by Melanie Rawn
And won. His was the victory. He had lost his life but saved the Captal, his own daughter; he had lost his life but at the end of his life had been a Mage Guardian again. Auvry Feiran had won.
And Cailet? Those she loved whom she had not lost, she had pushed away. Her battle from now on would be with herself: how close was too close? How much distance was too much? How did she reconcile her need for Sarra and Collan and the others with her need to Ward herself from them?
She couldn’t find out here, amid all these strangers and all their self-serving noise. She wanted distance between herself and Ryka Court. To find her own place far away, somewhere she could teach and learn and fight her private battle and come to some sort of peace.
Col found her a little while later, seated in the latticed springhouse of the Council’s private garden. He had a bottle in one hand, two glasses in the other. Sitting beside her on a bench, he poured and gave her a brimming goblet.
“Sarra’s a bad influence on me. I never used to bother with glasses.”
They drank the first round in silence. Col poured a refill.
“She said to tell you she’s sorry. She understands now—about the Council and the Mage Guardians, I mean.”
“Does she?”
“She’s not so blind that she can’t see things when they’re shoved in her face,” he replied with a faint smile. “And Dombur did that today.”
Cailet nodded and drank.
After a time, Col said, “You have to get out of here, you know.”
“Yes. I know.”
“No telling what they’ll think up next.”
She took another long swallow, the brandy burning its way down. “If this was any indication, I don’t want to find out.”
“I wish you could stay,” he went on. “But Sarra and I can’t protect you anymore the way we’ve been doing. More players in the game now.”
“What do you mean, ‘protect’ me?” she demanded.
Col snorted. “Who do you think kept you off Ryka? Who’s been arguing since Maiden Moon that you’re needed out in the world where you can do some good, not caged up? They were all set to build a shrine around you, did you know that?”
She stared at the brandy. “I’m sorry. I never realized.”
His voice softening, he said, “And who, little kitten, just arranged for you to go to a place I know in Sheve Dark, where you can think in peace and quiet and decide what you’re going to do next—instead of having the new Council tell you?”
“Sheve—?”
“You’ll like it, kitten.” He smiled. “I used to live there with Falundir. It’s a nice, cozy little cottage, no nightmares allowed.”
Shocked, she stammered out, “How did you—”
“Falundir saw it first, back around your Birthingday. I told Elo to keep an eye on you. And you’ve been drinking enough to make Kiy the Forgetful start remembering.”
She defiantly gulped down the brandy.
“One for health, one for wealth, but that’s all,” he said, and took the glass from her hand. “Cai. Sarra and I don’t want to lose you—not to some mystical Mageborn whatever, or the nightmares, or to what everybody else says you ought to be. You’d lose yourself. You did pretty well today. But toward the end you were going out of tune.”
Now she had nothing to stare at but her empty hands. At length, and very carefully, she asked, “Do you understand? About Auvry Feiran, I mean?”
Collan was silent for a long moment, turning his glass around and around in lean, sensitive Minstrel’s hands. “I’m not sure. I know what I think, and I know what I feel. They’re not the same thing.”
“They would’ve made him into a shrine, Col—to hate. I couldn’t let things begin that way. And he—he put himself between me and Glenin’s magic. She would have killed me if he hadn’t.”
This was news to him. He gave her a hard, searching look. “Why?”
“He was a Mage Guardian. I’m the Captal.”
Collan said nothing for a long time. Then: “I guess he found out what his life was worth. Who he was willing to risk it for.” He shrugged uncomfortably. “Well, whatever happened, it’s all over and done. Dead’s dead. He doesn’t matter anymore.”
It was as much as she could hope for—and more generous than she might have expected—from a man who had suffered at Feiran’s hands the way Collan had. Still, Sarra was right: he must never learn the truth. Never.
After a time, Cailet ventured, “I’ll miss you and Sarra.”
“I didn’t say vanish forever,” Col replied testily. “She’ll have a fit if you’re not here when the baby’s born.”
“Baby? What baby?”
“Ours. Surprise.” He acquired a slightly foolish, entirely endearing grin.
“Uh—yes. A baby,” she repeated, dazed. “When?”
“By her next Birthingday. She’s on notice that we’re out of here by Ladymoon. That gives her about seven weeks to fix up the world the way she wants it. Anything she doesn’t get done by then, she’ll have to do from Roseguard. I’m not sticking around this hothouse any longer than that.”
His aggrieved tone didn’t fool Cailet. What Sarra wanted to do, he would see that she had the chance to do—even if he had to shove his fist down the throat of anyone who got in her way. Where he loved, he protected. If it meant intentionally igniting Sarra’s temper, he would do it. If it meant cracking a few skulls, he’d do that, too. And if it meant standing like a living wall between Cailet and the Council—and even between Cailet and Sarra herself—
“Ride down and talk to Maugir at Sleginhold every so often,” Col was saying, “so we’ll know how you are. I’ll send him word when it’s her time.”
Caliet gave him a smug grin. “What makes you think I won’t know without being told?”
He blinked, then growled, “May all Sarra’s children be Mageborn, and all of them just like her!”
“Ha! Some vengeance!” she scoffed. “From now on I’ll pray every night to every Saint in the Calendar that they don’t turn out just like you!”
Collan laughed and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She leaned her head against his shoulder, sighing for this moment of perfect peace.
After a while she stirred. “What’m I going to do in Sheve Dark, anyway?”
“Well, for one thing, clean up the garden. It’s probably been solid weeds for ten years and more.”
“The joys of rustication,” she murmured wryly. “What else?”
“You’ve got a lot of reading to do, kitten.”
She sat up straight. “The books! From the Academy!”
“Crates and crates. Tarise and Rillan escorted them personally all the way from Pinderon to Sleginhold about a week ago. You can take old Kanto Solingirt along to play librarian. All in all, you ought to be pretty busy until spring.” He drew her against him again, smiling. “So will Sarra, but at least I’ve got one of you someplace where she can’t get into too much trouble.”
“All those books. . . .” Cailet closed her eyes and sighed again.
“I kept some of the ones from Bard Hall. Good stuff, things I’d never run across before. Want to hear one?”
“Please.”
Sarra found them there half an hour later: her husband still humming lullabies, her sister sleeping like a child, without nightmares.
Epilogue
The full moon rose, blurred and distorted by many-layered Wards. The Weaver’s Moon; her own moon. Her twenty-seventh Birthingday.
She turned from the windows to the cradle by her bed. He never cried, did her son, never fretted or fussed. He watched the world with remarkably clear eyes, their color as yet undetermined. But whether blue or gray or green or a combination of all these, those eyes were so aware that he frightened people.
Not her. She knew what he was telling her. He knew magic, even at twelve weeks old. The night he’d been born—the Equinox
, just at sunset—she’d told him his name, and he’d looked at her, and known her. He was aware, and of more than his surroundings. She knew he was aware of magic. How could he not be? He lived within the most powerful Wards a Malerrisi Net had ever constructed.
He was sleeping now. She gazed down at him for a while, dreaming and proud, then moved to her own bed. Whenever she watched him too long, he woke to watch her. As if concerned that he’d miss something; as if waiting for more magic. She couldn’t so much as Warm a teacup without feeling his eyes watching her.
Ah, what he would be in twenty years, when the Code of Malerris was his memorized possession!
Smiling, she snuggled down in soft sheets to sleep. She didn’t mind this exile, not really. Others did. But she had all she needed right here, and the coming years would be full and joyous as her son grew, and grew into his magic.
She could see the full moon from her bed. Though the chambers were not large, they were beautifully appointed in her own Feiran green and gray. They were the chambers vacated on her arrival by an Escovor, who had taken with him all his garish black and orange. They were the chambers Anniyas had never lived in, even though they’d been rightfully hers.
They were Glenin’s chambers now. First Lord, Warden of the Loom.
Bidding silent good night to the Weaver’s Moon, her own moon, she turned on her side so she could see her son’s cradle, and fell asleep smiling.
Genealogy
SELECTIVE INDEX
Agvir The Silent, Saint. Patron of Trees, Foresters, Carpenters. Sigil: Single Leaf.
Alilen The Seeker, Saint. Patron of Birds, Singers, Crazy People. Sigil: Feather.
Ambraishir. Province. Capital: Ambrai.
Anniyas
—Avira (900–). Councillor for Tillinshir; First Councillor. Son: Garon.
—Garon (939–). Husband of Glenin Feiran.
Assembly. 150 members (ten from each Shir). Proposes laws for ratification or rejection by the Council (q.v.).
Bard. Poet-musician of superior talents. A Bard must master at least four instruments, know the entire Bardic Canon, and compose brilliantly on the spot. Regimentals: gray trousers, blue longvest or tunic and cloak, silver badge of preferred instrument plus music scroll and quill pen.
Bard Hall. College and archive in Ambrai. The Dean, master teachers, and senior Bards acknowledge three levels of skill: Musician (mastery of one instrument; silver badge of same); Minstrel (mastery of Bardic Canon as well as two or more instruments; silver badge of preferred instrument plus music scroll); and Bard (q.v.).
Bleynbradden. Province. Capital: Wyte Lynn Castle.
Bloods. See Tiers
Brogdenguard. Province. Capital: Neele.
Caitiri the Fiery-Eyed, Saint. Patron of Fire, Forge, Ironcrafters. Sigil: Flameflower.
Cantrashir. Province. Capital: Pinderon.
Census. Taken every 25 years. In 950 the population of Lenfell was classed as follows (Tier figures from 125 given for comparison):
Chevasto the Weaver, Saint. Patron of Spinners, Weavers, Basketmakers, Lords of Malerris. Sigil: Loom.
Cloister. Established for 873 girls orphaned in the War of the Tiers. Still a haven for women wishing to withdraw from the world, the Cloister is famous for fine carpets and tapestries.
Colynna Silverstring, Saint. Patron of the Lute. Sigil: Coiled Strings. Removed from official calendar.
Council Guard. Standing army of professional soldiers overseen by a Commandant responsible to the Council. In war, the core of the armed forces; in peace, the Council’s worldwide police barracked at Ryka Court and all Council Halls. Regimentals: black trousers and cloak, red tunic, gold badge of eagle clutching a sword. See also Ryka Legion
Council Hall. Law court and residence of local Justices and Council Guards.
Council of Lenfell. Executive branch of government. Fifteen members, one from each Shir, chosen by popular vote of enfranchised females. First Councillor chairs the Council. Badge (also worn by personal assistants): gold eagle.
Deiket Snowhair, Saint. Patron of Mountains, Scholars, Teachers. Sigil: Book.
Delilah the Dancer, Saint. Patron of Sword, Soldiers, Dancers, Tailors, Athletes. Sigils: Crossed Swords, Crossed Needles.
Dindenshir. Province. Capital: Dinn.
Domburronshir. Province. Capital: Domburron.
Domburronshir, Grand Duchess of. Born Veller Ganfallin in 721. By 759, the armies of the self-styled Grand Duchess, supported by renegades among both Mage Guardians and Lords of Malerris, controlled most of South Lenfell. In 761, Isodir, Firrense, and Wyte Lynn Castle were beseiged, but never fell due to resupply by Ladder. By 768 she ruled half the world. After her death in 779 her empire fell apart. Her battles directly caused over 100,000 deaths and twice that number of civilians were murdered in seven Shirs. In the late 930s, a purported descendant of Veller Ganfallin attempted to emulate her conquests; he was defeated and killed at the Battle of Domburron.
Dower Fund. Yearly tithe held in trust for dispersal at marriage.
Elinar Longsight, Saint. Patron of Fortune-tellers. Sigil: Owl. Removed from official calendar.
Eskanto Cut-Thumb, Saint. Patron of Bookbinders. Sigil: Scattered Pages. Removed from official calendar.
Falinsen Crystal-Hand, Saint. Patron of Glasscrafters. Sigil: Bottle. Removed from official calendar.
Falundir (916–). Slaveborn eunuch whose gifts as a Bard won him his freedom.
Feleris the Healer, Saint. Patron of Medicine, Physicians, Apothecaries, Perfumers, Beekeepers. Sigils: Mortar and Pestle; Herbal Wreath; Beehive.
Fielto the Finder, Saint. Patron of the Chase, Archers, Hunters, Lost Items. Sigil: Crossed Arrows.
First Daughter. Inherits all money and property; has authority over her sisters for life and her brothers until they marry; responsible for collection and administration of the Dower Fund. The First Daughter of an entire Name is titular head of the family, with (theoretically) dictatorial power over all women and unmarried men of that Name no matter how distantly connected. In practice, each branch’s First Daughter wields that power.
Flerna the Weary, Saint. Patron of Accountants. Sigil: Abacus. Removed from official calendar.
Garony the Righteous, Saint. Patron of Advocates, Prisoners. Sigil: Gavel.
Gelenis First Daughter, Saint. Patron of Pregnant Women, Childbirth, First Daughters. Sigil: Carved Chair.
Geridon the Stallion, Saint. Patron of Fathers, Horses, Domestic Animals. Sigil: Horseshoes.
Gierkenshir. Province. Capital: Firrense.
Gorynel the Compassionate, Saint. Patron of Grief, Widows, Cripples, Judges, Printers. Sigil: Thorn Tree.
Healer. Physician, not necessarily Mageborn. Regimentals: green trousers, cloak, and longvest or tunic, gold badge of herb wreath (Healer) or herb sprig (Prentice).
Healers Ward. Medical school in Ambrai.
Identity Disk. Flat, almond-shaped steel disk; Name colors indicated by beads. Obverse: given name, family Name and sigil (if any), birthdate, Blood/Tier status. Reverse: Council Sigil. The Renne Blood has exclusive production rights. Issued at birth and worn until death by everyone but slaves. At death the disk is burned with the corpse. If recovery of the body is impossible, as in battle, the disk is taken instead and returned to the First Daughter.
Ilsevet Waterborn, Saint. Patron of Fish and Fisherfolk. Sigil: Crossed Hooks.
Imili the Joyous, Saint. Patron of Joy, Newlyweds, New Mothers, Old Lovers. Sigil: Flower Basket.
Jenavira Rememberer, Saint. Patron of Memory and Historians. Sigil: Open Book. Removed from official calendar.
Jeymian Gentlehand, Saint. Patron of Wild Animals. Sigil: Open Hand.
Joselet Green-Eyes, Saint. Patron of Gardeners. Sigil: Shovel and Hoe. Removed from official calendar.
Justice. Appointed by Council, ratified by Assembly. Presides over all trials and presents the government�
�s case. Chief Justice of each Shir handles only “federal” law; junior associates take cases of local law.
Kenroke Fever. Two pandemics—one pre-Waste War, the other in 596–601; 20–25% mortality. Cure discovered by Healer Mage Viko Renne.
Kenrokeshir. Province. Capital: Roke Castle.
Kiy the Forgetful, Saint, Patron of Wine, Vintners, Toothaches. Sigil: Spilled Cup.
Lenfell. Corruption of “landfall.” Colonized during the Second Great Migration (2458–2493) by 5,876 mainly Catholic settlers after a seven-year voyage on the starship Stella Alderson. Their aim was to escape the complications of high technology. Among them were sixteen magicians who became the ancestors of every Mageborn on Lenfell.
Lirance Cloudchaser, Saint. Patron of Wind. Sigil: Tower.
Lords of Malerris. Originated as a splinter group of Mage Guardians advocating Mageborn control of government and society. Approximately 300 years after their founding, the Waste War was fought to a standstill over their philosophical and power dispute with the Guardians.
Organization:
First Lord (badge: Great Loom) governs all Malerrisi; chosen in trial by fatal magical combat. Second Lord (Shuttle) executes designs. Third Lord (Spool) oversees personnel and placement. Fourth Lord (Spindle) is responsible for planning and training. Fifth Lord (Scissors) renders discipline. The badge of a Lord or Lady is a Threaded Needle. Regimentals are white.
Lusine and Lusir the Twins, Saints. Patrons of Innocents, Children, Shepherds. Sigils: Bow (Lusine), Shepherd’s Crook (Lusir).
Mage Academy. School for Mage Guardians in Ambrai.
Mageborn. Persons who inherit magic. Except in rare cases, onset of magic comes with puberty and can be dangerous to mental and/or physical health.
Mage Captal. Originally selected in trial by magical combat, in more recent times chosen by Senior Mages; the living repository of all Magelore.