Goldenmark

by Jean Lowe Carlson

  Eventually, the party moved inside, into the high-gabled entry hall of Roushenn. It had been charred and blasted, littered with dead bodies when Eleshen had seen it after Fenton and Lhaurent’s battle. But now it was pristine, every block refitted, not a pock to mar its soaring elegance.

  And it was elegant. More so than Eleshen had ever seen it. She stared around, her lips fallen open in wonder as she took it all in. The hall was bright, not just from the winter sun pouring in through massive windows of pearled glass that had never been there before, but also from globes of swirling white light that danced like drunken fireflies upon the air, leaving wisps of ether in their wake. As the fey globes wove up into soaring gables, Eleshen saw that Roushenn was entirely carven now. Trees arced up columns, wreathed in flowering vines. Tableaux of harvesting wheat and tending animals, of raising children and singing harpers were carven everywhere she looked. Like the Jenner Abbey, these were scenes of prosperity, of love and peace. And as Eleshen glanced to the far wall beyond the checkered white and blue marble floor, she saw an enormous carving of Queen Elyasin with six other monarchs, the likenesses of King Therel Alramir and Vhinesse Delennia Oblitenne familiar.

  A smile lifted Eleshen’s lips as she took everything in. She hardly noticed when Fenton stepped to her side, following her gaze around the enormous hall to every pearled-glass window and portico. “Do you like it?”

  “It’s beautiful!” Eleshen breathed. “I came to Roushenn a few times when I was young, but it never looked like this!”

  “I made a few improvements. With the help of the Jenners and Morvein, of course,” Fenton chuckled.

  “You did all this?” Eleshen turned and found Fenton grinning, a subtle recklessness in his brown-gold gaze.

  He shrugged, and there was modesty in it, but the pleasure of pride shone through. “The Jenner architects and Valenghian stone-wrights did the re-design. I merely worked with Morvein to carry out their schematics. It’s far from finished, but we’ve got most of the central halls repaired. Elyasin wanted a palace of light and community to replace the old Roushenn. A place where all could feel inspired rather than a stark fortress. She’s opened up the hidden passageways of the Hinterhaft and made them new public halls for everyone to enjoy. If Roushenn could house tens of thousands before, it could now house thrice that. No more secrets. Just Unity.”

  “Incredible!” Eleshen still couldn’t adjust to how much power Fenton hid inside that unassuming frame of his. Even as she watched, he slouched genially against a column, crossing his arms and marveling up to the vaulted gables. Swirling globes wisped down from bluestone arches and veins of pearl inlay, as if attracted to Fenton’s attention. He looked back to Eleshen, and the white globes wafted away.

  “Is Elohl here?” She couldn’t help but ask, noticing Ghrenna standing alone by the entryway.

  “Supposedly.” Fenton followed her gaze and his demeanor darkened. “Elyasin said he arrived last night. But I’ve not seen him yet.”

  “He’s avoiding you? And her?” Eleshen blinked, glancing to Ghrenna.

  “Apparently.”

  Fenton looked as if he would say more, but just then, a fanfare sounded in the hall from a trio of trumpets. Eleshen saw Queen Elyasin and King Therel move off toward a vaulted gable at the far left and up a grand staircase. Fenton pushed from the wall, gesturing to Eleshen and snapping his fingers at Ihbram, who chatted with General Merra. Merra barked orders to her keshari to gather, then glanced at Fenton with a sexy smile. Fenton stepped to her, falling into an easy stride at Merra’s side as she moved away after the King and Queen with her elite retinue.

  Eleshen went with Ihbram, winding up the grand staircase to the upper galleries. A cobalt carpet woven with gold and silver lions was set up the stairs with golden runners. The hall above was luminous with chandeliers, enormous pearled-glass windows at either end of the causeway. Eleshen blinked stupidly at all the light, each chandelier blazing with hundreds of fey-globes that twisted around them in sorcerous swirls. She didn’t recall chandeliers inside Roushenn. And this hallway hadn’t had windows – especially not colored glass.

  Hearths crackled with fires along the hall, as Eleshen followed the royal retinue to a set of open doors at the south end of the corridor. They entered a vaulted hall decorated with gilded furniture and lit high with chandeliers, fae globes, and pearled windows. Fires roared in every hearth. A wealth of potted plants were arranged by each column, giving the hall a comfortable feel. Tables were arranged in a broad circle around an open space with a podium, and Eleshen saw representatives of the seven allied nations mingling with wine, starting to take their seats.

  Eleshen moved toward the table where King Therel now sat with General Merra and their Highlanders. But she hesitated, noting the table where the Menderian host gathered with Queen Elyasin, her new Castellan Thaddeus den’Lhor, and her High General Arlen den’Selthir – who was also High Rakhan of the Alrashemni Kingsmen now. Another table was appointed for the Kingsmen, who had gathered with Brother Sebasos and a few of Arlen’s best. That table had Jenners also – quite a few with quill and paper, ready to scribe the morning’s proceedings.

  Three factions – and suddenly, Eleshen felt torn between them.

  “Eleshen. Over here.”

  She glanced over to Fenton’s smooth voice and saw him and Ihbram settling at a table to the right of the Menderian contingent. Ghrenna was seated there, sipping a chalice of wine as she gazed around the room with wintry poise, her white hood lowered. Eleshen moved to their table, accepting a cup of wine from a serving-lad.

  “Which table is this?”

  “Wyrrics table,” Ihbram chuckled, leaning his chair back on two legs with a roguish grin. “Misfits table? Whatever you want to call it.”

  “It’s an honor for our kind to be included here, Ihbram. For any magic-users at all, especially Khehemni ones.” Rising from his seat, Fenton pulled out a chair beside him for Eleshen and raised his eyebrows. She moved forward and sat.

  “Why is there a wyrrics table?” Eleshen glanced at Fenton as she sipped her wine.

  “There was a time when wyrric-users of all kinds were hunted, hated.” Fenton’s gaze flicked to Ghrenna before he nodded to the Kingsmen table. “Only the Alrashemni fostered wyrric abilities among their children this past thousand years. But since the Rennkavi caused wyrria to flow through all lands and peoples again, wyrrics have a much larger presence in the world. Already, spontaneous openings of wyrria are starting to happen in the general populace, something that hasn’t happened since the time of Leith. Khehem’s knowledge is needed here, even though the Lothren caused trouble for centuries. As Scion of Khehem and head of the Alodwine clan, I take personal responsibility for that, and aim to repair it. But Khehem receives a chance to unite with the world now – to undo Leith’s fractiousness. As powerful wyrrics of an ancient lineage, Queen Elyasin and the Coalition need our perspective on how to deal with magic rising in the world again.”

  Eleshen sipped her wine, considering Fenton’s words. Gazing around, she took in the settling Coalition groups. Each of the ten tables held a retinue, for the seven nations present, plus one for the Kingsmen and another for the wyrrics. A last table held representatives from a number of miscellaneous nations – tall dark-skinned Jadounians, swarthy Ghreccani with their geometric facial tattoos. Plus a few tall spearmen wearing crested red helms and thin desert silks with reed-woven red breastplates.

  “Sweet Aeon!”

  Fenton suddenly rose from his seat. He stepped briskly toward the table with the southern ambassadors. A man dressed in Roushenn Palace cobalt with a golden lion’s mane and smiling green eyes chatted with a strikingly handsome spearman with blue-black curls cut in a short brush. The tall foreigner had a long blade-scar on one cheek, still red from recent healing, and cradled a red-crested silver helm under his arm. The green-eyed Guardsman laughed at something the spear-captain said, then turned as Fenton swept in on him.

  The Guardsman’s eyebrows rose. And
then he and Fenton collided in a crushing embrace, full of back-slapping and jubilant laughter. Fenton laughed a few words – returned by the Guardsman – but the hall was settling and Fenton moved away with a last shake of the man’s shoulders, reclaiming his seat beside Eleshen.

  “What was that all about?” She asked him.

  “An old comrade from the Roushenn Guard. I hadn’t thought I’d ever see him again.” Fenton’s eyes sparkled, but suddenly darkened. “He and I have a lot of catching up to do. But not right now.”

  At that moment, the only person Eleshen hadn’t seen came slipping through the doors. All eyes turned to him – how could they not? Elohl den’ Alrahel was magnetic, handsome, and the entire reason the Coalition was here today.

  Eleshen’s thoughts dropped away as he entered. Clad in a midnight-blue jerkin tooled with gold whorls that mimicked his Goldenmarks, his sea-grey eyes scanned the assembly – not flinching from all the scrutiny, but not embracing it, either. One might not have thought he was a hero, so silent the room became at his entry. And where his sleeves were rolled up at his forearms, Eleshen saw the Marks. They weren’t gold anymore upon his left arm and hand, but a flowing, opalescent white, and she wondered at the change. She had heard from Fenton about the events upon the tower, but he’d not said anything about Elohl’s Marks having changed, and Eleshen wondered at it.

  Elohl’s gaze met hers, briefly, without recognition. She supposed he’d not heard about her transformation yet, and he’d not seen her ride in with the Elsthemi – but still, it gave Eleshen a pang. Elohl’s gaze paused as he found Ghrenna. Eleshen watched them stare at each other, a moment that stretched in the room’s soft hush. And then his eyes found Fenton and he moved forward, claiming a seat at the wyrrics table, though not next to Ghrenna. Fenton gripped Elohl’s shoulder briefly, and Ihbram jostled him. Elohl nodded to them, though he sent a curious frown past Fenton to Eleshen.

  But there was no more time for re-acquaintance, as Queen Elyasin rose and stepped into the central space and up to the podium erected in the middle of the tables. Raising her hands, she commanded the room to hush as servants continued to move in elegant patterns, settling refreshments and pitchers of water at every table.

  “Friends, be welcome!” Elyasin began, her lovely voice resonating through the hall. “You have gathered here today, because we experience a new world in our time. Wyrria has arisen in all our lands these past two months and causes unprecedented chaos, but also unprecedented delight. Our wars are ceased for the first time in forty years, soldiers returning home to rebuild, to renew, and to decide what to do with their future. As must we. In an era of open travel through the Alranstones, now freely admitting passage to anyone, we have come to a turning-point in what it means to have national borders, standing armies, and trade. Today, we begin the discussion of these concerns. At the end of our time, we will sign the Pact of the Coalition that has been drafted these past two months with significant input from you all. We will add any last majority-vote clauses to the document. And we will understand that this is a living Pact, a breathing thing that will change and change again as we refine governing in this new time. Let us now begin. I invite King Therel Alramir to open with a discussion of the Elsthemi, the rebuilding of Lhen Fhekran, and magical tumult inside their borders. We will proceed ‘round in order, ending with the opinion of the wyrrics on all that has been said, before we move on to the Pact proper. King Therel, if you would.”

  Elyasin made an elegant gesture to Therel, who rose from his seat and came to the center as she left. A brief touching of fingertips between them showed their love as Elyasin resumed her seat at the Menderian table, Therel’s wolf-pale eyes following her all the way.

  And the Council of the Coalition began.

  CHAPTER 51 – THEROUN

  Theroun den’Jornath leaned against a column with his arms crossed over his chest, listening to King Therel Alramir make his statement about the condition of the Elsthemi nation. It was a grim description, the mess Lhaurent had left in his wake, not the least of which had been perpetrated by the Kreth-Hakir.

  Scowling around the room, Theroun took in the assembly. Hidden in plain sight in his herringbone-weave leathers, no one in the room even knew he was here – and he received no return gazes from those he watched. Taking in the Rennkavi Elohl den’Alrahel in his midnight-blue and gold finery, Theroun watched the impressive warrior listen to King Therel’s speech. The man glanced over, and for a moment his storm-grey eyes narrowed. But Theroun suspended his breath and let his intention drift back into the oilslick haze of mind-weaves that coated his body like a living skin. Exhaling slowly, Theroun thickened his black weaves like a scorpion’s armor – making his presence impossible to be seen.

  Theroun’s sight-dampening weave flowed around him, and Elohl’s glance traveled past. The Rennkavi looked back to King Therel as Therel now described magical chaos erupting at the Valley of Doors – that three Doors there had opened and caused natural laws like gravity and daylight to bend in the area. Theroun continued his watch, absorbing the meeting. After the Aphellian Way, where he had been seen fighting at Khorel Jornath’s side, Theroun could never show his face in an assembly such as this again. And though the Kreth-Hakir had been split from Jornath’s rebellion, it didn’t mean that Theroun was liberated of his bondage. Khorel Jornath and Metrene den’Yesh would take his full report later, and there would be no escaping it.

  Under Khorel and Metrene’s tutelage at the rebels’ stronghold upon the Isle of Crasos these past months, Theroun was developing into a mind-master far quicker than even Khorel had anticipated. Obfuscation of intent, creating weaves to cause the eye to travel past, had taken Theroun only a week to learn. With the explosion of wyrria in the world, his abilities had grown from a chaotic strike to something he could use at will now – allowing him to spy upon the assembly. It was a worthy skill, though Theroun despised deception. His thoughts drifted to another of such black arts – the Ghost of Roushenn. How that man had gotten the drop on Theroun inside his own chambers. And how he had seen that fellow again on the Aphellian Way, fighting like a dervish in the night for the allies.

  Theroun hadn’t seen the Black Ghost again. And though he abhorred these dark deceptions, his future depended on it – even if it took him to Halsos’ Hells and back.

  Gazing over the nations present, Theroun took in all the eager faces. Tall Arthe den’Tourmalin was cool as ever, but the aging Isleman King nodded as Therel thanked him for sending shipwrights to help re-build Lhen Fhekran. Vhinesse Delennia Oblitenne also gave a regal nod as she was thanked for sending Valenghian stonemasons. The Elsthemi were rabid with pride for their King – High General Merra Alramir, her Captains Jhonen Rebaldi, Lhesher Khoum, and the twins Rhone and Rhennon Uhlki. Theroun hadn’t approached them after the battle at the Aphellian Way. He had disappeared under a mind-weave, rather than try to explain his complicated allegiances to the Kreth-Hakir and why. This assembly held only hate for the herringbone black, despite Khorel Jornath’s and Theroun’s betrayal of the Brethren upon the battlefield. No story Theroun could ever offer would hold water with his former allies after they had watched him fight at Khorel’s side.

  He was a traitor in truth, now – against all nations and peoples.

  Theroun’s gaze drifted to Merkhenos del’Ilio as he listened. The war-general had broken his ties with Valenghia and sat at the Cennetian table as temporary Regent of Cennetia now, though the proud and vicious city-states continued to squabble like always. Merkhenos gave Theroun a subtle smile and a cordial dip of his chin as their eyes connected. Theroun’s lips quirked. Of all those present, Merkhenos was the only one who could see him, with his drowning Illianti poisons flowing through his veins. Though the man wouldn’t divulge Theroun’s presence here. Merkhenos was aligned with Khorel Jornath – for now – his lips as full of secrets as his veins were of deadly poison.

  King Therel sat. Vhinesse Delennia Oblitenne was next, rising to orate the status of Valenghia’s armie
s and the steps being taken to return Cennetia and Praough to full sovereignty, including the return of land-grabs and excess taxation. Valenghia would have lean times ahead, but Delennia held a stalwart belief that her nation would be better off working in cooperation with others rather than dominance.

  It was a good speech, and received applause.

  The meeting droned on. People began to eat delicacies and drink kaf-tesh as the sun’s angle changed through the gabled windows. Theroun’s glance came to Thaddeus, at Queen Elyasin’s side. Pride warmed his heart, Theroun’s only uplifting emotion today. His own children were long dead and buried, but Thad had been almost a son to him. And now, Thaddeus had risen to the Queen’s right hand – not only Queen’s Historian now, but also her new Castellan.

  Thad sat tall in forest-green robes that fit his lean frame, not scribbling a thing as he watched the proceedings. Theroun let his gaze ease, as Metrene had been teaching him, to perceive wyrria. A curious phenomenon surrounded Thad. Rather than silver weaves like the Kreth-Hakir, or Theroun’s strangely black ones that resisted turning silver like the Brethren to which he was now bound, vibrant green filaments eased out from Thad like eager anemones, snaring words as they left people’s mouths. Those tendrils did the same with any document Thad shuffled from his stack of papers, and Theroun smiled more, watching that incredible wyrria. He’d always known Thad had a unique talent, but to finally be able to see it was a pleasure.

  Thad shivered and turned, glancing to the column where Theroun stood. Theroun thickened his oilslick weaves. Confusion darkened Thad’s alertness and his gaze slid by – causing Theroun a twinge in his old wound.

  The meeting continued, the floor given now to the miscellaneous ambassador’s table. Theroun watched the tall Jadounian warrior Duthukan stand and begin to speak. The man had risen to prominence during his time enslaved, and now gave a report of his countrymen who had been returned to their homes. Valenghia and Alrou-Mendera had provided ample coin and goods to help restore razed villages in Jadoun and Perthe. The situation was still tense, with warlords trying to vie for dominance. But many of those who had been in the slave army now returned home as leaders, strong in mind and will from all they had endured.