by Chrys Cymri
‘If you have no feelings towards him,’ the unicorn commented, ‘you should release him from his promise.’
‘I didn’t say that.’ She ran a hand through her lengthening hair. ‘It’s just rather complicated. It was easier when he thought I wasn’t anything more than a kennelmaid.’
‘Easier for whom?’
Fianna looked into his dark eyes, admiring his willingness to always stare into the truth, no matter how painful. She found herself saying slowly, reluctantly, ‘Easier for me.’
‘Because you humans rank each other.’
‘So do you,’ she retorted.
‘There is the Herd Stallion,’ the Prancer agreed mildly, ‘and the Lead Mare. But all are equal. Each have a task, and none is lesser or greater than the next. Even leadership is but a duty. It doesn’t make one greater than the other.’
For a moment he reminded her of her father. Then Fianna shrugged. ‘Well, that’s not how it is with humans.’
‘Very strange.’ The Prancer shook his head, his mane dancing along his neck. ‘Is that why you’re eager to send him to the Mages’ College? Is a dabbler in magic of higher rank than one who tends the needs of pigs?’
Holding back a smile, Fianna answered, ‘Just a little, yes.’
<><><><><><>
Deian walked steadily through the city streets. Were it not for the press of people, he could almost come to accept living in such a place of stone upon stone. He had thought, upon leaving the fields and forest, that he would be miserable anywhere else. But there was something in the city which reminded him of the Land. And, also, Fianna was here.
Yet another man bumped against him in the narrow street. Alastair grumbled behind him as the same person almost tread on his paws. Deian reached out reassuringly to the hound. He had been surprised when the dog had returned to him. Then the images of collars and cages had made him shake his head with sad understanding. Why did Fianna have such a strong need to possess things? Did she not trust a creature to remain with her without the need for compulsion?
The crowds were thinning as they made their way to the College. Deian couldn’t understand what was supposed to be tested in this journey. From the castle ramparts, a knight had obligingly pointed out the spires of the College, only a short distance away. Now Deian simply followed the route he had memorised.
The gates were soon before him. The pillars in which the wrought iron was set were carved in the shapes of dragons, both rearing into the sky. Wings unfurled in sweeps of stone, adding weight to the thin bodies. The sinuous necks curved, bringing the long heads back down to the bellies. Deian slipped his hands into his pockets and met the hollowed eyes.
The gates were shut, and no one waited inside. Deian studied the fall of sun against carved scales, patient. Behind him, like a ray of light through a slumbering room, he felt the unicorn’s presence move across the city. Only when the Prancer entered the small square did Deian turn to meet the eyes of the chief mage.
The man halted, spluttered. ‘How did you get here?’
Deian shrugged. ‘I followed the streets.’
‘Impossible,’ the mage declared. ‘Even those with the talent take days to make their way through the shifting city. Unless--do you carry royal blood?’
Deian shook his head. ‘I’m a pig herder, as my father and his mother before him.’
The Prancer snorted. Deian smiled slowly, sensing that the unicorn’s amusement was at the sake of the mage. ‘He’s passed your test, Lord Mage. He saw through the city’s illusions. You must give him entry to the College for training.’
The mage’s lips twisted. ‘He’s only passed the first test. Now he must open the gates.’
Deian studied the man for a moment. Then he turned back to the blackened gates. Nothing marred the thin gap between the two last bars, no sign of lock or catch. He reached out his hands, grasped the cold metal firmly.
Under his fingers the gates suddenly writhed. As if the sun had suddenly become brighter, the black disappeared. Now he saw that the metal was actually silver, a pure and chill barrier. The dragons stirred from their carved rest, large heads lowering to hiss a warning. You are not welcome, little man. The voices beat in his head. You have no place here.
‘My lady bids me to come,’ he told them in reply. He braced his legs on the stone path, called to the Land resting beneath. Her strength suddenly flowed into his muscles. He straightened his arms, thrusting the gates open.
Behind him, the unicorn’s deep voice said, ‘He has passed your second test, Lord Mage.’
‘He will be admitted to the College,’ the mage replied, almost reluctantly. Deian turned and met the cold eyes. At his side, Alastair let out a low growl. He quieted the dog and his own reservations, and followed the man into the grounds.
With little ceremony or explanation, the mage soon left Deian behind in a small room, introducing him briefly to the lecturer at the front of the row of benches. Deian took a seat as indicated, meeting the curious glances of the half-dozen men and women already there. All around his own age, he decided, and perhaps also new to the College.
The mage frowned at Alastair as the hound quietly laid himself down by Deian’s feet. Then he cleared his throat. ‘Remember that all we do here is to understand better the powers wielded by the Family. For only in understanding can we hope to share in that power. This is what you must aim for.’ The mage frowned down at an iron bar, dark across his palms. The air around his hands shimmered, the metal bending, twisting. Several of the students murmured as the metal brightened into gold, gleaming against the mage’s dark robes. ‘This is the use of magic.’
He handed the bar to the first student, and it was passed down the row. Deian accepted it in his turn. The cold metal bit into his hand. He hefted it experimentally, puzzled by something unusual in the weight. ‘This isn’t gold,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s still iron.’
‘It looks like gold,’ the mage said patiently. ‘It therefore is gold.’
‘You’ve changed the appearance.’ Deian looked up. ‘But the substance remains the same. That’s not true magic.’
The mage folded his arms. ‘Then tell us what you call true magic.’
‘True power changes more within than without.’ Deian felt all their eyes upon him, and fought back his unease. ‘Lasting changes. This will alter back to iron. True change remains.’
‘There is no reason to try for lasting change,’ the mage declared. ‘Not when a flick of a dragon’s tail or a flutter of his wings can alter all that has passed before. Nothing is permanent. The Family can change both past and future at a whim.’
Deian said steadily, ‘No, they would not.’
The mage gave him a stern glance. ‘Don’t presume to lecture your betters on the Family, lad. You know nothing of them.’
‘No.’ Deian stood, Alastair rising with him. ‘It’s you who know nothing.’ And he left both the room and the College, striding back across the streets to the castle.
<><><><><><>
Fianna received the news from the College in silence, only her thinned lips revealing her displeasure. She dismissed the messenger, then sent Jeremy from her office, ordering him to close the door behind him. It has been, she reflected, a difficult first day as Queen.
And Deian hadn’t made things any easier. Having left the College so abruptly, without explanation, he would never be welcome back again. That much the Lord Mage’s message had made clear. So, what was she to do with him now?
She sighed heavily. The sun had set some while ago, and the castle was quietening down for night. She suddenly longed for some refuge, someplace where she could go and not be Queen for just a few hours. And yet, she told herself ironically, only a few weeks ago you would have done anything but spill blood to rule this kingdom.
There was one place she had always gone. And this time in the evening, she could probably disappear there once again. With sudden decision, she grabbed the oldest cloak she could find in the study, and slipped it over her bright
court clothes as she hurried from the castle.
The air outside was crisp. Summer was fading, and autumn fast approaching. Fianna drew the cloak closer around her shoulders, her nose starting to run from the sudden change in temperature. She quickened her steps, the solid sides of the kennels just ahead of her.
She felt the years drop away as she entered the warm building. Oil lamps hung from the rafters, spreading a warm glow over the walkway. The sounds of dogs contentedly chewing bones left from their evening meal made her smile. She made her way down the passage, glancing at the occupants of the wide kennels. A half-dozen vermin hounds, sleeping together in a pack. A wolf hound, thinner and rangier than Alastair, paced restlessly up and down. Fianna stopped a moment, reaching a hand through the bars to run reassuring fingers down the long muzzle.
A puppy whined in a large pen ahead. Fianna picked up her pace, then slowed as she saw that someone was already inside, feeling his way through the straw bedding to find the pup separated from its mother.
The man’s back was turned to her, but the sudden, sure movement, as he lifted the pup from the straw and placed him next to the mother, made Fianna halt. Only Deian had such an assurance around animals. Now he was lifting each golden haired pup in turn, holding them in his hands to admire their blunt heads, their small paws.
Fianna leaned against a kennel door and watched. She found herself remembering an evening in mid-winter when she had taken a seat in a pig herder’s hut. The same strong hands had checked a falcon’s bandages, reassured a fretting sow, stroked the hair of a young woman as she cried into his shoulder. The same peace she had found then crept into her now, a stillness she had never found with anyone else. A peace which she had not until now realised how much she had missed.
‘You save even the runts?’
His question startled her. Fianna straightened her shoulders, then strode forward. Straw crackled under his boots as Deian turned to face her, a small puppy filling one palm. It was only half the size of the rest of the litter, but the stomach was full and the eyes closed in contentment. ‘It’s become fashionable,’ Fianna said, ‘for nobles and merchants to keep dogs which provide nothing more than companionship. Often a smaller one is preferred.’
Deian nodded. He smiled down at the mere handful. ‘Small body, but a large heart.’ He suddenly gave her the pup, and she almost dropped him in surprise. ‘When the time comes, claim him as your own.’
Fianna glanced sourly at Alastair, waiting outside the nursing pen. ‘I don’t have much luck in keeping hounds.’
Deian’s smile widened. ‘Alastair is his own. This little one was born to belong to another.’
The pup began to squirm, pushing small feet against Fianna’s thumb. She reached across the barrier to the pen and returned him to his mother. ‘You see things many humans don’t.’ Her words were slow, hesitant. Her plans to shout, demand explanations, had somehow deserted her, leaving her with nothing but a strange ache. ‘Why didn’t you stay with the mages?’
‘They don’t know the Land.’ Deian shrugged. ‘I’ve spoken to the hounds. They will accept me as one of their keepers.’
‘No,’ Fianna said without thinking. She took a deep breath. ‘Kennelhand is little better than pig herder.’
‘On the whole,’ Deian agreed, ‘pigs are more intelligent than dogs.’
‘That’s not what I meant.’ Fianna grimaced. ‘If you’re not to be a mage, then I’ll arrange for you to have training to become a knight.’
Deian shook his head. ‘I won’t carry a sword.’
‘Then what am I to do with you?’ Fianna demanded, feeling desperate. ‘If not a mage, if not a knight, what then?’
He met her eyes. ‘What would you have me be?’
She looked away. ‘I don’t know.’
‘I offered you a promise, once,’ he said quietly. ‘I wait in hope for your answer. What is it to be?’
Again, all she could answer was, ‘I don’t know.’ Unable to remain in his presence any longer, she hurried from the person which had once been her refuge.
Her chambers seemed cold and silent when she strode inside. Without bothering to grab a lamp from the outer room, she made her way through to the dark bed chamber, stripping her boots off along the way. She closed the door firmly behind her, then cursed several times as her toes stubbed against furniture in the still unfamiliar room.
She chucked off her overcoat, then slipped into her bed still wearing her clothes. Even that was cold. Fianna made a mental note to have harsh words with Jeremy in the morning. Her squire should have seen to her room, or assigned another to do so, no matter how bad his head.
The feather blankets warmed quickly from her body heat, and Fianna stopped shivering and slipped into a doze. The events of the day ran through her mind, tangling with the beginnings of dreams. Alastair shrank, became a small puppy which squirmed in her hands. Deian pleaded with her, his face pale, determined. The Prancer turned his head, ducking away as if wounded, though there was no mark on him.
A faint rustle brought her awake, blinking. Before she could react, a strong arm yanked her across the bed. A wrist jammed against her throat. As Fianna spluttered, a hand clamped across her mouth. She started to thrash, the bedclothes tangling around her legs. Then a steel blade pressed cold and deadly at the back of her neck, and she stilled.
‘For your crimes, Queen of the Fourth Kingdom,’ growled a familiar voice, ‘I sentence you to death.’
Fianna twisted her head, tried to protest. Only a short squeak emerged before her assailant tightened his grasp. The sword lifted away, hissing through the air as it moved back, ready to strike.
The door to her bed chamber splintered aside. Past the flying shards crashed a heavy body, skin glowing in the light behind him. For a moment, all held still. Then the unicorn’s horn lowered, and he charged at the bed.
The mattress rocked as the man leapt to one side. Fianna reached out blindly, her hand connecting with a leg. She pulled, and heard a satisfying crash as her attacker fell head-first onto the floor. White skin flashed past her eyes, then silver hooves, as the Prancer reared. Fianna rolled back, felt her warning come too late. But both hooves struck loudly against the wooden floor on either side of the man’s head. The unicorn lifted one, and placed it in the small of his back.
Knights poured into the room, clothed in various stages of dress. But each held a sword, and their faces were grim. Fianna disentangled herself from her blankets, and gathered what dignity she could around her as she stepped to the floor. ‘I was--’ She halted, recalling the gravity of the moment. ‘We were attacked. However, our Champion has captured the man.’
‘You are unharmed?’ the unicorn asked, swinging his head towards her.
‘We are unharmed,’ Fianna affirmed. ‘Let us see who has sought to kill his Queen.’
The Prancer stepped back. The man rose slowly, his shoulders slumped. Fianna caught her breath as the Duke of Cassern turned his head. ‘Aye,’ he said quietly. ‘I had hoped to rid the kingdom of this woman.’
‘She’s your rightful Queen,’ the Prancer told him.
‘My grandson was the rightful heir,’ Latham retorted. ‘But she had him killed. She isn’t fit to rule.’
Pealla stepped forward. Armour was draped uncomfortably over a nightshirt, and her feet were bare. But the glint of the sword in her hand was softer than the look in her eyes. ‘There is only one sentence for traitors, Your Majesty.’
Fianna swallowed. Although she felt sure of the answer, she asked, ‘And that is?’
‘Execution.’
‘No!’ Marissa pushed her way through the knights, her unbound hair flowing over a hastily donned gown. ‘Your Majesty, please. Send him away. Exile him forever from Secondus. Don’t take away my father as well as my son.’
‘The sentence cannot be changed.’ Fianna cursed inwardly as her aunt spoke sharply from the doorway. ‘This was not an attack on Fianna. By raising sword against the rightful sovereign, the Duke has attacked
the kingdom itself. His actions can neither be justified nor pardoned.’
Pealla moved forward, flanked by several knights. Latham made no attempt to struggle as they grabbed his arms and led him roughly from the room.
‘And you,’ Sallah said to Fianna, ‘must be present to see the sentence carried out.’
‘I will come,’ Fianna growled, suddenly sickened by the whole event. ‘Now, give us a moment to ourselves.’
The room slowly emptied, even the Prancer following the others. Fianna sat heavily down onto the rumpled bed. Only a few moments, that was all she had. A short time to prepare herself to show a stony face to the public eye as she watched the death of one of her father’s oldest friends.
A hound pressed his cold nose into her hand. Fianna looked down at Alastair, remembering simpler times. Deian’s voice slipped softly into the silence. ‘Don’t allow this.’
‘You heard the Lady Sallah.’ Fianna sighed. ‘I have no choice.’
‘Find a choice.’
Fianna raised her head and demanded, ‘Why? It’s what justice demands.’
He met her gaze. ‘Killing only brings more killing.’
‘Then what do you suggest?’
‘Mercy.’
Her voice hardened. ‘That would be seen as weakness.’
‘I have seen you weak,’ he said softly. ‘And I thought no less of you for it.’
She shook her head. ‘I wasn’t Queen. My people need to see strength.’
‘Your people?’ Deian asked quietly. ‘Or you?’
Fianna looked down at her hands, trying to find her answer. It’s not that simple, she wanted to tell him. You don’t understand the politics of ruling a kingdom. But part of her suddenly wished that they were back in his simple hut, when all she worried about was whether she could best his hound at Strategy.
Deian sighed. ‘I can’t stay for this. Let me leave the castle.’
So, like everyone else, he would desert her when she needed him most. ‘Go wherever you wish!’ she snapped. ‘Back to your woods, or to the First Kingdom, or even ride to the Sacred Mountains if you want. Does it matter? Wherever you go, I’ll still be Queen, and you’ll be nothing more than a pig herder!’