Edelsat’s men struggled to finish him, chopping at him with swords that bounced off thin air.
The wizard ignored them, staring at the blood washing his hands. At last he raised his eyes, snarling at Reisil, his teeth and lips smeared crimson.
“This isn’t over,” he raged, his voice high and pained.
“You will pay dearly. When the sun goes down, the treaty will be finished and you will have lost. You—Mekelsek—your mother’s dead these past four days. And the disease is chewing up your sisters, your father and brother,” he sneered at Edelsat. “By the time you get home, even you won’t recognize them, any more than that pompous puppy on the ground there. But you will get to enjoy the pleasure of watching them die. I’ll make sure of that.
“And you . . .” He pointed at Reisil as Saljane landed on her upraised fist. “I’ll have your poultry for breakfast, and when I’m done with you, you’ll beg to die—but you’ll live. Years and years. And every single moment of it, you will know this pain. I swear this on my master’s soul.”
Then he vanished. No chants, no waving hand. He just disappeared from the ring of swords pointed at his heart.
Reisil swallowed the scream that rose involuntarily in her throat, and with effort loosened her grip on the sword she’d used to kill the wizard. She ran to Kebonsat and dropped to the ground beside him, putting a shaking hand on his forehead, the other over his heart.
Healing came swiftly, pouring into him like a golden tide. Again she felt the Lady inside her, guiding her. The golden ivy on her face blazed, wreathing around and over her until she glowed. All around her a pool of radiating quiet formed.
Several minutes passed; then she sat back and the light subsided. Edelsat’s awestruck gaze flicked from her to Kebonsat, who took several deep breaths and sat up. He looked around at the stunned onlookers, then at his hands and chest, feeling over his face.
“You’re all right,” Reisil told him, sitting back on her heels. She felt as if she’d been flattened. Tears prickled in her eyes and her chest hurt. She wanted to scream, to cry, to run far away. But she smiled, so wide it hurt. Joy sluiced through her and she hardly knew how to hold it in.
The joy evaporated as Kebonsat scrambled to his feet, away from her. He looked at Edelsat, his face an expressionless mask.
“Where’s Buris?” Kebonsat asked.
“Gone. But wounded. He said that sundown marked the time of the treaty. We don’t have much time,” Edelsat said after another sidelong glance at Reisil.
“We’ve got to get a message to my father.”
“Saljane can take something. She’s seen your father in Kallas, and I have paper and pencil in my pack.” Reisil remembered that Upsakes had told her to bring it when they began the journey. She grimaced at the irony.
Kebonsat shook his head, still not looking at her. More than that, Reisil realized, hurt coiling in her chest. He leaned away from her as if he did not want to be too close.
“No time for a note. But . . .” He tore at his sleeve, pulling free a square of gold-and-indigo diamond-marked material. He handed it to Reisil, but did not let his fingers touch hers.
Reisil clenched the material in her fist, trying not to feel as if he’d punched her in the stomach. He’d seen the healing she’d done for Ceriba, seen her mend all the petty cuts and bruises of the last week’s journey. There was nothing different, and yet somehow it was all different. She felt his cold withdrawal like a fortress wall, unbreachable.
“My father will know I send this and will do all he can to keep the Iisand and the Karalis at the table. It might give us enough time.”
Saljane took the material in her beak and Reisil flung her into the air, putting all the force of her tumbling emotions behind the gesture. The goshawk arrowed away into the twilight and Reisil soon lost sight of her.
“Let’s not waste any more time—we need horses. Borison!” Edelsat called. A pug-faced man leaped to attention and soon he and several other soldiers had acquired mounts, some at sword point.
“We’ll catch up, sir, soon as we get more,” Borison said, handing his new mount’s reins to Edelsat.
“What in the Demonlord’s domain is going on here?” demanded a sudden, furious voice behind Reisil, and she spun about, wishing for Saljane.
She found herself staring up at a white stallion, its face covered with a brilliantly polished chanfron matching its breast and haunch plates. Upon him sat a golden-haired man wearing full armor. Over it he wore a surcoat in yellow. Emblazoned on the chest was a many-rayed sun in varied shades of green. At the center of the sun was a three-pointed crown picked out in gold thread. Two arrows, points down, crisscrossed inside the crown. Topping his head was a helm in the shape of an eagle, wings flaring back over his head, the visor shaped like an open beak that, closed, would protect his face. Within the shadow of the visor, his eyes glittered like glass. Behind him ranged a company of soldiers wearing his livery.
“Vadonis. You’re a sight. Been fighting, have you? And in the illustrious company of House Mekelsek. Slumming these days?”
Every word he spoke was a dart of pure venom. He leaned an arm on his pommel and glanced over the ragged group, his eyes flicking over Reisil, pausing sharply on the golden ivy running along her jaw, then darting away, back to Kebonsat.
“Rumor has it that you misplaced your sister. And what’s this?” His spurs jingled as he nudged his horse over to the fallen wizard. “The Guild won’t much care for killing one of their own. Karalis Vasalis either. At present, we’re in great need of wizards.” He smiled, like a spider gloating over a fly struggling in the web. “Perhaps I should take you to him right now. He would be interested to see you, I think. And your father as well, coming home with your tail between your legs. Wherever is your sister?”
Kebonsat lips parted into a matching smile, his body radiating savage loathing. “Indeed, Covail, we would be delighted to have your service. Do escort us. Quickly, if you please,” he ordered, as if to a pageboy. Covail snarled, his horse rearing as he dug his spurred bootheels into the soft white flanks.
Kebonsat ignored him, snatching the reins of a tall sorrel gelding from Epiton, a dour, faired-haired soldier. He mounted, spinning his horse around with a sharp jerk of the reins and setting off at a gallop, leaving Covail to catch up. The gleaming blond nobleman could do nothing else but follow.
Edelsat signaled his men to bring the wagon and reached out an arm to Reisil. She swung up behind him and he sent his horse galloping after.
“What was that about?” Reisil shouted in Edelsat’s ear, clutching his waist as the horse dodged around a pair of brawling men, then leaped over a mound of sleep rolls.
“They’ve never liked each other. Both families are in line for the throne. Blood ties way back when. Covail’s ambitious—took on the title two years ago when his father died and has been maneuvering for power since. House Covail has a hoard of money, but bad manners, and a streak of insanity taints the line. House Vadonis has always been a steadfast supporter of the crown, and enjoys higher favor right now. But it hasn’t always been that way. Covail’d like to see Kebonsat’s family disgraced with a scandal.”
Edelsat twisted and yelled “Hold on!” as they cut between two tents, knocking aside a group of men. A moment later Edelsat swung his sword with a resounding clash, blocking the strike of an infuriated soldier whose camp lay in trampled disarray.
They raced through the sprawling encampment, the sun dripping blood as it sank farther beyond the plains. Edelsat’s redheaded guidon ran doggedly at Kebonsat’s heels, the two standards snapping overhead. Covail followed closely, his own guidon nipping right behind. The rest of the blond noble’s men trailed behind in a ragged line, with Reisil and Edelsat bringing up the rear. Far behind, following in the wake of their rampage, Edelsat’s men brought the wagon, swords drawn, faces remote and harsh as the peaks of the Dume Griste mountains in winter.
A line of oil lamps ringed the Enclave, and just within, wizards circled li
ke a necklace of brillianthued beads, cowls hiding their identities, hands tucked inside their sleeves. Kebonsat ignored them, charging between two wearing pale green robes, only to be thrown backward by an invisible barrier. His gelding gave a shrieking neigh and reared in pain and fright, blood spraying from his nose.
Reisil gasped as he toppled over backward. Kebonsat leaped to the ground, barely pulling his left leg free as the heavy beast crashed to the ground, snapping the saddle tree in two with a loud crack.
“The Summit has begun. No one may enter without leave,” a gravelly voice intoned, an old voice. Reisil had no idea which of the wizards had spoken. Kebonsat’s face turned a mottled red as he settled his hand on his sword and strode up to one of the pale green-robed wizards.
“I am Kebonsat cas Vadonis and I demand entrance. I have urgent news for Karalis Vasalis.”
The figure before him did not move, but Reisil had a sense that the wizard’s gaze raked up and down Kebonsat and then dismissed him.
“Are you deaf, man? I am Kebonsat cas Vadonis, heir to the House Vadonis. I bring vital news for the Karalis Vasalis.”
Still the wizard did not move, nor did he speak, and Kebonsat went white, fingers tightening on his sword. Then Covail let out a smug laugh and Kebonsat’s face flushed pink up to his ears. He turned.
“Something amuses you, Covail?”
“Indeed. It ever amuses me to see House Vadonis groveling in the dirt.”
“Don’t do it,” Edelsat muttered under his breath as Kebonsat stiffened. Reisil sat rooted in place as she watched Kebonsat wrestle with his fury. And win. Or so she thought.
He made a show of studying the ground around him. “Ah, yes. It is unfamiliar territory for me, and I’ve been quite unsuccessful. Perhaps you will dismount and demonstrate? Given your own familiarity with the terrain and habit.”
“That did it,” Edelsat muttered again, shaking his head.
Covail burned an ugly vermilion. “You polting midden of guts and garbage!” he spat through the gaping rictus of his mouth. He leaped from his horse, brandishing his sword, pulling his dagger with the other hand. “Defend yourself, you spawn of a whore!”
A crowd of jostling men soon crowded around, offering bets and shouting encouragement, as an equally irate Kebonsat fended off Covail’s blistering attack and then followed up with one of his own. Into his off hand appeared his lohar, much like that which Koijots had carried. He put it to good use, twisting it around Covail’s dagger and nearly tearing it from his grip.
“They’re both damned good. This won’t end until one of them drops,” Edelsat said in a grim voice, drumming his fingers on his saddle. “I hope it works.”
“Works?”
“Kebonsat is not so green or foolhardy as to get goaded into an attack with all of Patverseme hanging in the balance. He’s giving the wagon time to get here, and hopes to distract the wizards. If I had to wager, I’d say he’s counting on us to do something.” Edelsat didn’t sound hopeful.
Reisil nodded and looked up at the sky. The setting sun burned orange. There was still time. But she was going to need help. The wizard had said that no one could enter without leave. Well, then, they’d better get leave.
~Saljane, where are you? Have you seen the Dure Vadonis? Have Sodur and Juhrnus brought Ceriba?
~I found him. Gave him the cloth. The wizard returned. They remain in the tent. I watch.
Reisil’s stomach clenched and she relayed the information to Edelsat.
“Not good,” he said. “Even if Sodur and Juhrnus got Ceriba there, Karalis Vasalis won’t sign the treaty without the Dure Vadonis. And Kebonsat’s father wouldn’t sit on his hands knowing Ceriba was close by. So that means Kvepi Buris has stopped him. I hope to Ellini our friend has not just become the new Dure Vadonis.”
“What can we do?”
“Nothing out here.”
“What can Saljane do, then?”
Edelsat pursed his lips. “We need in, or they’ve got to come to us. Iisand Samir and Karalis Vasalis will be in that large pavilion over there.”
Reisil looked where he pointed and saw an enormous white tent on a raised platform. Guards stood at attention around its open sides, and inside milled a crowd of people.
“Let’s suppose that Sodur and Juhrnus have got Ceriba to the Iisand. Neither he nor Karalis Vasalis wants this war to go on. They’re going to be looking for reasons to delay. But the Guild and many of the lords of the two courts will be pushing them hard to declare the truce void, and nullify the treaty agreement. They won’t be able to hold off long, not if the wizard night tempted either side into skirmishes. Tensions are very high, and both crowns have reason to hate each other. Luckily, they have put their countries above all that, thus far. So if they want a delay, give them one.”
Reisil nodded at his hasty explanation, her mind racing. There was nothing she could do about Kvepi Buris, nothing to help Kebonsat’s father. No one within the Enclave knew of the wizard’s treachery. He could kill the Dure Vadonis in the privacy of his tent with a wave of his hand and dispose of the body equally effortlessly. There was only one thing she could think of for Saljane to do. If the Iisand and the Karalis wanted a delay, she’d give it to them, and hopefully bring an invitation to enter at the same time.
~Go to the pavilion where they meet, Saljane. I’ll be with you.
“I’ll see what can be done,” Reisil told Edelsat grimly.
“But all my attention will be with Saljane. Try to keep me from falling off the horse.”
With that, Reisil joined to Saljane’s mind as the bird alighted from a cottonwood branch along the Trieste River glowing like a spill of lava in the reflected sunset.
Chapter 17
Air whistled over the edges of Saljane’s wings as she circled low over the pavilion. It was a platform the size of a small hayfield, and had been roofed over with white silk. The lofty space was lit by lamps and thickbodied candles. Through the open sides Reisil could see little more than opulent rugs, a forest of furniture and a milling throng of people richly dressed in satin and velvet. Guards stood at attention every fifteen feet of the perimeter, with more circulating warily through the crowd. She saw no sign of Sodur, Juhrnus and Ceriba.
~Let’s go inside. And be fast, because the Patverseme guards are more likely to shoot than ask questions.
Fierce determination. Exhilaration. The Hunt.
Saljane spun on a wing tip and dropped in a steep, silent glide toward a space between two guards. So intent was Reisil on trying to see within the pavilion that she did not notice that her stomach did not lurch at the sharp change in direction or the ground rushing up at her.
They swooped under the tent. A wave of shouts erupted in their wake. Saljane wove between the roof supports, well above the pointing courtiers. Reisil was under no illusions that any suspected Saljane to be a wild bird. Both Kodu Riikians and Patversemese alike knew instantly that she was ahalad-kaaslane.
Saljane made the most of her speed and agility, searching the vast space of the pavilion from one end to the other. Guards in the royal livery of violet and gold crowded in at the edges, making little headway into the shouting crowd. Reisil saw several bring crossbows to their shoulders. She desperately scanned the huge space.
~There, Saljane. Near where we came in.
They had made a circuit of the pavilion, seeing nothing of the two royal parties. Now Reisil knew why. They had entered nearly on top of the great dais where Iisand Samir and Karalis Vasalis met together in the company of their ladies, Mesilasema Tanis and Karaliene Pavadone.
Reisil had seen pictures of the Iisand and Mesilasema. Merchants sold their likenesses during the Nasadh celebrations after the harvest. But the pictures didn’t capture the regal aura surrounding the two monarchs. They were young yet, nearing their mid-thirties. The Iisand wore midnight blue robes edged in a thick band of gold embroidery, and on his head rested a gold crown with a single point in front. Beneath the crown his face was austere, with flinty
eyes. The Mesilasema wore a gown of matching midnight blue embroidered over in a pattern of leaves and gryphons to match her husband’s crown. A slender filet of gold crowned her golden curls. She appeared demure and girlish in her way, almost frightened.
Karalis Vasalis was some years older than Iisand Samir, and exhibited the dramatic coloring that marked the Patversemese people. He had raven hair and a wide, beaklike nose. His skin was pale like Kebonsat’s, and his eyes were a piercing black beneath sweeping black brows. He wore a closely trimmed beard. His face was made unsettlingly savage by the crescent-shaped tattoo in green and black hooking from his left cheekbone to just above his eye.
Behind him, standing at his shoulder, was Karaliene Pavadone. She was as like to Mesilasema Tanis as a hunting cat to a kitten. She matched her consort in coloring, her hair glowing blue-black in the flames of the lamps. Her black eyes were painted heavily with kohl, her lips a slash of red across her alabaster skin. She had a tough, predatory look about her. Most startling was the tattoo in the same green and black, which began just above her left eyebrow and followed its curve, stopping just at the corner of her eye. As with her husband, it suggested a savage, untamed edge.
Attending the monarchs were several wizards in black robes traced in silver arcane symbols from the deep folds of their cowls to the hems at their feet, a dozen lords from each country, a doddering Patverseme cleric in white, and three grimfaced ahalad-kaaslane, each looking distinctly out of place in their serviceable leathers.
One was a woman with short chestnut hair accompanied by a black corvet. The tree-cat clung to her shoulders, its sinuous tail flicking back and forth. Next to her sat a blocky man with graying hair, his wolf ahaladkaaslane at his knee. The third man was strikingly handsome with kohv-colored hair worn in a long braid down his back and coming to a dramatic point above his forehead. Rich brown eyes gleamed from a tanned, bearded face. On his shoulder perched a redtail hawk. For the briefest moment Reisil wondered if he was the one who would have trained her in Koduteel.
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