouldn’t want to be a part of that.”

“Oh, the worlds never became unconquered, just a little neglected.” Tarren chuckled. “You are inexperienced in warfare. He will read your mind and see that. But you have other talents. Remember: he does not ask for what you aren’t willing to give.”

“If he did, he would take Vella from me as soon as he read my mind.”

Tarren washed his brush. “I have considered that. He probably knows everything useful within her already. After all, she was made by a man near equal to him in strength. A man, it is said, he killed.”

“Roporien?” Tyen caught his breath. “The sorcerer who made Vella? The Raen is Roporien’s successor?”

Tarren nodded.

“But… hasn’t it been more than a thousand cycles since Roporien died?”

The old man chuckled. “You refer to Millennium’s Rule.”

According to Vella, the rule stated that a sorcerer rose to power once every thousand cycles, killing their predecessor in the process. Tyen’s skin suddenly prickled. To have lived so long… He’d concluded that the Raen must be powerful enough to stop ageing, since the teachers had argued over incidents that happened hundreds of cycles ago, but it hadn’t occurred to him the man might have been alive this long. “So he’s due to be replaced soon.”

“Overdue.”

“So… it’s not certain? Not a true prophecy?”

“Prophecy? No. Just a vague prediction of inevitable change.” Tarren waved a hand dismissively, picked up a smaller brush and dipped it in green ink. “Like predicting when a volcano will explode. You can calculate how often it does, but you can’t know exactly when it will happen. More than a thousand cycles have passed and here he is, still alive.”

“But that does mean the longer he lives, the greater the chance someone will kill him.”

“And become the new ruler of the worlds,” Tarren added, writing his signature with a flourish. “Which leaves us all in the same position, only this time with someone new, who will need to establish control, who will make mistakes, who might be truly evil and enjoy harming others for entertainment or to feel important. Roporien’s hunger for knowledge drove him, so he pushed worlds into conflict with each other. There is nothing like warfare to inspire progress and invention. We are better off with the Raen in charge than Roporien–or a newcomer.”

Tyen shivered. “But the next ruler might be kinder. Better.”

The old man shrugged. “They might. But for how long? ‘Maintaining control requires hard decisions; hard decisions forge hard leaders’,” he quoted. He smiled crookedly. “The matriarchy of Roihe have some of the best sayings on the subject of warfare.”

“‘Some of the worst decisions have been made for the noblest reasons’,” Tyen quoted.

“So true. Is that from Leratia?”

“Yes. From a play.”

“Write it down.”

Tyen looked at his brush, still laden with ink, then at the paper, tracing in his mind where he would place the words to make a pleasing composition. He drew in a deep breath, forced himself to focus only on this task, and began to paint.

When he had finished, Tarren’s voice spoke at his shoulder. “Good work. Now sign it.” As Tyen did, Tarren moved away, adding his own new banner to a pile of others. “The Raen is not only the strongest, but the oldest sorcerer. He has over a thousand cycles of knowledge to draw upon. If he doesn’t know how to turn Vella back into a woman, nobody does.”

A thrill of excitement rushed through Tyen. Suddenly Tarren’s suggestion was not so ludicrous. It was still risky, but he could see more to gain from it. Something worthy. Something good.

“Do you think he would?” he asked.

“You have to ask yourself: what are you prepared to do in order to fulfil your promise to her?”

Tyen cleaned his brush, wondering why he was bothering when it would soon be abandoned here. “I will… I will have to think about it.”

“And you should.” Tarren moved to the other side of the table, his gaze steady and hard. “I know what I am urging you to do is risky. If you decide against it, my advice is: do what everyone else here is doing. Either go home–he’ll avoid magically poor worlds–or find a new one, as I plan to.” He sighed and looked away. “It is a great shame that Liftre must close. It could only exist in the absence of the Raen.” He shook his head. “At times like these people are forced to take sides, and it often goes badly for those who try to remain uninvolved, or worse, stay on good terms with both.”