Banner of the Damned

by Sherwood Smith

  Her voice was almost a whisper. “Why are you here?”

  He put his cold, tense hands behind his back. “It was at first a wager. Who would gain a kiss from you.”

  She lifted her chin in acknowledgement of his honesty. “Is it still?”

  “No.”

  She wished he would put that arm around her again that she might push against it and feel its strength.

  He hesitated then went on. “It changed when I—I don’t have the right words, for so much of importance, in your language.”

  Lightning flared, thunder crashed outside. Memory: lying with Kaidas, warm and sleepy as they watched a lightning storm and discoursed on words for zalend in three languages. She shook her head, a quick snap, then said, quickly, huskily, “If you want to marry me, will you do it at once, and take me away?”

  TEN

  OF THE WORLD OF BOOKS

  L

  asva knew she should tell her sister before she did anything else. She offered her hand. He brought his out in that open gesture, hesitant, curiously appealing. His palm was rough-skinned, closing around hers with latent strength, and again she shivered, thinking, I shall marry him.

  “Come,” she said. “We must tell my sister.”

  He accompanied her down the marble halls, past paintings and cartouches glowing with warm color. The queen had gone to bed, which was not surprising, but they found Davaud playing harp with two friends, who accompanied him with tiranthe and chimes. Ivandred followed Lasva. She sat on a cushion against the far wall, so he sat beside her, mentally reorganizing the next day as the music tweedled on.

  Since he had taken her on his horse and she had tucked herself against him, he had not permitted himself to look past the next moment. He was going to have to, now: the idea of taking this impossibly beautiful creature back to Marloven Hesea was strange.

  The song ended. The man and woman rose, bowed, and took their instruments with them as the queen’s consort cast a cover over his harp.

  Lasva told Davaud the news in a few whispered words, unexpectedly lacking in the long, ornamental phrases Ivandred thought unavoidable. Davaud bowed to Ivandred, who dipped his head, finding the movement awkward and odd. In Enaeran, he’d refused to bow, but here, he wanted to do everything right.

  Davaud said, “I will tell the queen as soon as she wakens. You should know that she will be well pleased.”

  Lasva made The Peace as she wished Davaud a good night and led the way out. She felt uncertain, for Ivandred did not acknowledge her cues. Here they were, beginning a relationship. They knew nothing about one another, and she did not know where to begin without inadvertent trespass against melende. Did he wish to join her in her suite, or not?

  He hesitated, and because she said nothing about his staying, he laid his hand over his heart. “I will return in the morning. If there is a need before then, you’ve only to send a runner to my camp.”

  He walked out, leaving her thinking, runner?

  The following morning, after a series of intense, disturbing dreams whose terrifying logic fell apart with the rise of the sun and the prospect of a new day, Lasva rose, looking around her bedroom, thinking, I am going to leave this place forever.

  She walked out quickly, trying to leave the dream behind as she approached the staff’s private chamber, where we were marveling over the recent excitement. When Lasva appeared—something she had never done before—we fell silent and bowed.

  “I am going to marry Prince Ivandred of Marloven Hesea,” Lasva said, aware of the possible transforming into what would be as the words reached the servants’ ears.

  At the looks of shock and dismay, she stared back, also shocked and dismayed. Of course they would go with her… wouldn’t they?

  “No one shall be forced to go west with me—”

  Poppy gave a deep sob, tears rolling down her cheeks.

  That set Nereith off crying desolately. She sank down onto her knees, hiding her face in her hands. “I don’t want to leave Colend,” she sobbed over and over, too distraught to heed Marnda’s hiss of affront at this breach of the rules. “Spare us the barbarians, oh please, your highness, spare us from having to live in barns and carry swords.”

  I stood in the back, numb with shock. What have I done? That was my first conscious thought. I had only dared hope that they would find one another for a time of passion, long enough for Lasva to forget Kaidas. Then he would conveniently fade away, like mist before the sun, and we would carry on with our lives, restored to the tranquility of the days before Kaidas came to hear the rafalle song and met Lasva.

  I watched the three servants who had been drugged exchange low-lashed glances as Lasva stooped over poor Nereith, stroking her disarranged curls and whispering, “It’s all right. It’s all right. You do not have to go.”

  Marnda finally drew Nereith up. “Stop weeping. I am certain that Pollar will admit you to the Royal Princess’s staff, as her royal highness will need dressers before long.”

  Marnda confined herself to stern looks at those who wished to remain, then stated, “I will go with you, my princess. Even if I have to walk all the way.” Her tone said, I know what loyalty is, even if no one else does.

  Anhar also agreed to go, so calmly that I was surprised. I did not know then that she was very ready to leave a kingdom where she had only a sister to be social with, because everyone else looked at her and whispered, “Chwahir.” In Marloven Hesea no one would even know who the Chwahir were.

  Lasva turned to me last. “You will not fail me, will you, Emras?”

  “Never,” I said, though my throat nearly closed.

  The Hour of the Leaf—the queen’s breakfast hour—was nigh, so Lasva let us go as she withdrew to dress in her finest morning gown. She expected a royal summons, as this was also the queen’s favorite time for personal interviews.

  Her being readied left me with nothing to do, so I walked to my room without being aware of going there. As always, a page had brought a flat-basket of messages, most for the princess, but one for me.

  I dealt with the princess’s messages first, then read mine. It was from Tiflis, a lily made up of gold-dusted parchment, tied up with green and gold ribbon. This could only be an invitation to her formal acceptance into her guild.

  I left the invitation sitting on my little desk. I knew that Lasva would give me leave to attend. The emotion that overwhelmed me as I stood there staring at the pretty shapes of the princess’s messages was one of loss, of fear. Of guilt. Had I not interfered, in direct breach of the First Rule?

  It was only just that I pay the cost, leaving this dear little room, the comfort and beauty of the palace, for life on the other side of the world.

  The Hour of the Deer chimed. I thought Lasva would have been sitting with the queen for the past hour, but when I went to lay the letters in her chamber, I discovered her moving through a set of Altan fan dances to the soothing melodic strains of reed-pipe and harp in the Swan Variations, as cats came and went, tails switching in annoyance at not having the room to themselves. I quietly withdrew.

  Near to the Hour of the River, Lasva changed to a day dress, and she herself came to my door, her manner one of question when she said, “My sister the queen desires you to attend her as well.”

  Lasva led the way, moving quick and nervy as a dragon-wing. Queen Hatahra met us in her personal interview chamber, all rose marble with an exquisite carved ceiling with oval insets, painted pale blue, centered around her favorite birds in flight. An array of refreshments had been brought in, from honeyflower wine to Sartoran steep, and fresh-baked lily cakes.

  The air was filled with enticing aromas, but no one touched the food. The queen looked tired. “Lasva, I am very pleased with your alliance, and I beg your forgiveness for the long wait.” She smiled grimly. “Others are not so pleased, which, in part, I count as a success. The dukes are upset. They seem to have convinced themselves that if they do not back down at last on the road question that Thias has been vexing me with fo
r a year and more, Prince Ivandred is going to raise hundreds of his lance riders out of the ground to fight for me. I’m not denying a thing.”

  She paused, clearly expecting the princess to laugh. Lasva’s hands fluttered in I-share-your-mirth mode.

  “So I am well pleased. But where is your swain? Lasva, I beg your indulgence for treating you like a page, but we do not want to risk insulting him—making him think he is summoned—might you find him yourself, that we three might negotiate our treaty? I think the sooner we hold your wedding the better, so that court need not go home just to return. Why not on Martande Day? I am thinking of a magnificent masquerade, a thousand candles set in the air like stars, and everyone in their blue below, like a great sky. Our great-mother Lasva Sky Child had just such decoration after her wedding. It would be a fine touch, do you not think?”

  Lasva bowed assent, and then left.

  The queen lifted her chin. “Davaud? Where is that boy?”

  Boy? I could not believe that even the queen would call the Prince of Marloven Hesea a boy, but then Davaud moved to the far door and opened it.

  In walked a tall, imposing young man in a herald’s robe. Familiar? The beaky nose—the ears almost tamed by thick dark hair with a trace of rust at the temples, pulled back. He flicked me a look, his mouth curling in a half-suppressed laugh—

  Birdy?

  A sun burst behind my ribs, so sharp and sweet it was painful, followed by a faint echo of that embarrassment when I remembered the last time we had seen one another, and how I had hurt him all unaware. The queen cut a glance at me, and I ceased to breathe until I saw that it was an abstracted glance. I had betrayed nothing. She shifted her attention back to this tall, unfamiliar Birdy. “Sit.”

  We knelt, hands on our thighs. I was distracted by the sound of his breathing. Birdy!

  The queen glared at the window. “I am going to talk fast, so listen fast, the both of you. You may have noticed that I am not like my sister. She is sensitive. So the facts I am about to tell you are not to burden her. Are we agreed?”

  We bowed, and I forced my attention away from Birdy.

  “Scribe Emras. I asked the Grand Herald to find out more about Marloven Hesea. He had the effrontery to contact the Heraldry in Sartor, and they had the effrontery to send none other than Herald Tzan of the Mage Council to me.”

  She paused, snapped her fan, then grudgingly said, “Oh, I suppose the Sartorans see their action as compliance with duty. I see it, however, as a mighty stretch of their so-called First Rule, but the thing is, the Sartoran Mage Council is all a-chirp about the Marloven king’s mage, and whether he might be using dark magic. They think that the Marloven king’s chief mage, a Sigradir Andaun, has been treating with Norsunder in some wise.”

  In some lands, careless tongues speak such curses as May Norsunder take you, or Ugly as Norsunder. Now, with a few words, the queen had made the vulgarity of invective into terrifying reality. Treating with Norsunder—meaning actual contact, as in someone from there coming into the world… or someone in the world going there.

  “The Mage Council claims that the Marloven king won’t permit their mages to cross their borders. There is even a proscription against Sartoran heralds and scribes, whom this king calls spies. I find myself unsympathetic. What business is it of the Sartoran herald and magic guilds, if their First Rule is not to interfere? That sounds like interference to me, over nothing more than rumor! That young man courting Lasva is no more Norsundrian than I am, I would swear.”

  We made The Peace in assent.

  “Interference in royal affairs… it’s an old problem. Tzan said their Mage Council would be pleased if ‘someone’ were to find out about Norsundrian dealings. This someone could get word to the Mage Council. Hummers! They wish to put spies among my sister’s entourage, and endanger them for their own purposes? I think not. But.”

  The queen snapped her fan shut and pointed it at Birdy. “You were the only one, I am told, who had the wit to be suspicious about Jurac Sonscarna.”

  Birdy flushed to his ears. “I did not guess at his plans, your majesty. I only guessed that something was amiss, because of the way they curtailed our access to news, these past few months. Before, there was access to street chirps.”

  “Yes, and you had the wit to listen to street chirps, while my older, experienced appointees scorned such. Ah-ye! I learned young that birdies chirp more, and at times more truly, when the hawks are not right overhead. Thorn! Lasva will return soon, and I want this finished and you two gone, because she has enough to contend with right now, getting to know this man she is to marry. The sooner she can get her heart turned westward, the better for her—for us all.”

  We made The Peace in assent once more.

  “This is what I would like from you two. I’m not letting those Sartoran hummers put spies among you. Let them see to their own politics. But you will be watchful for my sister. You, Herald Martande, I know you have experience in stables. I would like you to take charge of Lasva’s horses, and go with her coachman. But. There is something else.”

  Herald Martande. How strange! I had forgotten that Birdy was named for the first king.

  “Lord Davaud has discovered from his military reading something called a stalking-horse. You will be this. It’s inevitable that the Marloven king will be investigating us just as everyone else is investigating them. He will probably discover that you are really a herald, but with that discovery will be the fact that you are appointed by me, as a conduit of news about my sister. Let him surround you with spies, because you will be a good stable hand, and you will send me letters about Lasva that can be seen by many eyes. Steward Marnda will cooperate with you in this. My sigil on correspondence should protect you, as I’m certain they won’t want trouble with me any more than I want trouble with them. But mostly I want you writing letters meant for them to see. You and I will discuss code words anon.”

  Birdy swallowed. I saw his neck knuckle go up and down.

  “Now to you, Scribe Emras. Who bothers with a scribe, if she is not writing? Especially a little apple-faced thing like you? You will not report to me, in fact, you will get rid of your personal scrollcase, if you have one, so that no one thinks of you as a scribe. Let them think you a servant. You will be the closest to Lasva, so she is going to need your watchful eyes. I want you to learn everything about magic that you can. Discover if there is anything in these rumors, once you reach Marloven Hesea. Specifically, if there is a Norsunder threat to Lasva.” She frowned. “Question?”

  “Do you wish me to listen to this Sigradir Andaun?”

  “I want you to stay away from him! If he’s truly treating with Norsunder, then he is dangerous, perhaps the most dangerous man in their kingdom. But this I believe about great evil, which is our definition of Norsunder: it can’t be subtle. If you find evidence of Norsunder’s magic, then you tell Lasva, or Marnda, if Lasva is surrounded by spies. Marnda will know how to reach me, and if I have to, I can end the marriage treaty, though I hope and trust that none of it is true.” She paused to take a breath. “Right now, I do not plan to burden her with any of these vexing rumors and accusations, and anyway, you can be certain that when she arrives in her new kingdom, she will be surrounded by court flatterers who will hum whatever they think she wants to hear. But you scribes are trained to hear past the flattery.” She finished with her fan aslant in Life’s Ironies.

  I made The Peace a third time.

  Davaud moved to the door, then turned his gaze to the queen, who said, “Ah-ye! They come. We will meet later. You two may leave through that door there.”

  We withdrew in proper order. I even waited until we got safely beyond the second door, to the public corridor beyond, before I exclaimed, “Birdy!”

  “Yes. I’m back.” His ears stuck out as always, his hair was barely contained, and he was tall.

  “What happened?”

  “We’re to say that our embassy is completed, but King Jurac couldn’t have pushed us through
the door more thoroughly than if he’d done it with his own hands. We had to leave everything and use our transfer tokens! Ah-yedi.” He rubbed his forehead.

  “You are all back?”

  “All but the ambassador, who is still in Narad, with our trade agreement in the balance. I don’t envy him.” He fell in step beside me, even though his legs were so long and mine so short. “What happened here?”

  I gave Birdy a quick summary, but my mind was on the past. Twice we had to defer, our backs to the marble walls as courtiers drifted across our path, but as we approached the eight-sided fountain chamber, I put out a hand.

  He stopped. I stopped.

  Then I gazed up at him, my being so filled with emotions I could not define that words failed me. He clenched his jaw against a yawn, but his eyes watered, betraying him, then he grinned ruefully. “Em?”

  “I—I missed you,” I managed to say.

  He chuckled. “I missed you, too. All of you.”

  All of us.

  I knew I should let him go, but the urge to explain was too overwhelming to suppress. “Before you left,” I began. “When I said—’Will you write to us?’ and you said ‘Us?’ and you sounded so sad… I didn’t know what you meant.”

  His grin widened. “Emras. There were two of us not knowing what the other meant, that day. It’s past, and here we are again. Shall we begin where we left off, and pretend that particular conversation never happened?” Another yawn caught him. He hid it behind his hand, but his eyes watered again.

  “Agreed. Have you slept at all?” I asked.