“You’re not far-off. There was a troupe of dancing girls. They were a bit on the equine side, I might say, but vigorous! I have to give them that. But this is all for Father’s sake. I’m saving my particular revenge for your wedding night.”
“Thanks for the warning. We’ll be wed in a temple somewhere out in the wilderness, and you won’t be invited.”
“Nonsense. It’s a dynastic marriage, and you won’t have any choice in the matter. It’ll be done with the full array of incense, prayers, chants, fastings, vigils, sacrifices, and everything that I can persuade the high priest to throw into it, because he knows just how very devout you are, because I have told him so.”
“In spite of the fact that I shirk prayers whenever I can.”
“I don’t actually believe that,” Ganidur said with an indulgent smile. “I know in what reverence you hold Nature. And I’m sure you have the same respect for Father Time. I’m your brother, remember? It doesn’t matter what face you show to the world. I know what’s inside you.”
Magpie blanched. “Family can be damned inconvenient. Are you going to untie these ropes, so that I can get up and get my bath, or do I have to lie here and have everyone come to me?”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Ganidur said, his eyes twinkling. “As it so happens, I personally oversaw all the preparations for your presentation. The horse is white. It has blue eyes, which means that it cannot hear any of the imprecations you’re going to be hurling at the Powers in order to get out of your obligations. It’s still a stallion, which you won’t be if you are late to this. Father has set a whole troop of guards in order to see to it.” Ganidur put a knee on the bed and began to untie the knots holding Magpie’s wrist bond. They were at least triple knots. Magpie couldn’t really see it from the angle at which he was lying, but the length of time it was taking his brother to undo them suggested it. Fair enough; with his habit of disappearing it was right of them to take no chances whatsoever.
His father was counting upon him. That fact alone would have made him behave. If they had only asked him he would have assured them that he would have done no such thing as disappear before this most vital ceremony. On the other hand, it would be unlikely that they would believe him.
“How’s Elimar?” Magpie asked, sitting up and rubbing the red marks on his wrist as Ganidur walked around the bed to unfasten his ankle. As Magpie had surmised, the knots were complicated and numerous.
“He’s well.” Ganidur smiled at the thought of his six-year-old son, who was a special Nature’s Child to Magpie. “Do you really mean to have him stand with you as your champion at the wedding itself? He’s been practicing, and he can just about lift the practice sword over his head without toppling. I tried to have one made for his size, but he declared that he was going to lift the ceremonial sword for Uncle Magpie and nothing else.”
“You know that Benarelidur still hasn’t forgiven you for having a child first,” Magpie pointed out.
“Six years to give his wife time—I think Bena had better admit that she’s barren. Unless Nature remakes her in some way I am afraid that I or one of my youngsters is going to be the heir.”
“It’s an old and noble line,” Magpie said with a sigh. “It must not die out.”
“Then, hope for a miracle,” Ganidur said simply. “For all that our brother was born elderly and is a stickler for rules in every way, and though he wouldn’t mind exposing both of us upon a hillside, he does love his wife. He would never set her aside in favor of another, despite the fact he has no heir.”
“Well, I have special prayers to be sent up before the altar,” Magpie reminded him. “I’ll send up a wish for her.” Magpie had a soft spot for his brother’s wife, who liked him despite Benarelidur’s not seeming to very much.
Ganidur hauled him up with one mighty arm, set him on his feet, and gave him a slap on the back. He pushed him in the direction of the bathing chamber.
“There are eight servants in there, all waiting to scrub a different part of you, and eight more in the robing room across the landing. Have a lovely bath.”
Magpie survived the cleansing ceremony with most of his hide intact and escaped onto the landing, leaving the servants behind to clean soap, perfumed oil, and water off the tiled walls of the bathing chamber, and made toward the robing room. His stomach rumbled. He ignored it. He was forbidden breakfast until after the betrothal service, when he would break bread with his bride-to-be, but it half killed him to inhale the smells of breakfast floating upward from the great hall, where his father was presiding over the morning feast with his early guests. No one really expected him to appear at the table. He was supposed to be robing himself and preparing to go and stand the vigil before the altar until his bride should appear, Father Time waiting for Mother Nature in all her beauty. Magpie smiled, leaning out of the window that overlooked the main courtyard. Inbecca was indeed beautiful. He looked forward to the two of them claiming each other. It was the fulfillment of his dream that had begun when they were children. If she could look into his heart at that moment he was sure she would be surprised at such a sentimental vision, but he hoped she would also be pleased.
The courtyard was full of carriages, wagons, and wains of every description. A few elegant closed litters had been pushed out of the way against the wall of the tannery. The horses were being curried by grooms preparatory to being turned out to pasture beneath the castle to make room for more guests’ steeds. Heaven knows how many guests had already arrived on foot.
A young, dappled centaur, late for breakfast, shrugged on his ceremonial capelet as he galloped toward the door, wavy black mane flying behind him. His metal-shod hooves rang on the stones, striking up sparks. He and his companions had been accomodated in a stable that had been turned out and modified for guests. If Magpie had given his father more notice, a purpose-built structure would have been constructed. Instead, the ancient timbers were given a quick whitewash before chandeliers were strung from them, and dressing tables tucked into the hastily redecorated tack room.
The joining ceremony was important politically, and attended by the most solemn ministerial harrumphing. There was some opposition to it, of course. Most of the gossips said that Orontae was the one getting the bargain, not wealthy and secure Levrenn. Magpie had no trouble letting them think it. His brothers, not aware of his actions during wartime or after, both were convinced that Magpie has been wasting his time going around the countryside. He had come to terms with never being able to tell them he was doing as much work as they, yet had nothing to show for it. At least, the naysayers muttered, he would be making an advantageous marriage, and bringing Inbecca’s dowry, which ought to be worth half the realm, with her. Since money was the last thing Magpie was interested in, he wanted to laugh in their faces. Instead, he deliberately went on looking like Nature’s most foolish child, unaware of his good fortune or the people who made fun of him for it. The ones who mattered were his family.
He was sorry that Tildi and Edynn couldn’t be at the joining ceremony. Tildi was such a fresh, interesting little creature. He would have enjoyed introducing her to his family, especially Ganidur, who would have spoiled her at once, and his nephew, who would have been thrilled to the skies to meet an adult who was smaller than he.
She would really have enjoyed seeing the ceremony itself.
It would have told her a good deal about how much humans and smallfolk had in common. Olen might be right or he might be wrong about the origin of the races of the world, but Magpie had been struck by Lady Urestia’s speech. He had never heard an elf speak out so passionately on anything before. He’d had many lively discussions with them, but not with so much heat. They found him amusing, but they had respect for the elder humans like Olen and Edynn, and those who had attained wizardry. It meant that such humans as they were in tune with nature, much as elves were. It was a shame that humans had become so divorced from the very fact of their birth. And yet their entire faith depended upon those two vital elements of all: natu
re and time.
Magpie had often thought of these things while he was out on the road. It was funny to have the time and space to think about such things while at home. He never had time for such thoughts here. Usually he was so busy either following a task for his father, or keeping out of his father’s way. Magpie reminded him of the loss that publicly was not a loss.
His mother, resplendent in a blue damask robe fastened up to the chin with silver buttons, came rushing out of the chamber opposite, and grabbed him by the arm.
“Eremi, they have been waiting for you for an hour!” she exclaimed.
“I’m sorry, Mother,” he said, bending to kiss her on the cheek. “I was just thinking.”
His mother shook her head. “You know, Benarelidur never thinks. In some cases I find that regrettable, but in terms of wasted time, you waste far more time upon such things than he does. And I don’t see that it does you any more good.”
This from the woman who had hired a classical philosopher as his tutor. Magpie opened his mouth to protest.
“I am joking, darling,” the queen said. “Please go in. Everyone is arriving, and I wish you would give me one less thing to think about. Nature and Time bless your union, my son. I have been waiting for this ever since you two were children. You are meant for each other.” She picked up her skirts to descend the steps. The young princesses, all in their new finery, bounded down the stairs past them, late for breakfast but still giggling. The youngest, Niletia, stopped to give him a big kiss on the cheek.
“I am so happy you are marrying Inbecca,” she said, her brown eyes alight. “I like her.”
“So do I,” Magpie assured her. “You look lovely.”
“Thank you for the dresses. We all like them.” She beamed, and clattered off down the stairs after the rest of the girls. He smiled after her. She reminded him of Tildi. He would love to have told her all about the smallfolk girl, but while the party was on the trail of the thief, he had said nothing to anyone. He feared jeopardizing the safety of the party. He hated sitting in the midst of luxury while a group of women, admittedly two who were wizards and two who were accomplished warriors, went out on what might be nothing more than a fine journey, but likely to be a terrible hardship with a battle at the end that they could not win. He had to admit that he was jealous that he had not been included. Was it odd to wish to be in danger instead of safe at home?
“You don’t think I’m a changeling, do you, Mother?” Magpie asked suddenly.
Lottcheva glanced back with a smile that reminded him of the winsome girl she had been when he was a boy. “Heavens, no, I was there when you were born. Your father showed up a few hours later after drinking with the council and asked, ‘Is it here yet? Oh! Puny, isn’t it?’” Her imitation of his father’s bluff attitude made Magpie laugh.
“If he thinks I was puny … Mother, have you ever met a smallfolk?”
“Oh, yes, dear, of course. A delegation of them came to your father’s coronation. I wasn’t betrothed to him yet, but I was in his mother’s court. They seemed uncomfortable at first, but they became an elemental part of the celebration afterwards, I do believe.”
“Men and women?”
The queen tilted her head in thought. “No, just men, I think. Yes, that’s right. It was rather fun to see them dancing with the ladies-in-waiting, barely coming up to the girls’ waists. They were game, I must give them that. And good dancers, as well. Now that you mention it, I have never met a female smallfolk.”
“They don’t usually travel outside their homeland.”
“Well, possibly not,” his mother said thoughtfully. “If the men are so easily overlooked, the women must be small enough you would worry about stepping on them. You may ask them yourself. A contingent is expected from Ivirenn. They are coming upriver with some of the seafolk. Now, go get changed, please. You are expected at the temple, and it’s well past midmorning!”
Magpie kissed her and went into the robing room.
Ganidur was wrong. There were twelve courtiers, not eight, awaiting him. The first two deprived him of his dressing gown and slippers before he’d set more than a foot in the room. He heard an embarrassed giggle, and caught a glimpse of a couple of blushing girls hurrying toward the upstairs before the door to the landing was shut. Magpie hoped his cheeks weren’t burning. With the greatest of ceremony, the courtiers, all of high rank and conscious of the privilege they enjoyed participating in this ritual, led him onto a low dais and helped him into one garment after another, even moving his arms or legs for him. Magpie stared at the antique blue tapestries that lined the walls of the room and studied the history of his family while pretending he was a tailor’s mannequin. First, smallclothes, of the finest silk. Plain, for which he knew he must thank his mother. He’d helped many a noble bridegroom on with his wedding clothes, and the embarrassing embroideries that were frequently doodled by loving hands onto the most intimate garments made great telling at the feast afterwards, when plenty of wine had loosened the attendants’ tongues. Black silk hose and garters followed, with loose trousers over those. A thin shirt of the finest weave he had yet seen went on over his bare chest. He reached for the laces, and his hands were batted away by a solemn-faced lordling from the southern reaches of the kingdom.
“My mistake,” Magpie said apologetically. No doubt territory had been staked out regarding each precious garment long before he had arrived, and he was upsetting the balance by attempting to dress himself.
“My honor,” the lordling said with grave courtesy.
The light shirt was followed by a heavier shirt of glossy white silk, softer than water running over his hand. He sighed as the next, higher-ranking attendant fastened the high neckline with gold pins. The cloth cost more than a trio of fine horses, and in the summer’s heat he immediately began to sweat into it. The embroidery on this shirt was exquisite: he assumed it had been done personally by his mother, his sisters, and his aunts. Yes, there in her kindness, his eldest sister had embroidered a motif of musical notes around the waist at the sides, where the belt would cover it. No one would know it was there but he—and of course, the twelve servants who robed him. But he appreciated the courtesy.
“Sigrun,” he said to one of the young nobles, who was fastening on his left boot, when they were nearly alone, “would you undertake a small task for me?”
“Why, whatever I can, my lord,” Sigrun said, in surprise. He was the son of a scholar-knight, who served a very different abbot than Sharhava. A young man of wit, he showed no interest in following his father into the Scholardom. He seemed to be very pleased to be entrusted with an errand.
“Here,” Magpie said, fishing one out from the full purse that would shortly be fastened around his waist, “is a gold coin. Will you ensure that my jitar makes it to the celebration feast later today? I know that I am not supposed to be carrying anything except a bouquet of flowers and a full heart, but I have written a poem for my love, and I wish to declaim it to her at the feast, and I would prefer to accompany myself. On the quiet, I do not trust my father’s lutenists. They were fine musicians … once.”
Sigrun grinned. Everyone in the court had suffered through a festival or two or six at the hands of the king’s minstrels. “I will, with good heart. If you will excuse the cheek, it’s a pity you were born of noble blood, sir. My family would have been proud to have you in our household as court musician. I shouldn’t say that. I beg your pardon, of course.”
“I take no offense; in fact, I thank you for the compliment.” He showed Sigrun where the jitar was stored, then was chivied back to the official dais to go on being dressed as though he was a life-sized doll.
Well, he’d done what he could to ensure that he would enjoy the feast, if nothing else. Obediently he let the next lordling fasten on the handsome belt, with plates of black onyx trimmed with gold. Between the music and Inbecca, good food and wine, he could put up with a great deal of ritual nonsense, dull speeches, and tasteless toasts from his friends, not to
mention railing against his uselessness from his father on one side, and his profane character from Inbecca’s terrible aunt Sharhava on the other.
That woman was poison, he thought, holding his arms up to make way for the purse of gold at his hip. What she had been telling Inbecca on the day he had returned he had no idea, but she had gone too far in trying to convince Inbecca to cast off her earthly bonds and join the Knights. Magpie was forced to admit that he had not been much help, disappearing on and off the way that he did. What else was the girl to do? She had intelligence, talent, skill in all the courtly arts, drive as well as extraordinary beauty, yet the man to whom she was planning to tie her life was never there. He could hardly ask a woman of her dignity to go out on the road with him, as much as he enjoyed that life, because she would not enjoy it. She wouldn’t find peace in the service of the Scholardom, either, but her aunt would convince her that it was for a holy cause.
Yet again he wondered where Edynn, Serafina, and little Tildi were at that moment.
The final garment arrived, escorted in the hands of no fewer than four high-ranking courtiers. Some clever soul, a thousand or so years ago, and certainly by now dead, so that Magpie could not take revenge upon him, had come up with the proper symbolic presentation of Father Time for prospective grooms who were about to take their betrothal vows. Fortunately it would not be worn at the wedding itself. It consisted of a long robe that shaded from black at the shoulders, where it made even the healthiest complexion look muddy and gloomy, down through all the gray tones to purest white at the hem, where it could get dirty the very first time one walked across a dusty floor. This was bestowed upon Magpie with some ceremony, as well as the traditional overbelt of solid gold that represented the imperishable circle of time.
Everything he wore was as symbolic as it could possibly be. All the ornaments that followed were of stone or glass. There would be no wood, no leather, no bone, no other metal on his symbolic, exterior self. He wondered if Time was ever as personified in every groom and every priest, or in every young person stepping up to the altar for confirmation, acknowledging for the first time those twin forces that were greater than himself, greater than anything that had ever lived, that commanded his everyday life. And if Time and Nature did exist, anthropomorphic, what had they thought of what some of their creations had done ten thousand years ago, when the Makers had perverted what they had set in motion. Magpie might have, if he was with Olen and for the sake of argument, stated that if a creature or thing existed, then it was natural, and Mother Nature could not object. The priest of the temple was an old, old man sorely lacking in a sense of humor or any sense of exploration. He had not risen to his present state of dignity by entertaining concepts that were not written down in the book that stood upon the altar longer than anyone could remember. Magpie promised himself he would not start any religious arguments or cause any trouble. This was Inbecca’s day, and he was there to serve her.
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