“Not as well as he was before, Lady Shaeldra.”
I asked more questions, but the answers were the same. It couldn’t have been something Paetyk did, I didn’t think. Not the way he felt and acted.
After Father’s memorial and the dedication to order, Heldry became duke. Well … he was already duke, but there was a quiet ceremony. Heldry said he didn’t want a big celebration after such a sad happening. He was duke, and that was the way it was.
I didn’t hear anything about Chelynn, either. But when I asked Atalar—he was still the seneschal—he just said that the Duke had deferred any decision while he was still in mourning.
That wasn’t good.
There wasn’t much I could do, and I thought I’d better not say too much. I found out that I’d said too much at breakfast the next morning.
“I hear you asked Atalar about Lady Chelynn yesterday,” Heldry said.
There wasn’t any point in denying it. “I wanted to know.”
“Shaeldra,” he began with a tone almost like Father’s except he sounded more exasperated, “sometimes, at your age, it’s better not to know.”
“It is not. I should know.”
“Then I’ll tell you. Someday, in a few years, you’ll be in her position. Maybe then, you’ll have some sympathy for her. She didn’t ask to be consorted to someone she scarcely knows … whether it’s me or Khoran of Vergren.”
“You’re going to do that to me?”
“You have to be consorted to someone.…”
I was so mad at him I almost forgot how sad I still was about Father. I didn’t even finish my egg toast. I just walked off and ran into the gardens below the veranda. There were places there that no one could find me. But he didn’t even try. That made me madder. So I avoided him as much as I could for almost an eightday, and I’d only say what I had to when we were together.
I still wanted to know what was happening, though. So I kept watching to see who Heldry met with. I couldn’t believe that he met with the mining factors, and I didn’t like the way they looked when they left Father’s study, except it was Heldry’s, even if I thought of it as Father’s. And I didn’t like the way Heldry looked after he met with them, either.
Then, near the end of harvest, I saw Klyanna make her way to the library, not to the study. That meant Heldry wasn’t supposed to see her, or that he didn’t want Atalar and some of the others in the palace to know he was meeting with her. Before he showed up, I sneaked in through the back entrance and hid under Father’s desk. Klyanna stood back from the window seat and the open window and kept looking toward the main entrance. She didn’t even see me.
Heldry arrived before long, and he closed the door and looked around.
“I shouldn’t be here…,” murmured Klyanna.
“There’s no one else … no one else.”
I couldn’t see what they were doing, but the library was very quiet.
“… have to do something…,” Heldry said. “… can tell when a great storm might form…”
“… can usually tell…”
“Good!”
What was good I didn’t hear because Heldry lowered his voice even more.
He was still whispering when Klyanna protested, “You can’t do that.”
“What would you have me do? Become an obedient ox for the factors?”
“But that…?”
“I can do it … if you’ll help. You saw what they did to Father. Would you have that happen again?”
Father? He knew that the factors had been why Father had died? And he hadn’t told me? I was so upset that, for several moments, I wasn’t paying attention. By then, Heldry had guided the healer away from the desk. I peeked out a little, enough to see that they were next to the open window overlooking the bay. I kept watching. I hoped they wouldn’t look my way, but Heldry gestured toward the veranda balcony that overlooked the harbor and the Great North Bay.
Klyanna shook her head several times. Finally, she nodded, but it wasn’t a happy nod. When she started to turn, I had to jerk my head back out of sight. I could hear her boots leaving the library. Then, in a bit, Heldry went out. The servants would know, but no one had actually seen them together, and Heldry was the duke. I waited for a time and left by the other door, the one used by the servants. You can do that when everyone thinks you’re just a girl.
I kept worrying about what Heldry had said, but I didn’t want to bring it up too soon. So I waited. It seemed like forever.
“You never told me how Father died,” I finally said to Heldry at breakfast two days later. I’d made myself wait that long before bringing it up.
“The healers said that his heart stopped.”
“Klyanna?” I knew what Paetyk had said, but I wanted to know what she had said.
“No. Paetyk.”
“How would he know? He’s old.”
“He was also Father’s healer since before Father became duke. No one knew Father’s health better.” Heldry paused. “Father’s heart hasn’t been as strong as it should have been ever since he had that nasty bout with the flux three years ago. You should remember how sick he was, and how Paetyk worried that he might die then.”
I remembered how ill Father had been … but no one had said he might die. Paetyk hadn’t even told me that when I’d asked.
“You were only ten, Shaeldra. No one wanted to worry you.”
But that was all Heldry would really say, and I knew there was more, but no matter what I said, I didn’t learn more. Heldry could be so stubborn. I never did find out what else he’d said to Klyanna, either. I couldn’t ask any more than I had without revealing that I’d heard his conversation with Klyanna, and I didn’t want to do that. He just might have confined me to my chambers. Then I wouldn’t have been able to find out anything more at all.
But Father hadn’t died of a weak heart. Or not just of that, and Heldry thought the factors had something to do with it. Poison? A chaos mage? I couldn’t believe Father had been smothered, not in the palace, but the factors had done something, and Heldry was worried. He was the duke, and that worried me.
Another eightday passed, and suddenly there were workmen removing the stone balustrade at the end of the stone veranda off the audience chamber. Atalar would only tell me that the workmen and artisans were following the plans and instructions Heldry had approved before he left on his trip to Hydolar to return the visit made by Chelynn.
That made me furious. He’d told me he was going hunting. He knew I didn’t like that cow-eyed vixen, and he went anyway! And he lied about it. Except he didn’t. Not totally. He made sure I’d find out … after he’d gone and before he returned. That meant he hoped I’d get over being mad.
When he came back in the middle of harvest, more than an eightday later, I was still mad. But I was polite, and the next morning at breakfast, because that was the only meal we shared, mostly alone, except for the serving girls, I asked him, “Why are you having the veranda balcony extended? Does it really need those ugly columns in a semicircle over the lower garden? What was the lower garden, I mean? And why are the centers made of copper?”
“You were the one who told me the lower garden was ugly and useless.”
“That was because Mother made me weed it.”
“That was because you threw a temper tantrum, and she wanted you to understand that you weren’t any better than the gardeners, only more fortunate. Anyway, once the rebuilding is done, I could have them create another set of gardens on each side of the extension to the palace.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Don’t think too long.” He gave me that condescending big brother smile I hated.
That made me even madder. Besides, he didn’t answer all my questions.
Then he announced that he was having an afternoon reception for the factors who held the mining leaseholds in Hrisbarg and that he was including several others. He told me that I could watch, but not be present. That made sense, but I was still irritated over the
destruction of the lower gardens. Maybe that was because Heldry hadn’t done anything about replacing them.
When the fourth glass of sixday afternoon arrived, I’d placed myself as close as I could. That was the hidden gallery halfway back in the audience chamber.
The first factor to arrive was Deault. He was younger, younger even than Alurn, I thought, and he was one of the factors who didn’t even have a leasehold, and who I didn’t think had anything to do with Father’s death. After that came Zharyn, and he was the oldest factor I’d ever seen, with snow-white hair. He smiled at Heldry, and it was a real smile. I had to wonder why Heldry had invited him.
The minerals factors all arrived at the same time—Nebliat, Yoraln, Mocoza, Alurn, and Pultrun. They all were most polite, and Heldry was effusive to them all. Father trained us to be pleasant and polite when we needed to be, regardless of those we were with. I still didn’t see how Heldry could do it.
Once they were all there, a dark-haired, gray-robed server I did not recognize filled the crystal goblet of each factor. She also filled Heldry’s goblet. I could tell Heldry was serving them the best wine—the purple ice wine came from the hills near the border with Sligo.
“To all of you,” said Heldry, lifting his goblet.
“And to you, Your Mightiness,” replied Pultrun.
The others murmured the same, and everyone waited just slightly, until Heldry took a swallow. It was a swallow, not a sip. Then they all drank.
“I’ve never tasted a vintage so fine,” announced Yoraln after lowering his crystal goblet.
“It’s usually reserved for family,” said Heldry. “I thought you might enjoy it.”
“Is this occasion that special?” asked Nebliat.
“I would think so,” said Heldry. “Are we not celebrating the continuation of your leaseholds? Is that not special, after all the work you all have put into them … over the years?” He took another sip of the wine.
“We have put much work into them. That is true, Your Mightiness,” agreed Nebliat. “But your wisdom in allowing us to continue as in the past contributes to your rents and our prosperity.”
“Ah … wisdom, but is not power more important than wisdom?” asked Heldry. “The wisest man in the world can do nothing without power.”
“But you have power,” said Mocoza. “You have one of the richest and most prosperous duchies in all of Candar.”
The audience hall seemed to dim, but that wasn’t because someone had snuffed the lamps. It was because the sky over the Great North Bay was darkening, most likely because of another harvest storm. Those were the kind that came in with lots of lightning, and not that much rain, except when they reached the very south end of the bay. That was where the best lands for crops were. Father had told me that more than once.
“With the factors behind you,” added Pultrun, “nothing can challenge your power and your rule.”
“Nothing,” murmured Alurn.
Outside, gusts of wind whipped across the expanded veranda.
“Come…,” ordered Heldry abruptly. “Let us go out upon the veranda and observe the storm.”
The five mining factors glanced from one to the other. “Your Mightiness … it is raining.”
“Of course it is, but it’s only sprinkling, and you were telling me I had nothing to fear because nothing challenged my power and my rule. If nothing challenges my power, and I wish you safe, what harm can there be in watching a storm from the veranda?”
All the factors exchanged glances, but they followed him out through the wide doors onto the veranda. The gray-clad server followed, but only so far as the open doors. She remained just inside the audience hall. I could barely see, but there was nothing I could do except peer in their direction. The greenish shade of the dimming light told me that the clouds continued to gather, turning as they did so often from a dark gray into an evil green that was so dark it was almost black.
Heldry stood in the middle of the newly built addition to the veranda, close to right over the center column. He gestured. “See the dark beauty of the storm! See the lightning!”
I thought he was cackling the way his voice rose and fell. It was hard to hear over the wind. People who haven’t been in one of those storms don’t understand how fast they come and go.
“Come! Join me! You have nothing to fear! Am I not powerful enough to stand up to any storm?”
“The Duke has gone mad! He’s mad!” screamed Nebliat. Somehow, he couldn’t move his boots.
“He’s mad!” echoed Alurn.
“Look!” cried Heldry in a delighted tone. “See how beautiful the lightning is! Oh … do it again!” He raised a hand to the swirling clouds above and beckoned.
Mocoza tried to lift his once shiny boots from the stone where he stood. Somehow, he couldn’t, either, and neither could Alurn, Pultrun, and Yoraln. The other two factors eased back toward the audience hall.
Then a lightning bolt struck, and it forked into Nebliat and Yoraln. Before I could say anything, another one struck, and Alurn, Pultrun, and Mocoza flared into charred husks.
After the second lightning bolt struck, one of the two remaining factors yelled, “Someone do something! Anything!” It was Deault—
Klyanna stepped forward. I had no idea where she had been hiding, except she wore gray, and there was a dark wig on the stone tiles inside the audience hall. I hadn’t even noticed. But there, even as far away as I was, even in the dark grayish-green light of the storm, I could see that her face was drawn … and in pain.
Before I could see much more, a grayish fog rose around them …
When it cleared, I could see that she and Heldry had collapsed on the stones. I had to squeeze back through the narrow passage and then run back down the service hall and out through the audience hall to reach them.
Both Deault and Zharyn had moved toward Heldry and Klyanna, but I ran past them and went to my knees, fearing what I would find. But both were breathing. The lightning had not touched them, and there was the faintest smile on Heldry’s face.
* * *
Once Heldry recovered—and Atalar announced that the Duke had fully recovered after several days—he immediately canceled the minerals leaseholds in Hrisbarg and had the deep shafts sealed. He declared that the storms had showed that order had been violated. Ten years after Heldry went mad and was rescued by the woman who became his duchess, he finally allowed other metal factors to dig new shafts in the same areas as the old ones … but not so deep, and he never allowed the deep shafts to be reopened or reworked.
No one ever spoke of the day he’d gone mad, not around him, or anywhere I knew, but somehow everyone in Lydiar knew that when he was defied or provoked unduly, Heldry might go mad and do terrible things.
He never did again, of course, but only Klyanna, Heldry, and I knew why, and Heldry and Klyanna didn’t know that I knew. Or, if they did, they never spoke of it, and that was fine with me.
Here is a story about a historical figure … before he became a legend to be feared … and respected.
THE FOREST GIRL
Under the Rational Stars, far, far away,
There lie the lands of Cyad, cold without fey
Under the Rational Stars, well within day,
There wait in chill light words no druid should say.
I
“Alyiakal … have you finished your studies?” The majer looks into the small library after supper on a spring evening.
“Yes, ser.” The youth straightens in the chair behind the writing desk.
“What have you learned?”
“That chaos must be directed by the least amount of order possible. The greater the order, the more likely it is to weaken the force of chaos.”
“What does that mean?”
“Mean, ser?”
“If you’re going to aspire to the Magi’i, boy, you can’t just parrot the words.”
“So what do the words mean, ser?” Alyiakal is careful to keep his tone polite. He doesn’t want anothe
r beating.
“You tell me.” The majer’s voice is hard. “Magus Triamon says that you can sense order and chaos. Your mother would have been disappointed by such sophistry.”
Alyiakal holds the wince within himself at the reference to his mother. “Chaos has no order. It will go where it will. Order is necessary to direct chaos, but order reduces chaos. The skill is to direct chaos without reducing the power of chaos.”
“Alyiakal … you understand. From now on, every stupid question will merit a blow with a switch or lash.”
“Yes, ser.”
“Your supper should have settled. It’s time for your blade exercises and lessons.”
“Yes, ser.” While Alyiakal is almost as tall as his father, he is barely fifteen, and slender, lacking the physical strength of his father. Until the last season, he had dreaded the blade lessons. Although they practiced with wooden wands, he had always ended up with painful bruises. Now, as he walks to the rear terrace of the quarters, he is merely resigned to what may be. He understands all too well that if he fails to satisfy the Magi’i he will follow his father into the Mirror Lancers.
The practice wands—wooden replicas of Mirror Lancer sabres—hang on the rack by the door. As Alyiakal eases his wand from the rack, he considers his lesson. Order must direct chaos, but it also must direct a blade, for an undirected blade cannot be effective. Can he use his slight skills at sensing order to determine where his father’s blade must go? He takes a deep breath. It is worth the effort. He cannot be more badly bruised than he has been in the past. He makes his way to the terrace and waits.
He does not wait long, for the majer appears in a moment, his own wand in hand. “Ready?”
“Yes, ser.”
Instead of concentrating on his father’s eyes, he tries to sense where his father’s wand will go before it does. For the first few moments, he is scrambling, dancing back, allowing touches—but not hard strikes. Then … slowly, he begins to feel the patterns and to anticipate them.
He slides his father’s wand, and then comes over the top to pin it down, but he cannot hold the wand against Kyal’s greater strength, and he has to jump back.
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