by Janny Wurts
'My own expectations there scarcely signify.' Glendien let the young stallion snuffle her hair. 'She will be herself, if she's born to this world. You'd know better than I, if she's fated.'
The black colt dipped his head. Asandir's fingers were surprisingly deft, as he feathered through the matted snarls and unstuck the burrs. 'There were portents enough surrounding her conception,' he admitted, sparing words that suggested he might hold reservations. "This child's heritage will not be straightforward. Elaira's presence is well-marked in the weave. If the bloodstock springs from your lineage, and Arithon's, there was a love summoned that spoke for this spirit. She will bear the mark of that all her days, if you elect to grant birthright. We will raise no child apart from the mother. On that matter, our Fellowship commands no precedent.'
Glendien watched, while fine velvet picked up a careless cargo of burdock; then flecks of chewed grass, as the horse snorted foam and rubbed his head on the Sorcerer's sleeve. 'You don't stand much on ceremony,' she dared to observe.
Asandir grinned. 'Not since I wash my own clothes in the field.' He shoved off the horse. Chided, before his braid trim became torn in the playful grip of bared teeth. 'You! Show some manners. The mares would bite back, for presumption.'
The colt frisked away, neck high and tail streaming. The Sorcerer's gaze at last turned and surveyed her. 'You need to consider what your life would be, without any child born to a marked destiny'
Glendien bent her thoughts back to Selkwood. Everywhere, there, she found Kyrialt's shadow, dogging her unpartnered footsteps. If she returned, barren, she would be expected to meet clan obligation and further her blood-line. Where, after the flower of s'Taleyn, could she find her match in vivacious audacity? Who, after Arithon, had ever stood forward to lock piquant wit with spiced challenge?
'What's left but sorrow, awaiting in Alland?' Again Glendien's eyes welled up and spilled over. "Though surely I owe Lord Erlien s'Taleyn the duty of bearing the news of a valiant son's death.'
Heedless of tear stains, Asandir closed her into the warmth of his mantle.
'My dear, you need not concern yourself. The difficult errand's accomplished. Luhaine's been our voice for such consolation, though truly, the High Earl was advised of the loss well beforetime. The gift of his son was Prince Arithon's survival, as Shand's seeress foretold from the outset.'
'Then I cannot go back.' Glendien chose her path, not to become the sorry reminder of a young man's life, cut short for crown duty. 'Kyrialt's sacrifice would have this child secure from the reach of Prince Arithon's enemies.'
"Then stay as you wish.' Asandir smiled. 'Be welcome without any strings. Sethvir's lackadaisical, stocking his larder. You won't pine for excuse to go hunting.'
Only one question remained left to ask. 'Will Prince Arithon ever -'
'No, Glendien. Never.' Asandir's interruption stayed firm. 'Your daughter will shoulder her fate in due time. She must find her way without the concern of her father's aware interference.'
Whether the child might become Rathain's next heir, the Sorcerer also called Kingmaker refused to say. Though the gleam in his far-sighted eyes well suggested his vision might measure the probability, he turned the resolute clanswoman back towards Althain Tower. 'Come in from the cold, Glendien.
Sethvir has tea waiting, and I've got another visit to pay before I take leave in departure.'
* * *
Davien had not strayed far, since the hour he wakened, restored to flesh and returned to Athera. North of Althain Tower, the incessant winds raked the Bittern Waste into ridges of swept, knife-edged dunes. There, Seshkrozchiel dug herself a deep wallow to scour off soot and polish her dazzling scales. Once clean, she rested, snout laid on her tail fluke, with her wings spread to bask in the sun. The dreaming fire that shimmered off her erect dorsal spines lazed in coils, reduced to a glimmer.
The Sorcerer her bargain still collared was found, seated, back leaned against her left fore-claw. He wore the same summer dress, each button and tie recreated from the hour of the misfortunate gathering: a lynx-gold jerkin and chocolate-brown hose, tucked into neat, calf-skin boots. If his silk shirt was too thin, the rippling warmth thrown off by the dragon drove back winter's chill when Asandir made his appearance. He called, sliding down the slope into the hollow as the day advanced towards mid-afternoon.
Davien's sardonic, dark eyes regarded the indigo robe, now greyed with grit at the hem-line. 'You shredded your last set of leathers, again,' he declared by way of tart greeting.
'I do have crown business still left at Athir,' Asandir said with mild reproof. He folded his lean length of leg and sat down, unconcerned for his court-styled velvet: his upcoming bout of lane travel would shake out the residual dust. Less sanguine over his horse-slobbered cuffs, he admitted, "Though a rinse in a stream would not be amiss, in the meantime.' A glance sidewards encompassed a fine, lynx-gold garment, also now a bit less than immaculate. 'You'd forgotten the bother?'
Davien laughed. 'Never.' He rubbed his solid hands against drawn-up shins, pleased, and treasuring the sensation. Before his colleague could ask, he tossed back tousled hair, and said outright, 'I am not going back to announce my prodigal return in Althain Tower's library just yet'
Asandir waited. If he looked to have the stilled patience of stone, his appearances could be deceptive.
'You aren't breathing,' Davien trounced with shrewd joy. 'Don't say I've dashed your bright hope for a clinging reunion with Sethvir?'
Asandir raised an eyebrow. Behind him, the orb of the dragon was open, as scalding through cloth as noon sunlight. 'I was waiting, hands folded, with meek expectation,' he amended without ruffled nerves. His polite nod acknowledged Seshkrozchiel. Then he added, 'Sethvir chose not to come. He's too busy sewing. When you're done paying court to hackling sensation, you've ever been quick to declare yourself.'
'Luhaine always snaps the hooked bait like a trout.' Davien showed his teeth, very nearly a grin. 'Shall we by-pass the stickling history and cut to the chase? When the dragon has rested, she's agreed we shall mend the two grimwards that still need attention without your assistance. I'll retire to Kewar to repair my own leathers. Though in passing, you may tell Luhaine this: he can ask for my help anytime he wants Prime Selidie and her sisterhood roped back to heel.'
Asandir laughed. 'Let her try meddling with Arithon again, don't rest on your luck. I'll be there before you.' If no mention was made to approach Kharadmon, the field Sorcerer was wise enough to let the unhealed past bide without pressure. 'If you won't take my thanks, then find me content. Isfarenn's colt needs his care-free years to mature, and grimwards afoot are no party.'
Both Sorcerers stood. Further words were not needed. But for the first time since the bloody rebellion that brought massacre to the high kings, a wrist clasp of amity sealed their brisk parting.
* * *
Dawn at Athir arrived with spectacular beauty, a blaze to set the very world afire above the Cildein's sparkling surf. Over the fathomless dance of the ocean, the lucent sky brightened, a golden horizon blended in light to a zenith of cloudless indigo. Two figures awaited on the grass knoll beside the Paravian focus, when the Fellowship Sorcerer stepped through the crackling burst of the flux tide at daybreak. Four transfers across latitude from Atainia left his indigo mantle spotlessly neat. Except for a few ragged ends of singed hair, his presence seemed steadfast as ever.
'Asandir! You're a sight for sore eyes.' Dakar strode forward, altogether relieved that his difficult watch should be ending. If his squared shoulders reflected a deepened sense of purpose, he still itched to spill the fresh gossip.
'His Grace recalls nothing beyond the awareness that Elaira's love was the power that recalled him.'
Asandir's gaunt profile turned. He regarded the other, who waited some distance off, and made certain she planned to stay out of earshot. 'The Biedar elders can be an irresistible force, when they choose to take action.' Whether or not the tribe stood as his ally, the Sorcerer held his opinio
n. 'You're that eager to be away in my company?'
For in fact, the root of the spellbinder's urgency was not his former recalcitrance. The Mad Prophet tucked his round chin in his beard. He tightened his grip on his shapeless brown cloak, tugged in billows by the strafing wind. 'When you've seen the look in Prince Arithon's eyes, you'll know why' he evaded. 'He's awaiting you inside the ruin. We don't speak, by my preference. I've sworn instead to guard Glendien's trust. But there's not a night that goes by where I don't lie awake, questioning whether the turn of events I helped shape could have been any different.'
'Our prince is still alive' Asandir said without flinching. 'His blood oath on the matter is not in debate. Though, naturally, I cannot hold you to blame if you can't bear his intimate company.' Tactful before Dakar's naked relief, the Sorcerer's glance surveyed the figure still standing, forlorn, on the rise. 'And Elaira? Does she share your wounding remorse?'
Dakar stared into distance. 'She holds Arithon's true heart. That simplifies conscience. On the subject of Glendien's abrupt departure, the enchantress said what she hadn't been told would not trouble her honest rapport.'
'She's unlikely to breeze in for tea with Sethvir, or chase after Lorn's midwives, digging for scandal.' Asandir's stifled smile suggested sympathy. "Though if she did, I'd back Althain's Warden. He's always had a touch for bare-faced diversions.'
Dakar shivered. 'All the same, I don't care to watch the exchange you intend for Prince Arithon.'
'I'd prefer that you didn't' Asandir agreed. 'What business I have to attend should be brief. You have things left to gather? A fishing lugger bound across Vaststrait is scheduled to meet us within the hour'
Dakar cast a wall-eyed glance at the surf, steep crests curling over in explosive froth from the swells of an outlying tempest. His complexion turned green. 'I'll forgo my breakfast' he managed, resigned. Then, 'Why under Ath's sky should I choose this?' Rough passages and lane transfers wrung out his gut. Hard riding chafed him to blisters. Travel with Sorcerers was no kind of life to exchange for warm doxies and drunken oblivion.
Yet if he expected a master's sage answer, Asandir had already moved on to address the Koriani enchantress.
* * *
The freshening breeze pried at her coiled bronze hair, and the knuckles clenched on the satchel that bundled her healer's remedies. Asandir surveyed the dawn tint of her eyes and the lips that still wore the turbulent flush of Prince Arithon's parting kiss. 'My brave lady' he opened. 'Do I have to say that our Fellowship owes you a debt beyond any repayment? You chose for a life, come whatever the cost. I salute the sweet gift of that bravery.'
Elaira regarded the Sorcerer whose grave counsel years ago in a seeress's cottage had steered her life's course from the proscribed path set by her order. From silver-grey hair to reactive, poised quiet, he was the same spirit, now. Still, he waited for her to direct the bent of today's conversation.
She shut her eyes. Throat closed, language failed her. Arithon's words, whispered into her ear, still entangled her beyond reason: 'Until forever, beloved,' he had said. 'Our home together is where your life takes you.'
The Sorcerer's reserve was unerring: her fight to recover her threatened poise needed none of his help. 'What little thing can our Fellowship give, that's racing your heart-beat to ask of us?' As she seized a deep breath, he added, acerbic, 'Speak in forthright confidence! Rest assured, if you fear an untoward listener, your request has my sealed ward of privacy.'
Elaira gasped with surprised laughter. 'You'd have Prime Selidie smoking with rage if she knew that her will could be thwarted so easily.'
"Then she'd best look out where she sparks off her fires,' Asandir declared with stripped warning.
Speech broke then, an unstoppable torrent. 'I have to return,' Elaira burst out. 'I don't relish the prospect. But one matter of driving importance remains. My personal crystal is still in the Matriarch's keeping. The question persists, why the quartz chose to bind its right to freedom under my vow to the Koriani Order. The riddle posed by the stone must be answered. Nobody else can pursue that course for me, or honour the peculiarity in my stead.'
Asandir sighed. 'Sethvir's earth-sense cannot unravel that quirk, since your quartz was not formed on Athera. Though you're right. The mineral's preference will carry a reason, strange though it seems to our human-based sensibilities. Neither are you one to forsake a friendship that has not turned and betrayed you.'
She had started to shiver. The Fellowship Sorcerer did touch her then, a warm, callused palm laid against her turned cheek as a shield from the bitter wind. 'What do you ask of us? Beyond what our Fellowship already has: Luhaine's surveillance will be ever-present, and Davien has a living dragon at hand, primed to answer your need, should you call him.'
'Save us all!' Elaira recovered her humour. 'What's become of your Fellowship's vaunted restraint?'
'No more damaged grimwards,' Asandir allowed. The steel flash in his eyes bespoke no mirth at all, as he added, 'The gang-up move to protect your good name could get thick, lest Arithon's fury should jump in first and spark the errant explosion.'
'He's pacified,' said Elaira, turned pale at the thought. 'I've promised my hand. He'll have to abide my Prime's interests until the time's fully ripe. Which brings me to ask for your favour. I'd like transport, south.' The long way by the land road was too heavy with memories to endure the cold journey alone.
The Sorcerer in his regaled formality regarded her. 'Brave lady! That's all? For his Grace's life's sake, my Fellowship can do you much better than that.'
When, again, she said nothing, Asandir's amusement resurged. He laced his large fingers through hers and drew her away from the leave she had asked, by way of the Paravian circle. 'Listen well. Sethvir's augury claims that the Khetienn will make landfall here, shortly before winter solstice. Prince Arithon will rejoin his ship's company, aboard. He'll have only Talvish, since he's bound on to Selkwood with a Masterbard's condolence for Lord Erlien and Kyrialt's grieving mother. His Grace also owes the same due respects to Fiark and the other family in mourning at Innish. Why not share his journey? A leisurely deepwater passage could set you ashore in the free wilds of Alland. The smugglers' coves there are a short hop to Telzen. Unless, of course, you're delayed by strong weather. Be assured, if that happens, your Prime Matriarch means to retire and sulk in seclusion at Forthmark. That route is best managed by ship, don't you think? You wouldn't be wise, yet, to venture a crossing on foot by way of Sanpashir.'
Elaira grinned. 'I'd report back to my order all in due time?'
'Well yes. Handfast to Rathain, why not please your betrothed a bit longer?' Asandir stared out to sea, a fierce light in his glance, that perhaps matched Sethvir's for dodging connivance. 'What else could your hobbled Prime Matriarch do, except gnaw on the nubs of her bandages till you arrive?'
Winter 5671-5672
Entailment
If Asandir's promised conference with Rathain's crown prince was pointed for brevity, the opening moment came as piquantly charged as Dakar's most cringing prediction. Yet where the Mad Prophet presumed that the Sorcerer's entry would meet with a stinging riposte, instead, the staging was set by the lyranthe the bard had just finished restringing. A plangent cascade of melody poured through the spill of new sunlight. The echoes reverberated from old stonewalls, already alive with the whispers of vanished Paravians. Beauty reigned, spun from a minor key that evoked the anguish of parting.
Talvish crouched in the shaded archway just outside of Arithon's presence. His pale head was masked in the crook of an elbow, braced by his upright, sheathed sword. His loyal guard was not dismissed, a relief the man stood up to acknowledge. The Fellowship were sticklers on matters of integrity; and among Seven, Asandir was the most straightforward taskmaster of all. The fact a sworn liegeman was kept on as witness meant this interview would stay restricted to formal crown business.
Yet even a Sorcerer on short timing would not impinge on the art of Athera's Masterbard. The outcry wru
ng from the raw pain of leave-taking was allowed the matchless, sweet effort to seek a release. When the musician's hand faltered, at last overcome, Asandir let his arrival be known.
He stepped through the arch, heralded by his long shadow.
Inside the tight stonework of Athir's foundation, the sea-wind was reduced to a salt-scented whisper. Arithon perched with his hair tumbled loose, his back braced to a roofless wall. The posture that still nursed a tender scar was wrapped in an oiled cloak, purloined from the sunk courier's crew locker. His borrowed shirt was also too large, and his jerkin, cut down from an outworn cast-off.
Yet nondescript clothing could never hide the stamp of encounter left by Athera's deep mysteries. The eyes that Dakar had been loath to meet snapped upward and challenged intrusion. An unworldly vision lurked in their green depths, a captured echo of glory past reach of the heart's ease to tame.
Swift fingers damped off the strings, faintly thrumming with the last strains of nakedly scalded emotion. To the Sorcerer's silence, Arithon said, 'You've come for Parrien? If so, you don't need formal dress to intimidate. He's been sweating in dread behind snappish pride, until Talvish threatened to grant him relief by clubbing him into unconsciousness.'
Yet the Fellowship emissary refused to be hazed. 'The issue of criminal justice can wait.' His pause left the sunlight vibrating on the stilled air. Where Talvish, behind, sucked his breath in abeyance, Asandir just managed to curb his impulse to chuckle out loud. 'You can unbend and smile, your Grace. I'm not here to berate you for hair-raising risks. The debt, in lives spared, is quite beyond price. I'm sorry you were abandoned to your own devices, and more. Your grief is acknowledged. The cost paid by some of your own came too dear.'