"I do,” Casyn said, in his grave voice. “If Lena will have it so. My daughters are both mothers with small children; even so one might have agreed, but they are several days’ ride away in Han village. And had I the right I would be proud to name Lena my daughter.” He smiled at me, with those words.
"Hmm,” Donnalch mused. “Lena,” he said, in his lilting voice, “You are from Tirvan, am I right?” ‘Teeerrvaan’, he pronounced it, not our shorter, flatter 'Turvan'. I nodded. “How old are you?”
I cleared my throat. “Nineteen,” I replied. I could not remember the title Turlo had mentioned. “Sir,” I added, in case he thought me lacking in courtesy.
"And you have skill with weapons, I am told,” he said.
"Some,” I said. Hold your head up, Turlo had said. “I have learned the sword, and the use of a secca, in these past two years. The hunting bow I learned as a girl. I am reckoned a good shot with a deer bow,” I added.
He studied me for some time, without speaking. I kept my eyes on him.
"But I cannot put you with the boys,” he said, half to himself. He paused. “Will you read? And write?”
"Of course I can,” I said, too startled to be more polite.
"No, lassie, that's not what I asked,” he said, spreading his hands. “I asked if you will. Do you like to do such, I should perhaps have said.”
"Yes,” I said slowly, with a quick glance at Casyn. “I have learned to like both; I have been reading the stories of our Empire, and I keep a journal, a private record of the happenings of my life.”
“Then,” he said, with a quick confirming look to his advisors, “I know what to do with you. You were a bit of a puzzle, lassie, but now I have it: I will send you to a Ti’ach; a house of learning, as we do with one of our own sons or daughters who are drawn to the written word. Will that suit you?”
He was asking me where I would like to go? I glanced again at Casyn, and this time saw him make the briefest of nods. “Yes, sir,” I said. “It would suit me.”
"My title is Teannasach,” he said easily. “But 'sir' will do fine, until your tongue is more comfortable with our language. Now, these two youngsters"—he indicated the two boys—"are my son, Ruar, and his cousin Kebhan. They go as hostage to your Empire, to be cadets. You two come as hostage to the North, to Linrathe. We of the North hold to more of the old ways, and not all the agreement between us can be of the Empire's shaping. So, this exchange of hostages is a symbol, but it is also a surety, for us both, that the agreement we have made here will hold from planting to harvest. If it does not, then the lives of our heirs—of Kebhan and Ruar, or of Darel and Lena—may be forfeit. Is this understood?”
I swallowed. I looked at Darel; he had paled, but his face was resolute. Then I glanced over at the two northern boys. They looked solemn, but not shocked. They had known in advance, I thought. “Yes, sir,” I answered.
"It is growing late, Teannasach, and there is much to do if our truce is to be announced tomorrow.” The Emperor spoke; his voice sounded weary, but not strained. I regarded him: even in the forgiving light of the torches, he looked tired. His face held more lines, and his hair more grey, than when I had first met him over a year earlier. Time had brought betrayal and loss, and the relentless battle to push the northmen back and reclaim the Wall for the Empire. But he had done it, against enormous odds.
"Aye,” Donnalch agreed. “Shall we have a few minutes with our children, to say our farewells, and then we can commit this agreement to paper, and sign our names to give us a season of peace?” He pushed back his chair to stand. Immediately his two companions and the boys followed suit. “We will leave this room to you, Emperor,” he said. “As it's your fort,” he added. I watched the five of them leave the room by a door in the far wall. It closed with a click of its latch.
"Darel, Lena,” Casyn said. “Please, come, and sit. Leave your packs.” We did as we were told, taking the chairs just vacated by the northmen. My legs felt suddenly weak. Casyn poured two glasses of wine, passing them to us. “There is food, if you would like,” he said. I shook my head, as did Darel, which surprised me. He must be as nervous as I am. Casyn poured more wine, for himself and Turlo and the Emperor. He glanced at Callan, who nodded.
"You will be wondering why we agreed to this, and with such haste,” he said. “We have been talking, now, for nearly twenty days. At first, we were trying to create the terms for a lasting peace, but there is too much we do not agree on. What we could agree on was the need for a hiatus, for the reasons stated, so we began talking about the terms for a temporary truce. We had reached an agreement late this afternoon, and then Donnalch made the demand for hostages.”
"I could not let the truce fail on such a request,” the Emperor said. “The Teannasach, I think, needed to put his mark on this agreement, and as he proposed his own son and his brother's son as their hostages, saying that his people would see this as binding, in their tradition, I believe he offers this in good faith.”
I had a dozen questions, but none could be asked, here and now. I wished I had some time with Casyn, alone; I needed advice. I gathered my thoughts.
"May I ask a question, sir?” I said.
"Of course,” Callan said.
"What am I—we—to pay attention to, wherever we are sent?”
"Ah,” Callan said. “I could answer that better for Darel than for you, Lena. For you, Cadet,” he said, turning to Darel, “there are two things: the state of their supplies, whether it is food or weapons or men, and, perhaps more importantly, what the men are saying. They will forget, eventually, to hold their tongues in front of you, and the boys your age will repeat what they hear from their fathers and uncles. Commit it to memory: do not write it down in plain words, at your life's peril. Now, go with the General Turlo—your father,” he amended, in a rare acknowledgement of the relationship, “who will tell you what you can write, if you are allowed letters.”
Turlo beckoned Darel over to a corner of the room. The Emperor turned his eyes to me. I had seen those eyes gentle in compassion, pierced with anguish, cold in anger and judgment. Now I just saw fatigue, and perhaps a mastered regret.
"Donnalch said he would send you to a house of learning,” he said. “What we know of these is limited. There is no code to brief you on, no knowledge to pass on, or even much advice I can give you. Listen to what is said, about Donnalch's leadership, about the war, about what they wish to change. Exchange views on Partition, on your life as a woman of the Empire, our histories. Colm would have known more,” he added, “and I believe he would have envied you this opportunity.”
"I will do my best, sir, to remember that.” I felt the prick of tears behind my eyes. Colm, who had just begun to show me complexity of our own history, and the cost and consequences of our choices. I could not fail him, either.
The Emperor regarded me in silence for some moments. I waited. “Listen to your instincts, Guardswoman,” he said finally. “You will do well, I believe.”
"Yes, sir.” I hoped he was right. I heard footsteps crossing the room: Turlo and Darel. They joined us. The two men stepped aside to confer in hushed voices. I looked at Darel. He tried a grin.
"Another adventure,” he said, in a passable imitation of his father.
Fatigue and apprehension began to dull my mind again. The northmen joined us, and after some further conversation among the leaders, Birel—Casyn's soldier-servant—led us through a warren of dark lanes to our beds for the night. Darel's bed was in a shared room, but I had a small, dark chamber to myself. The room felt clammy, but when I pulled back the blankets to climb into the narrow cot, I realized someone—likely Birel—had put a heated stone wrapped in cloth in the bed.
I pulled the blankets over my shoulders and wrapped my feet around the stone, then doused the single candle standing on the small table beside the cot. The mattress below me rustled, a thin pallet of straw on a rope web, suspended from a wooden frame. If I were lucky there would be no vermin sharing the straw. Where would
I sleep tomorrow night? I shivered, more with anxiety than cold, burrowing deeper into the blankets. I would not think about tomorrow. Instead, I began to count in my mind all the beds I had slept in, this past year, since I left the one I had shared with Maya, and then Garth, in Tirvan.
The first had been the bed at Keavy's inn, a day's ride from Tirvan, with Garth beside me in the night. Then more inns, and camps, for several weeks, and then? The shared room at the Four-Ways Inn, I remembered, and then the bed with old Ione at Karst. My camp bed at the Emperor's Winter Camp. Back to the Four-Ways Inn, riding as Emperor's Messenger now, a brief sleep in Freya's own bed. Then Karst again, and then Casilla: one night in a hostel near the gates, and then months in the Street of Weavers, sharing a house with Tevra and Ianthe, and Garth's son Valle, and Maya, after she joined us. The memories of these rooms and houses and beds blurred and shifted. Sleep claimed me.
I awoke to a knock on the door. The room held no light, and I had no sense of the time. “Yes?” I called.
"Time to get ready, Guardswoman,” I heard Birel say. “I've brought wash water. Shall I leave it outside the door?”
"Wait,” I said, pushing back the blankets to sit up. I fumbled on the table, and by feel lit the candle. Then I walked the three paces to the door, opening it. I stood aside, holding the candle high, to allow Birel to bring in the water.
He had also brought soap and a towel. “I'll return shortly,” he said, “to guide you back to the great hall.”
This part of the White Fort had only communal latrines for the men, and so I used the chamberpot before washing. I combed water through my hair and dressed in my clean clothes. Then I repacked my pack, and waited for Birel.
He returned promptly. I shouldered my pack, following him through the damp morning. Around one corner he stopped to knock on another door. Darel opened it, and stepped out. He too had dressed in clean clothes, and smoothed down his red hair.
"Good morning,” I greeted him. “Sleep well?”
“Of course,” he said. He had learned the soldier's knack of sleeping anywhere and anytime, whether in a shared barracks or curled up under the Wall during a brief halt. “And you?” he asked.
"Yes, fine.” I had slept, solidly, fatigue trumping apprehension, and my sleep had been dreamless, as far as I remembered.
We followed Birel to the great hall. This morning the light came from the high windows, and the floor, while still magnificent, did not shimmer and glitter; the images lay still. Sleeping, I thought, and then dismissed the fancy. The men of the Empire and the North sat at the long table, but the focus at this moment was breakfast, not diplomacy.
Turlo greeted us by name. “Come and sit,” he said, “and eat. There's fresh bread, and some dried fruit. Eggs and cold venison, too.” Places were found for us, and food brought, and I made as good a breakfast as I had had for some months. Birel, unasked, brought me tea, smelling of mint.
I saw Birel take Casyn's plate and pour something steaming into his cup. Turlo nibbled dried fruit. The Emperor's place had been cleared; he studied papers before him, a pen in his hand. At the other end of the table the servers repeated the work, clearing plates, pouring drinks. The Emperor looked up.
"Now,” he said, “we had better talk of today.” I saw, from the corner of my eye, Birel gesture to the servers. They left the room, Birel alone staying, standing against the wall.
"Keep eating,” Callan said, as Darel moved to push aside his plate, “but listen.” The Emperor looked down the table at the northmen; they stopped their conversation to focus on Callan. Donnalch rose.
"I'll sit with you,” he said easily, and walked along the table. Casyn, with a glance at his brother, shifted over. Birel brought another chair, and Donnalch took the place beside the Emperor. The gesture, with all its implications, made me uncomfortable. I could not think of this man as the Emperor's equal.
"We are lucky with the day,” Donnalch remarked, as he sat. “The sun is shining, and by all the signs there will be no rain before the afternoon. It's best if we can do this outdoors, where as many men can see and hear as possible.”
Callan acknowledged this statement with a nod of his head. “If we speak from the watchtower west of this fort,” he said, “the land is nearly flat for a good space on both sides. Will that serve, do you think, Teannasach?”
“Aye,” Donnalch said. “Your messengers are ready to ride?”
“They are,” Callan said. “And yours?”
“Mine also,” Donnalch agreed. “The copies of the treaty are ready too, the ones entrusted to my scribes, and yours also, I believe?”
“Done,” Callan said, “and the exchange has been made: the copies are here.” He indicated the papers in front of him. “I have read and signed them; there are no errors that affect the meaning of the truce; your scribes are to be commended.” He spoke quietly and politely, but I thought his voice lacked spirit. He did not quite sound defeated; resigned might be a better word. I wondered what the treaty said.
“And yours,” Donnalch said. “I read through the copies from your scribes earlier, and wrote my name on them all; I wake early. So now, Emperor,” he challenged, “how will we determine the speaking order? Who has precedence?” He smiled as he said this, but something in his face told me this was a serious question. Donnalch's men, I noticed, had become very still.
“Teannasach,” Callan said calmly, “as you yourself said last night, it is my fort. And my wall, and my watchtower. Your incursions into the Empire were repelled, and you and your men retreated to your historic lands. I think our positions are clear, and therefore the precedence. Would you not agree?” He kept his eyes on Donnalch as he spoke. The hall was very quiet. I had the sense that this conversation had happened before
Donnalch held Callan's eyes for several heartbeats. Then he inclined his head, a half-smile on his lips. “As you say,” he said, his voice courteous. “I will give precedence to the long years of history, and the remnants of the greater Empire that this room reminds us of.” I frowned. What did he mean? I glanced at Casyn. He looked grim. I repeated Donnalch's words in my mind, and heard this time the subtleties: precedence not to the Emperor, or even to his superior military position, but to history. I watched the men, holding my breath, feeling the precarious balance in the room.
Callan stood, his hand lightly resting on his sword, his eyes still on Donnalch. I heard chairs scrape as around both men their supporters stood too. Belatedly I realized I too had better stand, although I had only my secca on my waist. I could hear Darel's breathing beside me, not quite even, and the thumping of my heart. Very slowly, Donnalch came to his feet.
“The remnants of a greater Empire we may be,” Callan said, “and myself a pale echo of those Emperors who came before, but the soldiers of the Empire do not forget. If it is that history you would acknowledge, then will you face east with me, and bow to that memory, and to what may still lie beyond the mountains and the seas?”
“I will,” Donnalch said, “and my men with me. We do not forget either.” The men moved out to the centre of the hall, facing the windows where the morning light was brightest. Callan and Donnalch stood beside each other, their swords in front of them. I followed Darel to stand behind the men. I had absolutely no idea of what they spoke, or what this meant.
Callan's voice rang out. “To the Empire unconquered,” he proclaimed, bowing deeply. I followed suit, a memory surfacing of Colm's burial: Callan and the soldiers facing east and bowing. What did they bow to? What greater Empire? Where?
The brief ceremony seemed to be over, but the men remained standing. Donnalch turned to Callan. “Perhaps, Emperor,” he said, “we should make this acknowledgement again, when we announce our truce. It would help, I think, to remind both sides that we come from a common history, although we have taken different paths. Perhaps, one day, we can find a road that we can all walk on, without enmity, and the truce we sign today may be the first step on that road.” He spoke simply, with no trace of the challenge or
posturing I had heard earlier.
Callan nodded. “Perhaps.”
A line from Colm's history of the Empire came back to me: 'When there had been silence from the east for many years...'. I had thought, when I read it, that it had referred to a previous threat that had gone quiet, and had not asked Colm about it, although I had meant to. I wracked my brain. What did I know about the east? The mountains, the Durrains, which formed the eastern boundary of the Empire, and were said to be uncrossable. The Eastern Fort, where I had never been. Something more: the Eastern Fever. I heard the words in my mother's voice, but I couldn't place the context; something, perhaps, overheard as she instructed Kira. And what had the Emperor just said? What still may remain beyond the mountains and the seas? What was he talking about? I shook my head in frustration.
The movement caught Turlo's eye. He turned to look at me, frowning slightly. I coloured: did he think I disagreed with Callan, or Donnalch? I made a small gesture of placation; he nodded slightly, returning his attention to the leaders. Callan and Donnalch still faced each other, silent. Finally, Donnalch inclined his head slightly, a faint smile crossing his lips, and turned again to sit.
The men spoke quietly now, looking at papers. I watched for some minutes, but when I saw Kebhan and Ruar begin whispering to each other, I turned to Darel.
“Darel,” I murmured, “this bowing to the east, what's it all about?”
“Don't you know?” he whispered back, surprise evident even in the hushed tone.
“No,” I said. “Would I be asking, if I did?”
He remained quiet for a moment. “I suppose,” he whispered finally, “it doesn't matter, to the women's villages. I can't tell you everything here, so this must do for now: once, many hundreds of years ago, maybe longer, we were part of a larger Empire, whose Supreme Emperor ruled from a city far to the east. What happened to that city, and those Emperors, we do not know. But what we know, the men, I mean, of command and strategy, and of fighting, we learned from them, and Callan and our Emperors before him take their titles in subservience to the Eastern Emperor, whether he lives or not, and remembers us if he does live.”
Empire's Legacy- The Complete Trilogy Page 38