Later, Lasva said, “What did you see?”
I explained, and Lasva’s brows went up. “I observe surprise,” she said.
“I am very surprised. I do not see the connection.”
Lasva chuckled under her breath, and kicked out her neatly booted foot. Then she looked at me askance. “Emras, I forget your age, except that you are younger, but surely you are far past the age of interest. Do you have a lover?”
“I do not,” and then felt obliged to say, “So far I am elor.”
“Ah.” She signed Understanding then said, “Then I will confine myself to observing that it is not my feet that draw her attention, it is the thought of my feet in proximity to Ivandred’s. The fans show that the peacock has teeth, if you will permit a very awkward metaphor. The feet… there is a question about what a Colendi can do for a Marloven within the intimacy of the bedchamber. I am trying to understand how it all fits together.”
The watch bell rang and we parted, she to join the jarl and jarlan for a meal.
The night after we left Yvanavar, Lasva bade me walk with her out into the twilit field that smelled heavily of wet grass and moist soil. When we had paced side by side a distance from camp, halfway between the silhouettes against the fire’s glow and the barely perceived silhouettes of the perimeter riders, she put out a hand to stop me.
“Tdiran talked. A great deal. So did I, though I revealed very little. She revealed three things,” she said, holding up her fingers. “First, since the days of Hadand-Gunvaer, Marloven history has been hard on the women, who can’t always match men in physical strength but can in wit. The laws have varied wildly, it seems, and I mean to read up on them. One of the absurdities Tdiran spoke of is called the Time of Daughters, when families could only have one son. As a result, many boys were dressed and raised as girls, as the girls also trained in war.”
“Yedi!” I exclaimed. “Did they identify as both, then?”
“I asked her that, and she said that such a question is impossible to answer, except that ballads from that time will switch gender pronouns in what will seem a careless way, but isn’t. She also talked about old politics and how the Olavairs would bribe their supporters by promising lands belonging to those they did not favor.” Lasva signed Thorn Gate. “Oh Emras. I cannot tell you how my heart chilled when she said, ‘We are cruel to our enemies, many say, but we are crueler to ourselves.’”
I made The Peace.
Lasva signed with the second finger. “Next. She cannot explain what happens to them in the Academy. Part is an oath that they don’t break, but some is an experience that is impossible to explain unless you’ve shared it. She offered me an example. She said that when he was growing up, Danrid was always first. But in the academy, he was supplanted by Ivandred, who had once looked up to him. Emulated him. Loved him with the passion of youth.”
Her voice dropped, low and rough. “The day that Haldren was flogged. I looked away, at the others, so that I could avoid making a memory I could not rid myself of. And I saw Danrid tight against the seam.”
Cold shock through every nerve and muscle made me shiver, then came the inward revulsion of disgust.
“Yes.” Lasva’s face lifted. I stood with my back to the distant campfire, so its light fell full on her face, where I saw a cold anger tightening her features. For a moment we stood thus, she so still she might have been a statue of her Dei ancestors. “That, I will never forget.”
“This is the man Tdiran Marlovair chose over Ivandred,” I observed, too amazed to remain circumspect.
That was fine with Lasva. She did not want circumspect. She wanted her own emotions mirrored, shared, reinforced. “That is the third thing,” Lasva said. “She did not choose him. He wanted her—she says it has much to do with the fact that Ivandred wanted her. So I said that I had seen subtle signs—the trick of gaze, the draw of breath—that in Colend would mean shared intimacy.”
“Danrid and Ivandred?” I exclaimed in disbelief. “I thought they hated one another.”
“Ivandred was the first to fall in love and the first to grow out of it. She thinks Danrid never did. Such a passion, if unrequited, can turn to anger. Even hate, which in no way lessens the desire.”
She fell silent, gazing past me to the campfire, her eyes so wide I could see tiny leaping flames reflected in her pupils. Her breathing changed as she remembered Obliterate me, a memory echo that Tdiran intuited and acknowledged softly with, You understand. And Lasva had returned, I understand.
She roused herself. “She was ordered to marry Danrid by none other than the king. She broke off the relationship with Ivandred, claiming it was personal, entirely to protect him, because she was afraid of what might happen if he found out. But she has now given me leave to tell him the truth.”
She paused, looked away, and I wondered if she was thinking of the Duke and Duchess of Alarcansa. Then she faced me again, her voice brisk. “So far, there is one lesson I can take from Hadand-Gunvaer. It is the nature of this net of communication with the kingdom’s women. I am going to attempt to recreate that, if I can. Emras, I want you to make a scrollcase for every jarlan in this kingdom—” She paused, studying me. “Or is there a difficulty of which I am unaware?”
I gestured apology as I said, “It would take time to lay the necessary spells. There are a thousand repetitions or even more. And that’s after I find someone who can get the gold necessary to make the case.”
“Ah-ye! And I understand gold is rarer in this kingdom, as it must be brought from far away. Very well. I know what to do, then. My sister tendered me a substantial sum as a wedding gift, in case I should have need of such. I will use some of it to order cases, if you give me exact specifications. I want them finished before the women show up for New Year’s Week.”
TEN
OF RENASCENCE
I
vandred had the entire city up on the walls with trumpets, drums, and cheers to honor Lasva’s arrival. He embraced her right in front of everyone, there in the enormous stable yard, and twined his fingers with hers as they walked inside. After a meal, I transferred to Darchelde and the secret room.
Within moments the Herskalt appeared. When I told him what Ivandred wanted—and my reasoning behind supplying it—he said, “Excellent thinking, Emras. However, I see that your magical knowledge, while improving steadily, is still lacking. You cannot add water to wood by magic, not without great difficulty. Think of the difficulty of waterlogging an arrow by spooning water over it. How long would it take you? It is far easier to construct a spell that squeezes water out of the wood, for here, the specificity of the arrow works for you. I will give you the appropriate book, and you may add that to your studies, along with your work on the Choreid Dhelerei castle wards.”
“These wards,” I said. “I believe I see the entire structure more clearly now. The layers of spells are impossibly deep. Far deeper than I thought.”
He smiled. “Yes. They go back to the years the Cassadas family ruled in that city, which they built. After the Marlovens took it, they reinforced the castle both architecturally and, later, magically.”
“It’s thousands upon thousands of spells. It might take me ten years to accomplish.”
He said, “Then that will be ten years of good work.”
I suppressed my desire to sigh. “I have had another thought.” I hesitated, thought about what I had already experienced, and plunged on. “I confess, I’m not sure whether my reluctance is because of being trained not to interfere, or because there is a… a moral trespass here, but…”
He waited, neither encouraging nor scorning me.
I tried again. “You have said that Ivandred will be a great king, and most Marlovens agree, except this Danrid Yvanavar. I believe that Ivandred wants to avoid war. But from all I’ve seen, Danrid Yvanavar is quite willing to cause fighting if he can gain whatever it is that he wants. I understand that the dyr can only be used to look at past memories, but could we not use it to determine his true mot
ivations as well as his plans?”
The Herskalt did not exhibit any consternation, repugnance, or surprise. “He is warded. But if he were not, which moment would you choose from his life from which to gain this knowledge?”
“I don’t know. But we could begin looking on the day of the coronation, perhaps. His enmity is obvious. His thinking at such times has to be germane.”
“That would be an excellent place to begin,” the Herskalt conceded. “Were he not warded, as I said.”
“Can the dyr’s magic be warded, then?”
“It can. A very old spell,” he said, flashing a quick smile. “Or, human nature being what it is, the dyr would be in use every day in political circles, would it not?”
“This is the first time I have ever considered the political consequences of this kind of magic,” I said.
“Yes. And I see your ambivalence. Your thinking has been carefully hobbled by years of the Scribes’ First Rule. Promulgated by the Sartoran Mage Council, whose strategy centers on the airy belief that it exists above politics, in order to do good.”
Though his hazel gaze was exactly the same as ever, his voice deepened with irony on the last few words, then resumed an instructive tone. “The Sartoran Mage Council has not changed its method of teaching for centuries. Any system is, understandably, dedicated in part to perpetuating itself. They teach not only magic. As you discovered in your brief conversation with your brother, they successfully alter their students’ views of the world to fit their own. Thus, you have learned more in not quite a year then your brother did in four. But then their first year is entirely spent on shaping the student’s views and on memorization training. So if you were to discuss your training with your brother—telling him how much you have learned in so little time—it would be human nature for him to feel affront, and to scold you and deem it his duty to report you to the Council.”
I bowed my acquiescence, aware of sharp regret. So there would be no writing to Olnar about magic, at least for a while—at least until I better understood my new place in the world. I’d thought to surprise him with the news of two mages in the family when I wrote on his next Name Day. My gratification would have to wait.
The Herskalt lifted his hand. “Dyr aside, what makes you believe that Danrid Yvanavar harbors perfidious intent?”
I exclaimed, “Was he not behind the war with Olavair? Does he not hate Ivandred and wish to take over his throne?”
“Do you really believe human motivation so simple?” the Herskalt retorted with a humorous glance. Then he said, “Perhaps you need some context. Within living memory of Yvanavar’s older generation—whose bitterness has influenced the succeeding generations—Yvanavar lost its traditional lands to the Faths. What they have now is a small corner of less desirable land.”
“I have gathered that much.”
“Perhaps you do not understand what that means to the man himself. Danrid Yvanavar is two years older than Ivandred. He was, until Ivandred joined the academy, an emerging leader. The Yvanavars have long felt that they had a claim to the throne.”
“Yes, I know that. His family talks of a legitimate claim.”
The Herskalt smiled. “Your irony when you say the word ‘legitimate’ tells me you do not understand how important a justified transfer of power is.”
“Justified because of the accident of inheritance?” I countered. “Yes, we have studied how stability is established through accepted accession, but—”
“But you are about to tell me that Colend’s transfers of power are all peaceful. That shows me you do not understand the importance of Marloven Hesea to Danrid Yvanavar. Imagine yourself raised in his house, believing yourself, as heir, a great leader, because you are quick and strong and on all sides all you get is encouragement and flattery. You are raised to think that accident of birth put Ivandred Montredaun-An in the heirship, but if Ivandred is not strong or smart enough to handle the challenges of kingship, why should not a better leader, one with equally legitimate claim, lead the Marlovens?”
The Herskalt opened his hands in mimicry of the Colendi gesture for Query. I glimpsed hard calluses across his palms before he put his hands on his knees. “What you do not know—could not know—is that in his striving to better the training of his people, Danrid has of late hired a sword master to train them all—including himself. He recognizes the need for improvement, for the good of the kingdom.”
“This is new to me. Is Ivandred aware?”
“Yes. But he does not know the sword master and probably will not. Danrid will go to great lengths to keep the king from poaching him, is my guess. The point being, this sword master has convinced Danrid, especially after that foolhardy ruse with the Olavairs, that Ivandred is just what Marloven Hesea needs to regain its ancient glory. And so Danrid’s attitude is undergoing considerable alteration, because his loyalty goes first to his people but second to the kingdom.”
Emras:
I’ve not only survived my first meeting with the duchess, whose reputation here is more formidable than Queen Hatahra’s, but I seem to have fit into the rhythm of days. The work is interesting enough, and there are those occasional visits from the duke. It surprised and flattered me that on these brief visits home he never fails to speak to me. Not just that. He always comes to me, rather than summoning me. He asks about my experiences in Marloven Hesea and never seems to find any detail trivial, though I was taught that travel anecdotes are as much a trespass on another’s patience as boasting about one’s family…
“So that fog spell will raise an impenetrable layer of vapor between the two forces,” I said to Ivandred some weeks later. “It doesn’t last very long, and like I say, you have to pace out the place you want to raise it, and say the spell each time, but it should suffice if a party of warriors seems about to attack you. Maybe it will halt them long enough to send a peace party,” I said, and when Ivandred signed that he understood, I said, “And here is my spell for drawing the moisture out of an arrow.”
I demonstrated the spell on an arrow, then broke it between my fingers. “As you can see, it becomes so brittle that it would be useless for shooting.” My secret hope was that this spell would be lead the Marlovens to join the Compact forbidding any weapon that is not wielded in hand—and help take them toward the same place in civilization as the rest of the continent. “The arrow spell has to be used one at a time, and, as you see, you need some proximity, but it could be of use.”
“This is good work, Sigradir,” he said.
“I hope that they will contribute to peace,” was my response.
He gave me that open-palmed gesture that meant assent. “Come spring, you will fulfill my oaths to the kingdom by renewing protection spells.”
I was surprised, for in spite of his “sigradir,” I still thought of myself as a scribe who happened to be studying magic. “What about the Herskalt? Surely he can do these tasks much better than I.”
“Asked him. After my father died. Said he’s an instructor, and his time is already promised. Comes to us because he thinks that you will make a great mage.” He tapped two fingers to his heart in salute to me. “And after a year or so of making reinforcements, you should be expert at it.” He turned away, then back. “Also. Lasva tells me you are still holed up in that servant’s chamber. Why have you not moved into the tower? I gave orders for it to be cleaned out for you, all except the library. That you’ll have to sort out yourself.”
I gazed at him, my first reaction dismay. It wasn’t the moving—I had so few belongings that I could probably carry them all in a single trip. It was… the residue of bad memories of the king? Reluctance to move farther away from Lasva? The sense of permanence that moving implied?
“When you wish,” he said and walked away.
I tried to make time to experiment with healing spells. I knew that there must be training for anything major—I would never risk people’s lives with my experiments. I could help with binding a broken bone, however, if the healer was not
in reach, and someone was injured in the stable or in the practice yard at the garrison. I rather liked being summoned to their aid. It made me feel important, and Haldren Marlovair, who had moved into the tower at the north end of the castle (when he was not in the field) always went out of his way to thank me for these extra attentions to his people, the rare times our paths crossed.
This brought us to late autumn and the cold winds that promised winter. The yellow leaves were clattering across the stones when Pelis crept into my room and shook me awake.
My head pounded. I had been up late working at converting the snarl of ward spells to a clear, tight pattern of interlocked wards, which had apparently plunged me into turbulent dreams. It took me a few moments to recover place and time.
“The babe is coming,” Pelis whispered.
I rose and dressed, in case Lasva might need me, though I could not imagine what for.
We had discovered that Marloven custom for birth was different from ours. In Colend—at least, at court—women preferred to experience the effort and physical awkwardness with only personal staff at hand, or a sister if she had one, sometimes with music played from beyond a stout screen, some say to bolster the mother’s spirits and others say to help mask the messy aspects of bringing another life into the world.
The Marlovens, we were told, used to require the family to be there by law, a consequence of the Time of Daughters and subsequent sneaky practices with switching babies. Within the last century that law had been rescinded, so that an entire family might be there only if the parents wished.
But I found it strange to discover Ivandred with Lasva in the birthing room, muddy to the thighs, his hair wind-tousled. Since the last we’d heard he was somewhere in the south, he had obviously transferred straight to us.
Banner of the Damned Page 59