Blade of Empire

by Mercedes Lackey

“You live! By Leaf and Star and the Great Bull Himself—I said you would conquer death just as you conquered the Shore!”

  “Not for much longer if you don’t let me go,” Runacar said, pounding on Audalo’s shoulder. With a last enthusiastic squeeze, the Minotaur released him. Runacar staggered a bit, gasping, but managed to keep his feet.

  Leutric was frowning, but in a way more puzzled than angry. “When Andhel came down from your bedside, she did not give anyone much hope of your recovery. I believe she said you would be dead by dawn.”

  Runacar gave a sharp startled laugh. “She probably meant to ensure it,” he said. “But I am well enough, all praise to your Healers.”

  “Andhel nursed you herself,” Tanet said. “She has only small magics, true, as do any of us, but she could tend you with what others created.”

  “Then my thanks to her,” Runacar said slowly, now confused himself. “But I did not look to see you here, King Leutric.”

  “And why shouldn’t I be here?” Leutric said. “Thanks to you, we hold the West from Meadows of Aralhathumindrion to the Sea—and will soon hold all the land west of the Mystrals!”

  The Meadows of Aralhathumindrion were in Farcarinon-that-was, and Runacar could not suppress a twinge of memory at the name. And if Vieliessar comes to take the West back again, I am not sure Leutric can stop her. “I did little,” he said shortly. “And the victory came at a very high price.”

  “We have been paying such prices for a very long time,” Leutric said, meeting Runacar’s eyes steadily. “And received little enough in exchange. But now that will change!”

  Runacar wasn’t sure how to respond. He didn’t want to be the hero of this song.

  “You come in good time,” Leutric went on. “We plan what is to happen now.”

  “And you look like you could use a solid meal,” Bralros said. “Come along and fill your belly.”

  * * *

  The chamber to which Bralros led him held a table and bench-stools. Since this was a Centaur-made table, it was higher than Runacar found comfortable, but the stools around it were of varying sizes and widths, clearly designed for the comfort of a number of different races. He’d seen such an arrangement before, of course, but it never failed to please him with its … fitness. Odd, that the race that had no magic at all could produce such comfort, ease, and convenience without it. Runacar remembered the first time he’d seen a Centaur-made building. He’d thought of how Elven everything looked and thought himself magnanimous for praising the work so highly. Now he knew enough to wonder who had copied whom, but the fact remained: the Centaurs were master woodworkers. Even so, at this precise moment, Runacar was more interested in what might soon be placed on the table than in its ancestry.

  Everyone sat—or stood—where they chose without any particular regard to rank, though Leutric did sit at one end of the table. By the time Runacar had selected a seat, Centaurs and Minotaurs had begun bringing food from the wicker house with the stone hearth. The dishes were as elaborate as the fare during the campaign had been plain, and when the last had been brought, the servers joined them around the table. There was silence while first hunger was satisfied—Leutric, King-Emperor of the Otherfolk, did not keep as much state as even a Less House War Prince—but when Audalo left the table to bring back two more pitchers of cider, Leutric began asking questions about how the campaign had gone. As much as Runacar tried to stay out of the conversation and let the others speak, they kept turning to him for confirmation or elaboration of what they said.

  “I’m tempted to keep you here while I work out the details of what the Ocean’s Own will pledge, Runacar,” Leutric said. “After the work you have done, they will be willing to grant us more aid—and able to do so as well.”

  “The Angarussa is running well in its new bed,” Audalo added. “It cuts deep and true, even after the earthshaking. Some of the Selkie-clans have already gone upriver.”

  “I had … very little to do with that,” Runacar protested. “Others did all the work.”

  “At your suggestion,” Pendor said. “You were the one who thought of it.”

  And I thought of many other things, too, and most of them were utter disasters, Runacar thought. He did not speak his thought aloud. Informal as Leutric’s court was, he was its ruler, and if his empire rested only on the most fragile network of treaties and promises given by uncounted numbers of Otherfolk clans and kinds, that made it very little different from Caerthalien-that-was and its ever-shifting alliances.

  “The campaign did not go as well as I had hoped,” he said deferentially. “I would have preferred to make the Elves of the Western Shore a burden upon Areve, to sow unrest there.”

  “Some yet flee toward it,” Audalo said. “That is enough. As you have taught us, no campaign of battle ever goes entirely as we hope it will. But we have gained the victory.”

  “At a great cost.” Runacar knew he should keep silent, accept the tacit praise, but he could not. “Andhel told me we lost half our people.”

  Tanet regarded him in astonishment. “She told you that?” he asked. “But … we are not certain…”

  “The earthshaking caused a great deal of confusion,” Leutric said mildly. “And bore away many of the combatants. It will be a long time before we can number the lost. Perhaps it will never be possible.”

  But you can number the living, Runacar thought angrily. So do not tell me you do not know how many died!

  “No one was there that day who was not willing to die,” Tanet said, as if privy to Runacar’s thoughts. “And all saw how you walked uncomplaining into the trap the Houseborn set for you, so that you could delay the battle.”

  Runacar said nothing, unable to find words with which to answer. Tanet’s words were … both true and not true. He startled as Leutric reached out to put a hand on his arm.

  “Many died in battle, killed by our great enemies,” the King-Emperor said. “And many perished for no reason beyond ill luck. Do not make of yourself nothing more than a memorial to their deaths. Living flesh is not meant to be stone.”

  “Nor is this the last battle we must fight in the name of battles we hope to avoid,” Bralros said cheerfully. “But come! Sad faces and mournful words do not belong at a feast! Let us toast to the Liberation of the West, and the freedom of our people!”

  When every cup was full, Leutric got to his feet. He held up his cup.

  “Against the Darkness!” he roared. “To Freedom!”

  And Runacar drank as deeply as the rest.

  * * *

  Talk ranged widely, both of familiar things—the recent battles; the flight of the defeated Elves; the resettlement of those evacuated from Delfierarathadan—and of matters Runacar had not known.

  He knew, for example, that Leutric’s goal was to drive all the Elves through the Dragon’s Gate and into the Uradabhur, and so forestall the mysterious Darkness, but the Otherfolk—even those Runacar could call “friend”—had never really spoken freely before him. Those who had spoken of the Darkness had done so as if it were something so true and real that its existence need not be debated. Around this table, Runacar learned for the first time that the Otherfolk had prophecies that spoke of something they called the Red Harvest, and that the destruction of Janglanipaikharain and the reign of a new High King were omens that foretold its coming. And with dawning horror, Runacar realized that these prophecies and omens did not relate to some nebulous future event, to blow away like smoke once its date was reached, but something that was happening right now. Something that had been going on beyond the Mystrals for nearly as long as Runacar had been in the West. This was why Runacar had never been able to get any of the Folk of the Air to cross the Mystrals on a scouting mission.

  But the Darkness, while of paramount concern to those who believed in it and hoped to survive it, was still nothing more than a footnote in the table talk of those for whom more homely matters were more immediate. Runacar discovered that he was one of the last casualties to rise from his
sickbed; the isle was to be deserted by the Folk of the Land within the next few days. The temporary structures that had been built would be left to blow away in the autumn storms, or salvaged by those of the Ocean’s Own who could walk upon the land. All that would remain here would be the table they ate at, and the stone hearth upon which the meal had been cooked.

  Before he returned to the mainland, Leutric intended to speak with the leaders of the Ocean’s Own, to see what help they would be willing and able to lend to what all hoped would be their last battle: the conquest of Areve and the Sanctuary.

  “And once they are all gone, we shall close the Dragon’s Gate forever,” Leutric said with relish. “Let the masters of war make their wars upon the masters of death.”

  Runacar said nothing, and fortunately nobody asked him to add anything to the discussion, because his mind was too full of thoughts he really didn’t want to share. After the False Parley and the Winter War, he was very familiar with plans based on hope rather than reality, and it seemed to him that this plan of Leutric’s was much the same. What guarantee did Leutric have that this “Darkness” would leave the Otherfolk alone once they had banished the alfaljodthi across the Mystrals? And even if their banishing were a component of a spell—for every race of Otherfolk save the Centaurs had magic, and Runacar knew very little of how any kind of Magery worked—would this spell make a distinction between Woodwose and alfaljodthi? Or for that matter, between Runacar Warlord and the High King’s subjects?

  No matter his confusion, there was one thing of which Runacar was quite certain: if banishing the last of the children of the Hundred Houses eastward was the only way to secure the west, he would go willingly.

  * * *

  “You do not ask after your friends, Runacar,” Audalo said gently, when the conversation lulled.

  “There are many dead,” Runacar said briefly.

  “And many who live,” the Minotaur answered. “Keloit wished to stay until you awakened, but there is much work to be done east of the Angarussa, and so he left with Helda and Spellmother Frause as soon as he was healed. Radafa and Riann you will see today, if not tomorrow, for their Ascension watches over this place.”

  Runacar closed his eyes, not wanting Audalo to see his relief. “And Pelere?” he asked, after a moment.

  “It is as Tanet says,” Audalo answered quietly. “Many are still missing. The Great Bull grant that we may discover her alive.”

  * * *

  After the meal was over, the dishes were returned to the kitchen, and more dishes were brought out, these wrapped and covered for presentation—for Leutric and Audalo, along with a few of the others, were going down to the small beach to present them to Aejus and Meraude, at least partly as a symbol of unity. This would not be a time of negotiation, however, so Runacar had no difficulty in politely excusing himself, saying he wished to stretch his legs a bit.

  It was true as far as it went, but his main reason for seeking privacy was to look for Melisha. As forthcoming as Leutric had been at the meal, he hadn’t mentioned Melisha—or the existence of unicorns—and while there’d been no particular reason to do so, it suddenly seemed like a glaring omission.

  He didn’t get very far toward the path back up to the hilltop pavilion before he spotted Andhel sitting curled up behind one of the smaller woven pavilions. Her knees were drawn up to her chin and her arms wrapped around them.

  “You should have eaten with us,” Runacar said, stopping.

  Andhel turned her head pointedly away.

  “Well, perhaps you weren’t hungry,” he said. What was wrong with her? Normally she leaped at any chance to tell him about his inadequacies. “The talk was … well, I wouldn’t call it ‘interesting,’ but it was certainly informative. Tanet suggested that we could have no idea of who had died, but I suspect you’re right about the numbers. Somehow nobody seems to care,” he added.

  “Oh, we care.” Andhel apparently addressed this remark to a bush in the middle distance. “It’s just that it’s nothing new. Our kind fights yours, we die. You fight each other, and you’re all raised up by magic so you can go back to killing us.”

  “That time is over forever,” Runacar said. Vieliessar has seen to that. He wasn’t sure why he was attempting this conversation—talking with Andhel at the best of times was like walking into a thorn bush, and he really was tired.

  “Just as you say,” Andhel said.

  “Actually it’s Vieliessar High King and Leutric King-Emperor who say it,” Runacar said, with a flash of anger. “So I suppose it might be true.” And another thing that might be true was that Andhel and the rest of the Woodwose might well be a further sacrifice to Leutric’s hopeful peace. At least Vieliessar would accept them into her ranks. She’d accepted Landbonds and outlaws, after all. If she is still in power, for I can only know that she’s alive, not whether she dwells in palace or dungeon.

  “Have I done something—recently—to offend you?” he continued. “They said I was unconscious for more than a fortnight, so I don’t see how, but of course I’m held to be very clever. Perhaps I managed somehow.”

  “Do shut up,” Andhel said wearily. She looked up at him for the first time and Runacar saw that her eyes were red and swollen with weeping.

  “What’s wrong?” Runacar said instantly, crouching down beside her. “Did you lose someone you love in the battle? Tanet was here, and I didn’t think to ask…”

  He reached out to touch her cheek, and Andhel jerked away. “Better not,” she said, a trace of her usual sneer in her voice. “Melisha wouldn’t like it, you know. She has plans for you.”

  “You’ve seen her?” Runacar said instantly. “Talked to her?”

  “I worked with her,” Andhel snarled, goaded past irritation. “Unicorns don’t have hands. It was hard, because she and I had to stay so far apart. But it was possible.”

  Runacar wondered, suddenly and irrelevantly, if that was the reason the Healing Tents had been perched on the top of that rock. Was it so Melisha could approach her patients?

  “Then I suppose I should thank you for your care of me,” Runacar said, straightening up again. Then he realized the rest of what Andhel was saying. Melisha said that she was only comfortable in the presence of the chaste and celibate. So now everyone knew. It hardly mattered.

  “I tried so hard to hate you, Houseborn,” Andhel went on. “I hoped the war was just a game for you, and you’d go back to your own kind as soon as it wasn’t safe or fun any longer. But you didn’t. You kept on staying, and in the end … It’s a small thing to die for someone, Houseborn. It’s easy and it doesn’t mean much. But to cry for them because you couldn’t save them … to cry for us…” She pushed herself to her feet, standing with her back to him. “No Houseborn has ever done that before.”

  “Then maybe someone should,” Runacar answered. He didn’t know if it was possible to reconcile Elvenkind and Otherfolk, but that hardly mattered—either Leutric was right or he was wrong: depending on which it was, the Elves and the Otherfolk would either be permanently separated, or permanently dead.

  “So I thought things could be different now,” Andhel went on, ignoring him. “But now you belong to her. And she’s going to get you killed.”

  Runacar had not survived as long as he had by being either stupid or oblivious. He wondered how long everyone around them had been able to see this situation clearly while he’d taken everything at face value. Andhel loved him. She loved him despite herself. And now she thought that Melisha had stolen his choices from him.

  Had she?

  No.

  Melisha was beautiful. She was dazzling. She was wonderful. And with time, Runacar knew, he could become inured to those qualities, take them for granted, dismiss them in his mind, until she was no more spellbinding than, say, Meraude or Riann. Even if Melisha had the magic to do it, he did not think she would be able to force him to act against his will—not more than once, anyway. Andhel was wrong because there was something she didn’t know. But he
thought—now—she deserved to.

  “She isn’t the one who’s going to get me killed, Andhel,” he said quietly.

  Andhel turned to look at him, meeting his eyes stoically.

  “Do … Do your people—the Woodwose—do they ever experience the Soulbond?” Runacar asked.

  There was a long moment of silence.

  “You want to know if you’re my destined Bondmate?” Andhel asked blankly. Confusion swept every other emotion from her face, if only for a moment.

  Runacar quickly shook his head. “No. I wanted to know if you knew what it was. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t understand when I told you that … I’m Bonded. I have been since before I came back to the West.” It was out now. The truth he’d tried so hard to disclose while his brother Ivrulion held him magically enchained. The single secret he’d kept from the Otherfolk.

  Andhel gave him the look of someone who had no notion what expression was appropriate just now. “You aren’t,” she said. “You’re lying. If you were, Melisha wouldn’t come anywhere near you.”

  “Perhaps it’s because I’ve never been closer to my destined Bondmate than half a battlefield away,” Runacar said. “At least, not since she was eleven,” he added meticulously. The conversation was becoming more surreal by the moment.

  “Bonded,” Andhel said, tasting the word. “Do you— You must— You know that if she dies, so do you.”

  “I know,” Runacar said. He spread his hands in a baffled gesture. “So I know she’s alive. I don’t love her. I don’t think I even know her. There’s just…”

  “The Bond,” Andhel said. “If you’re really Bonded,” she added dubiously.

  “We are,” Runacar said grimly. “Say what you will about my brother’s sanity and morals, Ivrulion Banebringer was a powerful Mage. He tried to influence the Bond—change it, use it to draw her in, I don’t quite know. All he did was prove it was there.” And nearly kill me in the process.

  Andhel worried at her lower lip, thinking. “She must be an important Houseborn if she’s an enemy of the Banebringer,” she said at last. It was not a question. Runacar realized suddenly that Andhel had never asked him a direct question, not for as long as he’d known her—at least not of a personal nature. The closest she came was making outrageously false statements that he might contradict if he chose.