by Tanya Huff
“I beg your pardon,” murmured the older woman in response to the question on Crystal’s face. “It’s just . . . you’re not what I expected.”
“Oh?”
Alaina blushed. “I always thought wizards would be grimmer, more awe inspiring, not so . . . so . . .”
“Princesslike?” Crystal asked from behind her ribbons and lace and jewels.
“Hungry.”
Crystal looked down at the remains of her pastry, considered the enormous meal she’d just eaten, and burst out laughing. The laugh had nothing to do with either the wizard or the princess, and she felt better than she had since Bryon had left the palace.
Bryon, who’d refused a seat at the head table and was eating with his captains, picked the laugh out of the sounds of a hundred people eating and arguing and making merry, and grinned. If she could laugh again . . .
Lady Hale smiled shyly. “I hope you’re not offended. I’d always pictured wizards as being more ascetic and less concerned with fleshly matters.”
“It takes a lot of energy to be a wizard,” Crystal admitted, deciding she liked this woman who had accepted her so easily, “but if this wizard doesn’t develop more asceticism she’s going to be very concerned with fleshly matters.” With a sigh she laid her hand upon her stomach, the dress showed a new animosity in places where it had merely pinched before dinner. She examined the soft curve of Alaina’s pregnancy with frank curiosity.
“Is that very uncomfortable?”
As Alaina began to blush again, Crystal realized she’d probably said something she shouldn’t have. “I’m sorry,” she exclaimed before Alaina could say anything. “It’s just that I’ve never seen a pregnant woman before. At least not that I can remember,” she added thoughtfully. “Children don’t pay much attention to that sort of thing and centaurs are all male.”
Alaina, who’d been very nervous upon learning of the seating arrangements for supper, was no longer afraid of the great and powerful wizard. The look on the wizard’s face reminded her too much of her five-year-old son who forever asked about things he shouldn’t. She answered the wizard as truthfully as she would have answered her son.
“Sometimes it’s uncomfortable.” One hand rested gently on the curve of her stomach. “In the end, though, it’s worth it.”
“May I?”
A slender hand hovered over Alaina’s own. When she nodded, it drifted down and ever so tightly touched.
For a few seconds Crystal sat silent, sorting the sensations that flowed up through her fingertips. And then she smiled. It was a smile few were privileged to see, for it was neither human nor terrifying. It was the smile the Mother wore when She looked about her and marveled at the beauty She had created.
“So tiny and so perfect,” Crystal whispered, and her voice was the wind of summer caressing the earth. Her eyes glowed so deeply green her pupils washed away in the radiance.
Alaina, caught up in the light, felt herself falling into the whirlpools of Crystal’s power. But instead of pulling her down, they lifted her up and wrapped her in wonder. A smaller light added its bit to the glory and she realized, with a wave of joy, that she saw the life of her unborn child. When the light retreated and she was herself again, she wasn’t surprised to find her cheeks wet with tears.
The slender hand lifted slowly away, the green fires died, and the mark of the other world faded from Crystal’s face. Her smile became very human and a little sad.
“Thank you,” she said.
“When you have children of your own,” Alaina began, but Crystal stopped her.
“Wizards have no children,” she said flatly. “It’s the price of our power. Only the Mother’s Youngest create life.” They sat silently for a moment and the sound of Tayer’s laughter floated down from the center of the table. Crystal visibly brightened. “But you may have just solved a problem.”
Before Alaina could ask how, or even what problem, the Duke of Belkar leaped to his feet shaking his fist. It took her a heartstopping moment to realize he wasn’t shaking it at her but across her at Mikhail. Apparently the two men were approaching the climax of a disagreement.
“If we’re to win this war,” roared the red-faced duke, “we must take it across the border to the enemy’s land!” His voice filled the hall, causing the musicians to falter and fall silent, and most of the diners to turn and stare at him in astonishment.
“No!” Mikhail slammed a mighty hand down on the table, causing the cutlery, and more than a few people, to jump. “Make him come to us! Make him fight on our terms!”
“The only way he’ll fight on our terms is if we take those terms and shove them down his throat! We’ve got to goad him forth from his hole!”
“Let him wear himself out on the mountains and not on the bodies of our men!” Mikhail was on his feet now as well.
“Excuse me . . .”
“If we let him in, he’ll be twice as hard to kick out! We can’t let him set one foot on our land!”
“Let him run supplies across the mountains, not us!”
“Excuse me!”
“We’ll be in and out so fast that supply lines won’t matter!”
“What?! Are you crazy, our yeoman soldiers against his trained killers?”
“I said EXCUSE ME!” The air crackled with the force of Crystal’s voice. Mikhail and Belkar stopped bellowing at each other and turned to stare at her.
“There’s no need for this,” she began reasonably, holding on to politeness for her mother’s sake.
“Stay out of this, princess,” growled Belkar. “You said yourself we were to fight the best way we know how.” He glared at Mikhail. “And my way is best!”
“This isn’t your concern, Crystal,” Mikhail told her. “We have a decision to make just as soon as Belkar sees reason.”
A booming roar rocked the room, the candles and lamps flared with green fire, and a sudden wind threw the combatants back into their seats.
“There is nothing to decide.” Crystal rose to her feet, her eyes blazing no less furiously than the candles and lamps. It was just as she’d feared, whenever they made her be the princess they forgot about the wizard, and, worse yet, she began to forget as well. “Have you forgotten the palace? Squashed flat! And he wasn’t even in the same country. He could easily do it again. Here. Tonight.”
Faces blanched.
“You will meet his armies on the Tage Plateau because that’s how he has it set up. I will meet him when and where he chooses. You’re nothing but game pieces to him, you and his army both, added to make our conflict more interesting.” The room darkened until it was lit only by the fire in her eyes and the glow of her skin and hair. “And you’d better petition the Mother that he makes a mistake because that may be our only chance.”
Then, turning to Lady Hale, she apologized for the disturbance and stalked out of the room.
* * *
“Crystal, I’d like to speak to you.”
“I thought you might.” Crystal slid over on the garden bench, giving her mother room to sit beside her. Gone were the ribbons and lace, the wizard was back.
“There was no need for that vulgar display at dinner.”
“Yes, there was.”
“Oh?” One beautifully arched chestnut eyebrow rose.
“People are forgetting this is a war of wizards.”
“You were being ignored and you didn’t like it.”
“Well, yes:” Innate honesty forced Crystal to admit there was truth in that statement. “But they ignored the situation, too.”
Tayer sighed. “Of course they did. We’re all caught up in something we don’t understand and have no control over. If Belkar and Mikhail argue, they think they’re doing something.”
“But they aren’t!”
“Does it hurt to let them think so?” Tayer’s voice was very quiet. “A
little hope can make the difference sometimes.”
“This time?”
“Who knows. And if the army, can take care of itself, that leaves you free to deal with Kraydak.” Tayer gathered the stiff and unresponsive body of her daughter into her arms. Slowly, very slowly, Crystal relaxed. A breeze wandered in and tentatively ruffled her hair.
Crystal inhaled the scent of her mother’s perfume and was transported, just for an instant, back to the days before the centaurs had come. Things had been so much simpler then. “I can’t be what you want me to be, Mother,” she said at last.
“I know,” Tayer murmured. She’d known it for some time; the raw power blazing from Crystal’s eyes that night had forced her to admit it. “I guess I’ll have to start wanting what you are. But I don’t want to lose my daughter.”
Not even the darkness could hide Crystal’s smile. “Never that.” She returned the pressure of her mother’s arms and for an instant it seemed as if their hearts beat in the same time and they were not two women but one. Then Tayer pulled gently away.
“I’ve got to get back. The queen can’t vanish into the gardens for too long.” She kissed Crystal on the forehead, and stood. “Oh. One more thing.”
“Yes?”
“You keep the maid.”
The wizard considered hot baths and clean clothes. “Yes, Mother.”
Tayer had barely disappeared into the darkness when Bryon appeared out of it. He threw himself down on the bench and hooked his thumbs in his belt.
“Quite the trick you pulled this evening.”
“Not you, too.”
“I especially liked the way the lights went out. Must come in very handy when you need to impress the masses.”
“And you’re not impressed.”
“You’ve always impressed me.” He grinned in a way calculated to set maidenly hearts aflutter.
Crystal didn’t appear to notice and certainly didn’t flutter.
They sat for a while in silence, Crystal staring thoughtfully at nothing, Bryon—whose night sight was very good—staring appreciatively at Crystal.
“Lapus was right,” she said at last.
“Oh?” A wealth of meaning lurked behind the word, for Bryon suddenly found himself very annoyed that Crystal had spent the last few weeks, no doubt pretty exclusively, in Lapus’ company. That this bothered him, annoyed him even more.
Crystal continued, oblivious to the inner turmoil of her companion. “Do you know the worst thing Kraydak has done? He’s taken away our choices.”
“What choices?”
“All of them. Mother had to become queen. Ardhan had to go to war. I have to fight him. I have no choice in what I do and very little in how to do it. That’s the whole problem.”
“No,” Bryon corrected, transferring some of the annoyance he felt at himself to her, “that’s only part of the problem. You’ve got this strange idea that you have to do everything yourself.”
She whirled around to glare at him.
“I do.”
“You think that because you’re the last of the wizards, Kraydak is your sole responsibility.”
“He is.”
“You can’t and he isn’t. One day you’ll realize it and you’ll have to ask for help.”
“Ask who?” Crystal demanded. “You, perhaps?” Eyes beginning to smolder, she sprang to her feet. He had no right to lecture her like she was a child.
“Why not?” Ridiculously, he felt better now that Crystal was upset. He was back in control.
“There’s nothing you could do. You couldn’t fight him.”
Bryon had to admit that she was right, he couldn’t fight Kraydak and frankly had no intention of doing so.
“I was thinking of myself more in the line of moral support.” He stood up with lazy ease. “I’ve got to get back to my men, but maybe you should consider it.” He blew her a kiss and was gone.
Gone? She felt vaguely cheated. He hadn’t once touched her.
“Consider it?” she shrieked toward the receding sounds of his footsteps. “I’ve forgotten it already!” Sparks leaped off the ends of hair flung about in frustration. She was one of the two most powerful beings alive, why was she constantly being thrown off balance by that smug, self-centered, overbearing, incredibly good-looking young man?
She danced aside as a blue bolt charred the marble bench and with a furious gesture flung a green one back along its path.
“Stop showing off,” she snarled. “I know you can reach this far, but I’ve enough on my mind right now without you!” And then she stomped back into Hale’s Seat because neither the wizard nor the princess could think of a way to follow Bryon without looking like a fool.
* * *
Kraydak considered the green bolt with some surprise. He hadn’t been surprised in centuries and he savored the return of the sensation. He congratulated himself on not attempting to circumvent the prophecy. This was fun.
The bolt had exploded harmlessly against his tower, not even ruffling his defenses, but he was rather astonished that it had gotten that far. The wizard-child showed more strength in her thoughtless response to his prodding than she had at any other time.
For a moment, he contemplated paying her another visit, this time in the mind of her young admirer. His eyes glowed slightly as he dwelt on the likely result of that encounter. But no, he’d made his point and repeating it would be a useless waste of power especially as she was, after all, coming to him. His time would be better spent arranging a suitable welcome for her when she got close enough.
“Perhaps,” he mused, rubbing the scorched mark on the stone, “this young man brings out the best in her.” The corners of his mouth twisted up. “Or the beast.” He wiped his fingers and reentered the tower. “Something to remember.”
THIRTEEN
The Duke of Riven stood on the battlements of his manor and looked north. His brow was drawn down in a scowl and his fingers worried a loose patch of mortar into dust. Somewhere to the north, there was a battle going on and he had chosen not to be in it.
It had been over a week since he had returned his family to the arms of the Mother. For over a week he had sat each night in his father’s chair with the War Horn of Riven on his knees, not listening to the old men—his father’s counselors—nor the young men—his friends—as they urged him to sound the Horn and ride to war. Even his steward—a solid gray-haired woman whom he thought had more sense—advised him to fight. They were all very anxious to ride into the arms of Lord Death, but he had no intention of allowing it. No intention of allowing more to die for a wizard whose face he couldn’t seem to banish from his mind. He wondered how she’d felt when the Horn of Riven hadn’t sounded. Betrayed? He hoped so.
He shivered. Riven Seat was high in the mountains and even in summer, the east wind whistling through Riven Pass was cold.
“Milord, dinner is ready if you would come in.”
People were hesitant around him, as if afraid to touch his grief. They didn’t know that he’d laid his grief in the pit with the bodies of his family which the wizard—the word was a curse in his thoughts—had preserved. All that he had left was a dull pain wrapped tightly around his soul.
Meals were somber times now. Looking out over the company from under heavy lids, Riven could almost see the gray pall that hung over the room. Hesitant glances were exchanged, conversations were held in a whisper or not at all. Mostly not at all. This, too, was the wizard’s fault. In his father’s day the hall had been filled with light and laughter, but she had killed his family and darkness had followed.
After dinner he sat in his father’s chair, with the War Horn of Riven across his knees, and stared at the green eyes that gazed up at him from the fire.
“Milord? There’s a Scholar here who wishes to see you.”
“I don’t want to see him.”
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��He says it’s very important.”
“I don’t care.”
“He says he brings a message from the wizard.”
“What!” Riven leaped to his feet, the Horn falling to the flagstones unheeded. “She dares send someone here?” His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were unnaturally bright. “Oh, I’ll listen to a messenger from the wizard, and when he’s done I’ll have a message or two he can take back with him. Send him in.”
The Scholar was a small, thin man with sunken cheeks and eyes so deep-set they looked like they were hiding under the arching dome of his forehead. His hands fluttered constantly, birds, trapped in the ends of his sleeves.
“Milord,” the Scholar began, then stopped, his eyes darting around the Great Hall, from person to person. “Milord, I have been instructed that this message is for your ears alone.”
Riven waved his hand. “Out!” he commanded.
The men and women in the Hall looked at each other in astonishment and several murmured protests to their companions. Garments rustled as positions shifted, but no one left.
“You should not be alone with him,” protested the steward, stepping forward.
“Why not?”
“Well, because . . .” She couldn’t think of a convincing argument. And she really had no reason, just a feeling. “Because . . .”
“I’ve got my sword, haven’t I?” He put his hand to the hilt. “If he tries anything, I’ll kill him.”
The Scholar wet his lips nervously. His grayish tongue looked like nothing so much as a large maggot.
“Now get out!”
With a helpless shrug, the steward surrendered and herded the others from the room. One or two tried to argue, but she silenced them with a glare and a gesture and, grumbling, they went. She paused at the door and looked back. Riven stood glaring at the Scholar, his lips drawn back in what was almost a snarl and yet, despite the appearance of frailty, she somehow knew that the Scholar was the more dangerous man. She sighed and closed the door. She could do nothing except keep a guard ready and breathe a quiet prayer to the Mother.