A short silence fell. Dornvald’s two lieutenants glanced at each other
ominously. Eventually Dornvald said, “Serious though that matter may be,
Kleippur, events have come to pass which render it insignificant. We do indeed
bring tidings—strange tidings—not from beyond the Meracasine, but from within
it.”
Kleippur frowned from Lyokanor to Pellimiades, and then looked back at Dornvald.
“Explain yourself, Dornvald,” he said. “What new events?”
Dornvald nodded at Fenyig, who reached down and produced a flat package of what
looked at first like more charts, and put it down on the table. When he removed
the wrappings, however, the contents were seen to be not handproduced drawings,
but thick, glossy sheets carrying pictorial representations that contained
incredible amounts of detail. Fenyig selected several sheets from the set and
passed them to Kleippur, who leaned forward to pore over them while his aides
peered down from beside him with equally mystified expressions on their faces.
The pictures seemed to be of patterns of shapes distributed in rows and groups
about an irregular network of lines. After watching in silence for a while,
Dornvald stretched out an arm and traced a finger lightly along one of the lines
on the sheet that Kleippur was holding. “Do you not recognize the Avenue of
Emperors in our own city of Menassim?” he inquired casually. “And here … is
that not your own residence, in which we are at this very moment gathered?”
Lyokanor gasped aloud suddenly. “It is Menassim! See, here is the course of the
river, and the bridges. And there the palace . . . with the Courts of Justice
behind. Every street and house is here!”
“What manner of artist drew this?” Pellimiades asked in an awed voice. He looked
across at Thirg. “Is this an example of the mapmaker’s trade that I have not
come across before?”
“Not of any art or trade of mine,” Thirg said. “Indeed I have never set eyes on
Menassim before this bright.”
Kleippur looked up slowly. “Where did these come from?”
Dornvald’s expression became serious. “Has there been other news of late,
Kleippur?” he asked. “Reports of strange happenings in the sky, perhaps?”
Kleippur returned a strange, puzzled look. “Yes . . .”
“Reports of flying creatures descending, as was supposed to have happened twelve
twelve-brights ago?”
“Yes,” Kleippur said again, and frowned. “How do you know about them? Have you
seen one too? What do they have to do with . . .” His voice trailed away as the
connection suddenly became clear. He looked down at the picture of Menassim
again, then disbelievingly back up at Dornvald.
Dornvald nodded gravely. He drew another picture from the stack but kept it
facedown on the table. “The creatures exist, Kleippur. We encountered them in
the Wilderness of the Meracasine. They are from another world that lies beyond
the sky. They carry Skybeings whom they serve, that are stranger still—of the
form of robeings, but not robeings . . . nor even machines. The Skybeings have
mastered arts unknown to us by which they are able to preserve images and
likenesses.” Dornvald gestured at the picture in Kleippur’s hand. “That is not
an artist’s or a mapmaker’s creation. It is a preservation of a likeness of the
city as was actually seen through the eyes of a creature that crossed the sky
high above Carthogia. And the likenesses can be viewed in an instant from afar,
even though the eyes that see them might be flying over distant lands, or even
beyond the oceans.”
Kleippur was staring at Dornvald dazedly. He shook his head as if to clear it
and raised a hand to massage the shading vanes above his eyes. “Other worlds? .
. . Creatures that serve beings who are not machines? . . . What talk is this?
If it were not you telling me this, Dornvald, one of my most trusted officers .
. .”
“It is as Dornvald says,” Thirg confirmed. “I too was present. We flew in one of
the creatures—all of us—to the hills that lie east of Carthogia’s border.”
“It’s true,” Fenyig said. Geynor nodded but remained silent. Still staring
disbelievingly, Kleippur brought his gaze back to Dornvald.