A Sword Named Truth

by Sherwood Smith

  Leander whispered to Senrid, “You want to try?”

  Senrid murmured, “I’ll watch. One more time. Next one, I’ll do.”

  Leander cast his eyes over the drawing table angled to catch the window’s light, and found what he was looking for, a much-used nub of a drawing chalk.

  He picked it up and held it out to Bren, saying in a low voice, “See it, Bren? This is your chalk. Take your chalk and draw a picture. Can you see it? Pick it up.”

  Bren’s breathing changed. Then he stirred, as if some semblance of thought winked into life down deep under the smothering layers of magic.

  “Do you know what that is?” Leander persisted.

  Bren stirred again, his fingers flexing.

  “Does this chalk belong to anyone?” Leander asked.

  Bren’s lips twitched. His hand made a vague grasping motion.

  Now, Leander thought, and leaned close to whisper the spell.

  Magic shimmered in the room, a quick, vague flash not unlike the reflection of light on water, and Derek instinctively turned around before Leander could finish the spell.

  Bren blinked, his gaze widened, his face suffused with red, and he sucked in his breath and shouted a word.

  “Get him out of here,” Senrid ordered Leander sharply, and to Derek, “That was magic. Go!”

  Leander finished the spell. Bren started, gasping and looking around wildly. “What did I do? What did I do?”

  “This will get you to the Valley,” Leander said, pressing a token into Bren’s hand.

  Bren jerked his head in a nod and they vanished, followed by Derek. With them safely gone, Senrid was about to use his token when he perceived the dark flicker in air that meant an incoming transfer. He looked at the ring. No Siamis. He could get away from anyone else. Why not see the result?

  He flung himself into a corner and threw up an illusion a heartbeat before two Norsundrians appeared, the wind caused by all the transfers sending loose papers flying around.

  The Norsundrians briefly scanned the room, their gazes moving past Senrid’s corner, which he knew would appear vaguely shadowy as long as he didn’t move. One stuck his head out the door; from his vantage, Senrid could make out the woman who kneaded bread.

  “Gone. We’d better report,” one said to the other.

  They transferred away, and Senrid did as well.

  In the Valley, the orphan brigade was delighted to welcome Bren. He was delighted to see them, and to return to Selenna House, but as soon as he understood that he’d been enchanted, he looked around anxiously at the unfamiliar faces, and his joy diminished.

  “Where’s Lilah? Where’s Peitar?” When he saw Derek looking to one side, Bren’s shoulders slumped. “You got me first.”

  Derek beckoned, and they flew away in low-voiced conversation.

  * * *

  —

  Tsauderei returned from Mondros’s plateau on Chwahirsland’s border to find Arthur deep in one of his books, as usual. But he wasn’t alone. Hibern was there, waiting.

  Hibern cast a glance at Arthur, who was obviously lost to the world. So she lowered her voice and gave Tsauderei a succinct report about the breaking of the antidote spell secret, and the first rescue.

  “I should have foreseen it,” Tsauderei said when she was done. “Derek, obsessed with his version of making things right, and dismissing the necessity for keeping silent about that antidote spell. And Senrid plunging right in.” He sank into his chair, his brow furrowed. Finally he looked up. “I didn’t want to warn Derek that if Siamis gets hold of him, he could easily layer an enchantment over him.”

  “Why not? Surely that would give him pause.”

  “I’m beginning to wonder if that spell of Siamis’s can be altered to take advantage of people’s natures. You may have noticed that Siamis did not bother to order Peitar to form up an army. But Derek? What if Siamis could order Derek to lead all Sarendan against Colend? Even if he listened to my conjecture, for we have more truce than trust, I don’t think he’d believe me. He’s more likely to scoff about the weakness of magic, and declare he could out-think a mere Norsundrian, but might there be a spark of, oh, let us call it ambivalence? It’s been plain to me for several years that Derek is happiest when leading a crusade, and of late he’s fallen in love with military might.”

  “Oh,” Hibern said, her stomach lurching. “Should I tell Senrid? He and Derek have become such friends.”

  Tsauderei let out a deep sigh, his gnarled fingers absently tracing the line of his mustache. He said at length, “Your friend Senrid hasn’t spoken ten words to me since his arrival, so I cannot answer that.”

  Hibern got up from her chair. “I think I know what to do.”

  “I wish I did,” Tsauderei said, but after she’d left.

  Chapter Twelve

  LIERE liked flying with Hibern and Senrid.

  It was quiet. Peaceful. She could enjoy the wind through the pines, the way their branches were in constant rippling movement, like an emerald-green sea. She loved the glinting stripes of muted color in the tumbled rocks, some as big as houses. She loved the towering mountains in the distance, crowned by never-melting snows reflecting the colors of dawn and sunset, for she came out at both times just to watch the change of the sky and the way the land woke up and then shrouded itself at the end of the long summer’s day.

  She liked the fact that Hibern and Senrid remembered mind-shields, so she was alone with her own thoughts without having to concentrate on shutting others out.

  By gritting through morning flights on her own, Hibern had conquered her fear of heights—at least while flying—and had come to love soaring around the lake at the prettiest time of day.

  The morning after the rescue of Bren, Senrid told Liere the details, since everybody was now talking about how the enchantment could be broken. Liere had already heard about the rescue the night before, as the orphan brigade made much of Bren. They seemed to admire him almost as much as they admired Derek.

  “We decided to wait a day, then go back for the next one,” Senrid finished.

  “There are more?” Hibern asked.

  “Ten.”

  “Can it be done without Derek along?”

  Senrid’s sharp “Why?” caught Liere’s attention as Senrid shot a considering glance Hibern’s way. Then he said, “You’re thinking there might be people on the watch for him. Derek being some kind of commander. Though, hoo, he’s kind of like one of our academy first-year seniors, from what I can see. You know, pretty fast, really enthusiastic, but he thinks he knows more than he does. Of course, so do I, but—”

  Hibern sighed. “I know, I know, I’ve heard you before about how Commander Keriam says the worst of ignorance is not knowing how ignorant you are. I have no interest in your war blabber. None.”

  Senrid assumed an air of injured dignity. “I wasn’t going to quote Keriam.” He dropped the manner. “I was going to say that Derek does know the risks, but as it’s only himself—”

  “But it isn’t.” Hibern flew backward, her long black hair snaking around her sides as she held out her arms to balance herself. To Liere, she looked like an eagle, with her fingers outspread and her sleeves snapping, and her blue robe flagging like tail feathers.

  Liere said into the silence, “You said Derek is some kind of commander. If people are loyal to him . . .”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” Senrid admitted. “But Sarendan is already enchanted. Do you think nailing a second leader intensifies the enchantment? Damn, that’s vicious.”

  “When it comes to evil,” Hibern stated, “don’t underestimate Siamis.”

  Senrid waved that off, then flipped around to fly face up, eyes closed against the sun. “I’m going to remind Derek of that. I’ll wager Tsauderei would agree. Maybe it’s time to talk to him. I know he knows what we’ve been doing—”
/>   “Yes,” Hibern said cordially.

  Senrid flashed a quick grin. “Well, and he hasn’t hauled us in to shake fingers in our faces. Maybe Derek will agree that Leander and I ought to go alone.” He opened his eyes. “In fact, I could go myself, after I see one more use of that spell. It’ll give me something to do.”

  Hibern said, “But that goes for you, too. About enchanting leaders.”

  “Except that I’ve dispersed the army and academy,” Senrid said. “And if I show up acting the least bit weird, Keriam has a token that will drop a stone spell on me. I’ll be fine,” he added with a hint of impatience, resenting the implication that he hadn’t thought ahead.

  Hibern said, “Senrid. If you get captured, and Siamis muscles you back to Marloven Hess and enchants you, then they’ll be enchanted too. Keriam won’t be able to drop that stone spell on you.”

  “Then I won’t get caught,” Senrid retorted. And looked askance. “I wonder if Dena Yeresbeth interferes with the enchantment. Anyway, I have a transfer token. The first I see of any Norsundrian, I rabbit.”

  Liere’s heart squeezed. ‘Something to do.’ She’d wondered how soon Senrid was going to get bored playing those chase-and-tag games he was so good at. Her joy in playing had vanished that first day when she saw the others’ surprise, or scarcely hid disappointment, at how bad she was at it.

  She knew why Senrid was the best. No mystery there. After watching the academy boys play similar games ever since he was five, and reading everything he could about strategy and tactics because his kingdom—his life—depended on his knowing, he couldn’t help but be better than a bunch of boys and girls who mostly just flew around hooting insults, or yelling orders at each other that no one paid any attention to.

  Liere hadn’t expected so much competition in games that everyone declared to be fun. She hated competition, especially when unspoken anger and spite and hatred streamed on the mental plane after certain people. It took so much concentration to shut it out, and she knew she shouldn’t care, that caring was more evidence of her stupid emotions, which meant she deserved to feel rotten.

  “Yep. I’m going to talk to them both.” Senrid left.

  Hibern was alone with Liere. Something that happened rarely. So she said, “I know you don’t like to talk about Dena Yeresbeth, but Atan keeps asking questions. I was wondering if you might answer them yourself.”

  The Queen of Sartor? Liere felt so shy around her. Somehow Atan’s friendliness made it worse. But Liere said, “If you want,” because her reaction was a stupid emotion, and she deserved to feel worse for not having controlled it.

  When Liere and Hibern reached Atan’s cottage, they found her deep in magical studies with Jilo, Clair listening closely.

  Jilo flushed and fell silent at the entrance of the newcomers, but Atan said in a coaxing voice, “Go on, if you would. How exactly did you release the time bindings?”

  “They aren’t completely broken,” Jilo mumbled, acutely self-conscious. “I don’t know how to do that. Maybe no one can, outside of Wan-Edhe, because there are layers and layers. But I got it started by weakening the spells that used the life forces of the castle guards . . .”

  Liere shuddered at this blithe mention of life forces being sucked out of living beings. No wonder Senrid was so impressed with awkward, limb-tangled Jilo—she could not imagine herself fighting single-handedly against such violently lethal magic.

  Not long after, as the others went out to watch a thunderstorm, Liere sank down with her back to the windows. She was startled when Atan emerged out of the gloom. “Now that everyone is busy, may I trouble you with a question?”

  “Of course,” Liere said, biting back the ‘your majesty.’ Atan had made it plain that she wanted to be called Atan—that titles and honorifics hurt her especially now, when she had lost her kingdom—and she had never said ‘Sartora’ once. Which was more than Liere got from some of the others, who thought ‘Sartora’ was a wonderful honor, and that she should love it.

  Atan said, “Someone said you can hear people thinking from far away.”

  “Only if I know them.” Liere caught herself picking at her cuticles, and sat on her hands. “And if they don’t have mind-shields.”

  “Oh yes! I forgot about that,” Atan returned, looking away. “I apologize if any of my thoughts have been intrusive.”

  “I try to shut everybody out,” Liere said. “But sometimes I get tired . . . well, anyway, I haven’t heard yours.”

  Atan looked back, her expression somber. “Not that I have any real secrets, except feeling sorry for myself about Sartor. I wouldn’t want you to have to hear that. I do worry about everyone in Sartor. But I’m also worried about a friend, one you know, who helped me when I broke the century-long enchantment over Sartor, which was so very much worse than this one Siamis has spread everywhere. You met Rel, right?”

  “Oh, yes. I traveled with him once. He’s a really, really good traveler,” Liere said, smiling as she remembered tall, sturdy Rel. He’d reminded her so much of the brother she liked—the one her father had prenticed out to a baker, so she seldom saw him.

  “He is. I just want to know if he’s all right. Do you think you could find him?”

  “I can listen for him, but I did teach him the mind-shield,” Liere said. “However, if it isn’t habit . . .” She didn’t bother explaining, but shut her eyes.

  Distance on the mental plane was deceptive, not always measurable in days of travel. There were times when she could hear Senrid, or her family, like they were in the next room, and other times they were more distant than dreams.

  She reached a thread, a tendril, toward Rel—and gasped.

  “What is it?”

  “He’s . . . he’s . . .” Liere felt him sway as he climbed out of the saddle, felt her dry tongue cleaving to the top of her mouth, felt her eyes burn. She saw the glow of fire like a false dawn in memory, heard the casual voice, low, flat, a little husky, They’re all dead.

  She jerked her thoughts free, then curled up into a tight ball as she fought the resultant vertigo, until she’d sorted her own thoughts from his.

  Then she opened her eyes and stared at Atan, her face blanched, eyes huge. “He’s in the middle of a war.”

  * * *

  —

  A short time later, she, Hibern, and Liere sat in Tsauderei’s cottage, as Liere related what she’d seen when touching the surface of Rel’s thoughts.

  As soon as she finished, Atan said, “What can we do?”

  Tsauderei said, “What do you want to do?” And when she didn’t answer, he added, “You knew about this attack on Everon weeks ago. Is it suddenly real because someone you know is in the midst of the slaughter?”

  Atan’s temper flared, and then she remembered her heated accusations against Hibern about keeping the enchantment antidote secret and her brow creased. She saw at once that this was somewhat akin. “Yes. No. It’s not more real. War is real, and horrible wherever it is. But when a friend is in the middle, it becomes more immediate. Urgent. Is it because I know I can’t stop a war, but maybe I can stop him from being killed in it? I apologize if that’s wrong.”

  “It’s not wrong, it’s human. So you would have me transfer in, and take Rel away?”

  “Yes,” Atan stated.

  Hibern listened with a growing sense of loss, wondering why the Everoneth princess and prince hadn’t contacted anyone. The alliance was definitely falling apart.

  Tsauderei said, “But from what Liere tells us, Rel is spreading the word about the imminent attack. He might be the only one carrying that news, if those he was reporting to are all dead. Do you really want me to take him away?”

  “No. Yes. Why isn’t anyone doing anything?” Atan asked angrily.

  Tsauderei sighed. “Why do you think I’ve been traveling so much? Which is not particularly good for old bones. King Berthold
immediately attempted to invoke his treaties with his neighbors. The elderly queen of Wnelder Vee, to his north, who was in her nineties when she assumed the throne on the death of her son a couple years ago, fell into a stroke when she heard about the Norsunder attack. She was insensible, and though the healers did their best, she died a week ago. The new king is a boy about your age.” He nodded at Liere. “Who is apparently being fought over by various guild factions in Wnelder Vee. Which is largely rural, with no militia, much less an army. As for Imar . . .” He sighed again. “Prince Conrad and Princess Karia—I should say, the new king and queen—officially expressed concern, but. You know the political situation there.”

  “I remember,” Atan said. “The nobles of Imar are like pocket kings in their own land. The monarchy is very weak.”

  “It doesn’t help that King Conrad and Queen Karia, with no real authority, are mostly concerned with social life. Neither of them has the will or the ability to honor the treaty, and the last I heard, the most powerful nobles are all digging in to defend their family holdings if Norsunder comes over the border.”

  “So Everon is left to itself.”

  “There is nothing we mages can do. We’re forbidden by centuries of treaties to interfere in non-magical affairs. And there isn’t much we can do about war anyway.”

  Liere heard Atan’s thought as clear as if spoken: I am not willing to do nothing.

  Hibern said to Atan when they left the mage’s cottage, “There’s still the alliance. Not that it seems to have helped so far. But I do know this. Princess Tahra has a notecase.”

  * * *

  Everon

  Mersedes Carinna was increasingly uneasy, but other than the obvious, could not define the cause. She had no success in getting Berthold to listen, and couldn’t blame him for kissing her and saying, “It’s just the war. Strikes us all differently.”