[Lyra 03] - Shadow Magic

by Patricia C. Wrede - (ebook by Undead)

  “There was no need,” Isme said, “and by the time you were old enough to tell, it did not seem very important any more.”

  “Not important!” Alethia said. “But, Mother—”

  “Your lives were in Brenn; so was mine. There was no reason to think the knowledge would make any difference, except perhaps to make you curious about your heritage. Under the circumstances, that would not have been particularly… wise.”

  Alethia laughed. “I suppose not. The Shee didn’t seem too anxious to have us in Eveleth even when we had a good reason for being there; I can just imagine how they’d have behaved if we’d come out of curiosity.”

  “I can’t,” Har said. “And I don’t want to. But I have a few more questions.”

  “About the Shee?” Alethia said.

  “No, about Brenn. The last I heard, there were still four or five nobles and First Lord Stethan who hadn’t answered our request for troops, and I want to know whether any of them ever did.”

  The talk turned to affairs in Brenn. Alethia was almost glad of the change in the conversation; she wanted more time to think over some of the things her mother had said.

  She had more time to ponder than she expected; the journey back to Brenn took six days. The trip itself was uneventful, but as they neared the edge of the forest the scouts brought back disturbing news of a great army of Alkyrans camped around Brenn.

  As soon as the news arrived, Bracor sent messengers to Brenn to discover what had occurred. Alethia insisted on riding to the edge of the forest with them, to see Brenn for herself, accompanied by Murn and Har.

  The group returned before the messengers, much excited. “The fields are full of nobles,” Alethia informed her father as she dismounted. “All of the banners of the Nine Families are there, even Thielen’s and Gahlon’s.”

  “The Regent is there, too,” Har said. “You can see his banners right in front of the East Gates.”

  “I could wish they had moved against the Lithmern as promptly,” Bracor said. He turned to one of the guards who had accompanied Alethia. “Go tell Lord Herre, the Lady Murn, Lord Vander and First Lord Gahlon what you have seen, and ask them to come to us.”

  By the time the messengers returned, all of the leaders of the various parts of the mixed army had arrived in response to Bracor’s summons. The first of the messengers bowed to them all, then handed Bracor a sealed note. Bracor opened it and began to read. “What does it say?” Har burst out.

  “I am summoned by the First Lords this evening to answer charges of treason,” Bracor answered without surprise. He handed the paper to Gahlon with a grimace.

  “Treason is a serious matter,” Lord Vander said worriedly.

  : “I don’t think it’s as bad as you fear,” Gahlon said, looking up from the note, “Not all of the other First Lords support this charge; there are only four seals on this letter.”

  “First Lord Thielen can’t support it,” Alethia said. “If he did, he would be guilty too; his men were at Coldwell with us.”

  “Having two First Lords involved will only make the charge more serious,” Bracor said. He shook his head. “I expected this to happen—but not so soon.”

  “Well, what difference does it make?” Har said impatiently. “Alethia is going to be Queen, and you haven’t committed any treason against her.”

  The Shee commander laughed. “I think this will be an interesting meeting! I hope you will not mind if I come with you, Lord Bracor?”

  “We still have to convince the Conclave of First Lords that Alethia should rule Alkyra,” Gahlon pointed out to Har. “I don’t think that will be easy.”

  “Let one of them try on the Crown,” Har suggested nastily. “That should settle things in a hurry.”

  “No!” said Alethia. “How can you joke about such a thing?” She remembered raw power coursing through the ornamental metal and shivered.

  “Are you certain that this is the best time to tell them about the Gifts?” Lord Vander asked a little nervously.

  “I must tell them sometime,” Alethia said. “I would rather get it over with now. And they are conveniently on our doorstep.”

  “I think we should all go to meet with the First Lords tonight,” Murn said. “They will find it more difficult to deny your right to the throne if they realize that the Wyrds, the Shee, and the Neira have already accepted you.”

  Gahlon chuckled softly. “I would not miss this meeting if you offered me the Crown itself. The First Lords are going to be very annoyed.”

  “Will you wear the Crown?” Har asked Alethia.

  “No,” said Alethia, thinking again of that raw power. “Not until I must.”

  “You should take it with you, though,” Gahlon said quickly. “And the Gifts as well. We will need them to convince the lords that you are truly meant to be Queen.”

  Vander frowned. “Is it wise to risk treasures of such value? The Lords could simply seize them all.”

  “No they can not,” Alethia said. “They cannot possibly take the Gifts away from me.” Her voice was quiet, but none doubted her statement.

  They left camp early that evening. Murn, Maurin, Jordet and Larissalama each carried one of the four Gifts muffled under their cloaks; Alethia herself held the Crown. There was an air of great tension about the group. No one spoke.

  They were met halfway to the city by nine guards, each wearing the badge of a different First Lord. The men seemed uneasy about their duty, and cast frequent glances at Murn, Herre, Jordet and Larissalama as they rode toward the large tent where the First Lords and the Regent waited.

  As she entered the tent, Alethia saw a long table. Eight of the nine First Lords were seated along one side of it, with the Regent behind them. The ninth chair, Gahlon’s seat, was empty, and one of the lords motioned Gahlon toward it.

  “Thank you, Stethan, but I cannot take the seat you offer,” Gahlon said, bowing. “If Bracor is guilty of treason, then I am also, and I cannot join you.”

  Alethia noticed Lord Thielen shift uncomfortably in his place midway around the table. She looked back at Gahlon, who smiled slightly as he took one of the seats on the same side of the table as Bracor and the rest of the party. Alethia suppressed an answering smile and seated herself beside her father, scanning the lords for any sign of support or sympathy.

  The Regent cleared his throat officiously. “Lord Bracor, the charges against you are very grave. That is why we have come to you, instead of summoning you to the Conclave, as is the usual custom.”

  “The charges are obviously justified,” a large blond man at the end of the table said. “Why, he has the effrontery to bring his demonic allies with him! What more proof do we need?”

  “Peace, Orlin,” one of the others growled. “I know your views. There has been far too much talk of demons for my taste. You forget that Lord Bracor has the right to answer the charges, and I for one would hear what he has to say!”

  “Yes,” said another. “I understand there are a large number of Lithmern prisoners with the army. If Lord Bracor was correct about the threat of invasion, I do not see that we can condemn his actions.”

  “Just what are the charges, my lords?” Bracor asked, making himself heard above the din.

  “You are charged with high treason, to wit, the making of a compact outside of Alkyra, without the consent of the Conclave of the First Lords or of the Regent of Alkyra, for the purpose of enhancing your own power to the detriment of the country of Alkyra,” the Regent said rapidly. “What will you answer?”

  “Why, it is obvious that I cannot be guilty, my lord,” Bracor said.

  “How can you say so?” one of the First Lords shouted. “Your allies sit right next to you; how can you deny them?”

  “I do not deny that the Wyrds, the Shee and the Neira offered me an alliance, which I accepted,” Bracor said calmly. “But when Kirel founded Alkyra, he was made King by an alliance of all four of the races of Lyra, to rule over all. Therefore I have not made a compact outside of Alkyra,
and the charges are void.”

  Several of the lords smiled in appreciation, but First Lord Stethan frowned. “Inside or outside Alkyra, it is all the same to me. What of the charge of enhancing your own might? Can you deny that you command the army that is camped out there in the forest?”

  “But my father does not command the army,” Alethia said softly, before Bracor could reply. “I do.”

  “I am afraid that Lord Bracor cannot escape through such an obvious legal fiction,” Lord Orlin sneered. “Putting his daughter in command of the army is hardly believable.”

  “I do not command as his daughter, but in my own right,” Alethia said.

  “Oh?” Stethan said in tones of polite disbelief. “And what right have you to command such an army without the consent of the Conclave? Perhaps we should charge you with treason as well.”

  Some of the First Lords laughed. Alethia’s eyes narrowed, and she rose. “This is my right,” she said. She brought her hands from beneath her cloak, revealing the Crown of Alkyra.

  A stunned silence fell within the tent. Alethia nodded once, and Murn, Maurin, Jordet and Larissalama rose and stepped away from the table. With simultaneous movements, they swept the wrapping from the four Gifts they carried. The silence deepened.

  “I see you recognize these,” Alethia said. “They were given to Kirel to help him rule the four peoples. I have found them and brought them back to Alkyra, and I will use them as he did.”

  “It’s a trick,” someone croaked.

  “It is no trick,” Alethia said gently. Slowly, she raised the Crown and placed it upon her own head. It burst into scintillating fire. Alethia’s eyes swept the First Lords. “You know, as all Alkyra knows, what the Crown is and what it means,” she said. “Only I may wear it and live; if I open the flap of this tent and step outside, every man in your armies will kneel to me, so long as I wear it.”

  “Every man in the army? No!” Heads turned as the Regent rose and stepped forward. No one spoke as he walked around the table toward Alethia; the First Lords were too astonished by the uncharacteristic note of decision in the Regent’s voice, and the others waited for some sign from Alethia. Alethia stood frozen, feeling the cold knowledge of failure. The Regent must be certain indeed of the reaction of the First Lords, or he would not risk being publicly overruled.

  “No,” the Regent of Alkyra continued, “not every man in the army but every man in Alkyra shall kneel to you, and I shall be the first of them.” Tears glittered in his brown eyes. Suddenly he turned to the First Lords. “I have been Regent of this land for twenty years, and my father before me, and his father,” he said in a strong, clear voice. “I was sworn to hold the throne and rule the land until the Wearer of the Crown returned.” He turned back to Alethia and abruptly knelt before her. “Alethia Tel’anh, you wear Kirel’s Crown and you bear his coronation gifts. My oath is fulfilled.”

  A murmur of surprise swept the tent, changing swiftly to consternation as the First Lords realized what had happened. No matter how badly diminished the powers of the Regent had become, he still held the right to give up his authority to the rightful ruler of Alkyra. The few who, in the stress of the sudden reappearance of the Crown, had remembered that authority had expected the Regent to abide by their decision; no one had expected him to voluntarily relinquish his position.

  Slowly, First Lord Thielen stood and came to kneel beside the Regent. One by one, the other First Lords followed. A few, notably the Lords Stethan and Orlin, seemed reluctant, but now that the Regent had acknowledged Alethia and relinquished his authority to her, none of them could deny her without himself committing treason.

  Alethia was aware of Har’s broad, half-disbelieving grin, the relief on the faces of the Shee, and Wyrds, and the stunned expressions of the First Lords. Around her the jewelled gifts glittered, filling the tent with pinpoints of prismatic color. Behind her were her inhuman friends—the proud Shee, the earthy Wyrd, the shimmering Neira—who called her Queen. And before her knelt the man who, for all the days of her childhood, she had called her ruler. The realization flooded her: now, indeed, she was truly Queen.

  And the four peoples of Alkyra were united again.

  EPILOGUE

  The coronation was set for the spring. Messengers were sent at once to every part of Alkyra and beyond, to Kith Alunel, to Col Sador, to Ciaron and Rathane, inviting the most important people of Lyra and their emissaries to be present. The ceremony would be held in Friermuth, the city closest to the center of Alkyra, and preparations began almost before the First Lords departed from the fields around Brenn.

  The Queen remained in Brenn. Her most pressing concerns were with the Wyrds and the Shee, and Brenn was much more convenient for both these peoples than Friermuth. A month sped by on wings, and messengers began arriving at Styr Tel conveying variations of polite acceptance of the invitation to the coronation. The Noble House of Brenn began to think seriously about leaving for Friermuth.

  Preparations for the departure were nearly complete when Har came storming into the Queen’s rooms. “Alethia,” he demanded, “what is the matter with Maurin? He insists that he isn’t coming to Friermuth at all. Says he’s going back to Master Goldar’s caravan, if you please.”

  Alethia looked up from a sheaf of papers. “I don’t know,” she said. She looked down at the papers and frowned. Slowly, she pushed them away and turned thoughtfully back to Har. “I don’t know,” she repeated. “I’ve seen little of him since Coldwell Pass…” She gestured at the litter of documents.

  “I know you are busy, Allie, with bigger problems than a moping Trader,” Har said, “but I’m worried about Maurin. He’s been evasive and bad tempered since we returned to Brenn, and he hasn’t come near Styr Tel. I thought if perhaps it was something I’d said or done, he might have told you “I am not privy to Maurin’s confidences,” Alethia snapped. She pulled her papers back in front of her, but her brother ignored this hint that the conversation was over. “Look, Allie; you could talk to him—”

  “I don’t see what good that would do,” Alethia said. “Besides, Maurin has made no attempt to see me, either after the battle or here in Brenn. I hardly think he’d be interested in anything I could say to him.”

  “Oh, is that what has made you cross?” Har sat down on the edge of the table and looked into his sister’s eyes, which were identical to his own. “But you are a Queen now, Allie.”

  “I can hardly forget,” Alethia said dryly.

  “Well, I had problems enough getting Maurin to visit Styr Tel when we were just an ordinary Noble Family, because he was worried about the way it would look. Now that you’re Queen of Alkyra, he’s probably—”

  Alethia’s eyes narrowed suddenly into green diagonal slits. “Har—tell Maurin to go out to the back of the stables, at noon. Don’t tell him why, but make sure he goes.”

  Har looked at his sister as if she’d taken leave of her senses, then shrugged and went to find his friend. Alethia was buried back in her papers before he’d left the room, but her attention was not on them.

  Maurin crossed the courtyard of Styr Tel and walked towards the old stables. He had no idea why Har wanted to meet him there, but Har had been insistent and he suspected that it had to do with his decision to leave Brenn with the caravan. Har had tried to talk him out of it, but his objections would make no difference in the end.

  He turned the corner and stopped short. Har was nowhere in sight, but Alethia was standing with her arm raised, poised to throw the dagger she held at the battered san-seri target hung on the courtyard wall. Her hair was braided and wound in a crown around her head, and it shone in the sunlight. Maurin drew a deep breath and started to back away.

  “Maurin, don’t you dare leave without even talking to me,” Alethia said without turning. Her arm came down and the dagger flew fair and true to the top of the target, completing the diamond pattern she was forming. She walked to the target and retrieved her knives, then turned and walked over to him.

&nbs
p; “I promised you a rematch,” she said, and handed him the rack of green-handled daggers. Not knowing what else to do, Maurin took his place in silence. They tossed a coin for first throw, and Alethia won.

  For the first few throws, neither spoke. Alethia broke the silence. “I understand you are planning to return to the caravans.”

  “High Lady, it is what I am trained for,” Maurin replied, keeping his eyes on the target.

  “Don’t ‘High Lady’ me!” Alethia said. “Why are you going?”

  “It is what I am trained for,” Maurin repeated. His next throw went badly astray.

  “That is nonsense,” Alethia said flatly. She turned to face him. “When Har told me, I thought maybe you really wanted to go back to the Traders, but now I can see that you don’t. Going back makes you miserable, and staying makes you miserable. Why?”

  “Alethia, I can’t stay,” Maurin said, abandoning his pretense of calm. “Don’t ask me why. Please.”

  “I thought so,” Alethia said. “Maurin Atuval, it is your fault that I am in this mess, and if you think you can just walk away because of some misguided idea of what is proper, you are dead wrong.” Alethia glared at him.

  “My fault? My fault! Did I make you Queen of Alkyra?” Maurin asked bitterly.

  “Yes!” Alethia retorted. “If I hadn’t seen that soldier trying to chop you in half I never would have put the Crown on, and they never could have insisted that I have to keep wearing it! How can you be so blind!”

  “The Queen of Alkyra can’t consort with a caravan guard,” Maurin said, goaded beyond caution. “What good does it do me to stay?”

  “You aren’t a caravan guard, you’re a Journeyman Trader, and the Queen of Alkyra can do whatever the Black she pleases!” Alethia said vehemently. She glared at the Trader. “And if she wants her husband to come to her coronation, who’s going to stop her?”