Lady of the Trillium

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  “You can help me talk some sense into the Lady,” Uzun snapped. “She has the crazy idea that she can take Mikayla’s place!”

  Fiolon looked at Haramis for several minutes, and then looked sadly at the Oddling. “I’m sorry, Uzun,” he said soberly, “but she’s right. It is possible, and I fear that it would be best for the land.”

  “The land!” Uzun practically screamed. “Is that all you Archimages care about?”

  “The land and its folk,” Fiolon said gently. “I’m sorry, Uzun; I know you don’t want to lose her. Neither do I. But I don’t want to lose Mikayla, either.”

  “Of course I don’t want to lose Mikayla!” Uzun protested. “But it’s my fault she’s in this mess—I should be the one to be sacrificed in her place. Haramis can barely walk, and she certainly can’t cast a glamour that will make them think she’s Mikayla. Besides, Mikayla is descended from the royal family of Labornok; Haramis isn’t.”

  “The two lands have been joined since Princess Anigel married Prince Antar,” Fiolon reminded him. “You should remember that; you wrote half the ballads about it.”

  “Are you saying that I’m Archimage of Labornok, as well as of Ruwenda?” Haramis asked curiously.

  Fiolon stared at her. “Aren’t you?”

  Haramis shrugged. “I never thought of it.”

  Fiolon frowned in concentration and began to pace the room. “That might explain why the cult of Meret still flourishes in Labornok,” he said. “If you don’t have the land sense for Labornok, maybe someone else does—or nobody does.” He turned to look at her. “Lady, have you ever been in Labornok?”

  “No.” Haramis shook her head. “This Tower is as close as I’ve ever been to the border, and we’re well on the Ruwendan side here. Movis is about halfway down Mount Rotolo, and even the ice cave where I found my Talisman was on this side of Mount Gidris. So, no, I’ve never set foot in Labornok, or even flown over it.”

  “That may be the problem then,” Fiolon said. “But it’s not our most urgent problem right now. Did Uzun tell you about the sacrifice?”

  “Just that it’s to take place the day after tomorrow at dawn.”

  Fiolon nodded. “I’ve been watching in the mirror. It’s a very useful device; I’ve been able to map out the entire Temple by using it.” He grinned briefly. “And I’m probably the only man alive, except for their priest—the one they call the Husband of the Goddess Meret—to have seen the rooms they keep the Temple virgins in. Since the mirror will show me any part of the Temple on request, I can use it to keep track of Mikayla when I’m here, instead of having to scry her personally or bespeak her lammergeier.”

  He sighed. “But now the news is not good. She’s to fast all day tomorrow and keep vigil alone in the outer cavern tomorrow night. I suspect that the purpose of that is to make her too weak to put up much of a struggle when she discovers what’s going on, but while she’s alone Red-Eye and I can go in, grab her, and get out without being seen.”

  “Red-Eye?” Haramis asked.

  “It’s a lammergeier,” Fiolon explained.

  “Lammergeiers are diurnal,” Haramis pointed out. “They sleep at night, and they can’t see very well in the dark.”

  “Red-Eye is an exception,” Fiolon said. “It’s an albino—totally white, with no pigment in his eyes.”

  “Albinos have pink eyes,” Haramis pointed out.

  “So does Red-Eye,” Fiolon said; “it just refuses to admit it. It says that ‘Pink-Eye’ is a ridiculous name. And it has been a good friend to Mikayla, so I’m willing to humor it in this. It has excellent night vision and it’s nearly invisible against snow.”

  “So you go in on this Red-Eye,” Haramis said, “grab Mikayla, which should be easy enough for you—”

  “No,” Fiolon said. “It won’t be easy. She’s not going to come willingly. She says that she gave her word that she’d do this ritual, and she keeps her word.”

  “What about her promise to be Archimage?” Haramis demanded crossly.

  Fiolon gave an odd crooked smile. “When did she ever promise that?”

  “When she came here, of course,” Haramis said, and then thought about it. “I guess she never did actually promise to be Archimage.”

  “You didn’t ask for her promise,” Fiolon pointed out. “I was there, remember. You told her she was to be Archimage after you, and when she asked if she was to be given a choice, you said no. You said that the matter was too important to be left to the whims of a child.”

  Haramis sighed. “You’re right, that is what I said. I should have spent less time talking and more time listening—I daresay Uzun knows her better than I do. Well, no matter now. Can Red-Eye carry me as well as you?”

  “Yes,” Fiolon said. “But you don’t absolutely have to take her place. I can just pull her out.”

  “And have Labornok attack Ruwenda for the second time in as many hundreds,” Haramis said, “with magic, yet—and no one in Ruwenda properly trained to repel it.”

  “I guess you have a point there,” Fiolon said unhappily. “The priests of Meret are pretty ruthless, more than Mikayla realizes. I’ve seen them more than she has—and under different circumstances. They keep the Daughters of the Goddess very sheltered, so she doesn’t see much when she’s there, and I don’t believe that she’s ever watched them in the mirror since the first day she found them.

  “They know that Mikayla belongs here at the Tower,” he continued. “They know she’s supposed to be Archimage, so this is the first place they’d look for her. And she’d be no help fighting them off; in fact, I’d have to lock her up to keep her from summoning a lammergeier and going back to them.”

  “But she can’t go back to them if they’re not there,” Haramis said.

  “What do you mean?” Fiolon asked.

  “Mikayla doesn’t know she’s to be killed; is that right?” Haramis said.

  “Red-Eye tried to tell her, and I’ve tried to tell her,” Fiolon said unhappily, “but she won’t believe us. She says that she was chosen as the Youngest Daughter of the Goddess two years ago and survived just fine, thank you, and besides she owes them three more years of service after this one, so why should they kill her now? She doesn’t understand that for the Jubilee Festival, it’s different. They’ll cut her heart out of her living body, to give the Goddess a fresh heart and another two hundreds of life.”

  “Is that what they do, then,” Haramis asked, “put her on the altar and cut out her heart?”

  “With their ritual black obsidian knife. And then they give her body to the river, which is the Goddess’s blood,” Fiolon said. “I observed a session where the priests were planning the ritual, choosing who was to officiate, and so forth. I got a lot of details from listening to that, and then I had the mirror show me the chamber where they do the sacrifice. The sacrificial altar is right over the point where the river comes out of the rock, on the west side of the Temple.”

  “You’ve seen it then,” Haramis said. “What is the altar made of?”

  “Living rock,” Fiolon said. “That whole chapel is carved out of—oh, I see. Yes, it’s definitely part of the land. It’s not something artificial brought in. If you can use the land on the Labornoki side of the mountains, you can use the chapel, altar and all.”

  “Use?” Uzun asked.

  “An Archimage draws power from contact with her land,” Fiolon explained.

  He really does understand this, Haramis realized. Uzun must be correct, but it still doesn’t feel right to have a male Archimage.

  “Actually,” Fiolon continued, “an Archimage can use any land somewhat; I found when I was working with Mikayla that I could tap into Ruwenda just a little bit.” He looked sideways at Haramis. “I would have asked your permission, Lady, but you were so sick then.…” His voice trailed off.

  “The important thing is that the land be well,” Haramis said. “Who heals it is not a major consideration.” And I should have realized that years ago, she thought. “To
get back to our current plan,” she continued. “Tomorrow night, Fiolon, you and I will fly to where Mikayla is keeping vigil. Since we do not wish to spend the entire night in argument, I would suggest that we take along some means of rendering her swiftly and silently unconscious.”

  Fiolon nodded. “There’s a liquid in a bottle in the cellar that will do that,” he said. “It’s one of the things Orogastus collected. But I have a great advantage over him,” he said, smiling impishly and suddenly looking close to his actual age. “I can read the directions.”

  “You can?” Haramis was startled. “How did you learn the language of the Vanished Ones?”

  “The mirror,” Fiolon said. “Orogastus’s ‘magic mirror’ is, among other things, a teaching device.”

  “I knew it was a machine,” Haramis said, remembering. “I realized that the first time I saw it. There Orogastus stood, invoking all sorts of nonexistent Dark Powers, and there was this old machine, barely in working order.”

  Fiolon laughed. “Too bad Orogastus didn’t realize that. He built this Tower right on top of the machine’s power supply.” He noticed Haramis’s blank look and explained. “It’s powered by sunlight, and there was a solar cell built on top of it to collect the sunlight and store it in batteries.” Haramis wondered what “solar cell” and “batteries” were, but didn’t interrupt to ask. Judging from the context, they must be some sort of energy collection and storage devices. Fiolon continued. “Orogastus didn’t know what that black flat surface was for, but it was there, and clear, so he put his Tower on it. And then he let snow cover what the building didn’t, so the machine couldn’t recharge the batteries effectively. This meant that he couldn’t use it much. Mikayla found it when you were ill at the Citadel, and she figured out what and where a solar cell was, which was pretty intelligent of her—though she’s always been good with mechanical things—and so we cleared the plaza, which exposed the solar cell, and then the mirror started working just fine. We used it to see how you were doing, and to learn the language of the Vanished Ones. That’s how Mikayla found the Temple of Meret in the first place.”

  “The mirror would have shown her where it was,” Haramis remembered. “It showed my sisters’ locations when Orogastus showed it to me.”

  “Yes,” Fiolon said. “She had it display human workers of magic until she found someone who could make Uzun a body. Then she left me here to keep Uzun company while she went there to learn the technique.”

  “I should never have let her go!” Uzun burst out.

  “You couldn’t have stopped her,” Fiolon reminded him gently. “I don’t think I could have at that point, either. She was so angry at life that she needed a battle she could fight. Finding you a proper body was her battle—her way of striking back at the fate that had stuck her here.”

  “So you can render her unconscious,” Haramis said, dragging the discussion back on track. “I can then change clothes with her, and you can bring her back here. Keeping her here long enough for the sacrifice to take place is your problem. As for me, the fact that Mikayla supposedly has been fasting and has spent all night sitting in the cold should account for any weakness or difficulty in walking on my part. But, Fiolon, as Uzun reminds me, I can’t even manage a simple glamour anymore. Can you cast one on me before you leave me?”

  Fiolon nodded. “I can cast a glamour that will make you look like her as long as you are alive and your body is intact. But when they take out your heart, it’s likely to collapse.”

  “Good.” Haramis smiled grimly. “I hope I’m still able to see their faces at that point. Try to tamper with my chosen successor, will they? I think not.”

  “I’ll put a pain-block spell on you, too,” Fiolon said. “I should be able to link it with the land there, so it should hold unless you’re floating in midair or something equally unlikely.”

  “That should take care of things, then,” Haramis said. “I’ll rest until it’s time to go—around midnight tomorrow, I should think. I’ll have Enya bring me some soup and bread about two hours before that; there’s no reason for me to fast. That should ensure that I have the strength to do what I must.”

  “But, Haramis …” Uzun protested.

  “I’m sorry, Uzun,” Haramis said firmly, “but I have to do this. Fiolon, you and Mikayla will take care of Uzun when I’m gone, won’t you?”

  “Yes, Lady, of course we will”—Fiolon forced a smile—“when he’s not taking care of us.”

  “Good.” Haramis sank back against her pillows, suddenly feeling very tired indeed. “I’d like to rest now.”

  “Certainly, Lady.” Fiolon bowed and left the room, pulling Uzun with him.

  Haramis heard the Oddling’s voice as he was dragged down the hall. “Does she think I want to live with her gone?”

  My poor old friend, Haramis thought sleepily, what have I done to you? What have I done to all of us?

  28

  Haramis spent the next day resting and eating. Shortly before she and Fiolon were due to leave, Enya came to her room with a long white robe, high-necked and long-sleeved. “Lord Fiolon told me to bring this to you, Lady,” she said. “He says Mikayla left it in her room last time she was home.”

  Haramis didn’t recognize the garment. She guessed that it must be one Mikayla had worn home from the Temple of Meret. With any luck it would be identical to what she would be wearing now, and changing clothes with her might not have to involve stripping to bare skin on a cold mountainside. “Thank you, Enya,” she said. “Help me to put it on, please.”

  As Enya complied Haramis surveyed the little Nyssomu woman. It hardly seemed fair, after all her years of faithful service, to leave her without so much as a word. “Enya,” she said, “I’m going out tonight.”

  Enya sniffed. “Tell me something I don’t know. Master Uzun’s been moping about all day, talking about how you’re going to Certain Death.”

  Haramis smiled faintly. “Melodramatic, as always, but, I’m afraid, substantially correct. It is very probable that I won’t be coming back alive.”

  “Oh, Lady,” Enya gasped. “And here I was thinking he was exaggerating, as he usually does.”

  “Fiolon is going with me, and he should be bringing Mikayla back with him,” Haramis said. “When I die, one—or possibly both—of them should become Archimage of Ruwenda.” She paused. “I think. Do you know, Enya, I suddenly find I’m not so certain of any of the things I used to be sure of.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Lady,” Enya said briskly. “The land will take care of things. It always does, if you let it.”

  “Yes,” Haramis said. “I’ve finally decided to stop fighting it. I’ve made rather a mess of things, but I think it’s not too late to set them right. At least I hope it’s not.” She took a deep breath. “I want to thank you, Enya, for your service to me. You have been a faithful servant and a good friend.” She hesitated. “I don’t know if you will wish to stay here with Mikayla or not. But whatever you choose, you have my blessing.” She laid her hand on Enya’s head and felt warmth briefly pulse through her fingers. I guess I haven’t lost quite all my powers, she thought. I’m glad of that.

  She added boots, mittens, and a warm cloak to her outfit and went to find Uzun. He was moping in front of the fire in the study, where he had spent so many years as a harp. “Old friend,” she began, and then her voice choked up on her. “Oh, Uzun,” she said, tears streaming uncontrollably down her cheeks, “I’m going to miss you. And I most humbly ask your pardon for everything I ever did to hurt you.”

  “You never hurt me, Princess,” Uzun replied quickly. Haramis knew he lied, for she could recall numerous instances of her thoughtless or selfish behavior harming both Uzun and others around her. But Uzun would probably rather die than admit she wasn’t perfect. “And don’t worry about me.” The wooden Oddling sniffed. He was actually crying, Haramis noticed. What an incredible piece of craft this body was. “I’ll stay here long enough to compose a ballad about your bravery and sacrifice,
and then I’ll be along after you. Mikayla promised long ago to set me free when you were gone.”

  Haramis hugged him. “Do whatever you think best,” she said. “Fare well, oldest and dearest of my friends.”

  “Fare well, Princess.” Uzun turned back to the fire and buried his face in his hands.

  Haramis went slowly up the stairs to the balcony where the lammergeiers landed. Fiolon was already there, holding one of the special sleep sacks that Haramis used to send Nyssomu messengers to the lowlands. “I thought it might be best to put Mikayla in this for the trip home,” he explained.

  “Good idea,” Haramis agreed.

  “Yessss,” a voice came out of the darkness above them. Haramis looked up in surprise. Fiolon was right, she realized. Against a white background, such as either snow or her Tower, the great bird was invisible, except for its eyes.

  “You’re Red-Eye,” she said. The bird dipped its head briefly in acknowledgment. “Thank you for your help in this matter,” Haramis said.

  She couldn’t hear the bird’s reply herself, but Fiolon repeated it for her. “I’m glad to help,” the bird had said. “Mikayla is a friend.” It hopped down to the balcony floor and extended a wing. The gesture was as clear as the words “Let’s go” could possibly have been.

  Fiolon helped Haramis climb onto the bird’s back, then scrambled up behind her. The lammergeier beat his wings and lifted smoothly into the night sky.

  It seemed no time at all to Haramis before they were dropping toward the ground again. Then the great bird banked to the left and flew into an enormous cave. The pillars at the entrance, which Haramis thought at first were giant icicles, were more than far apart enough for Red-Eye to fly between. Just inside them Haramis saw a small figure seated cross-legged on a fur rug. Mikayla looked up at them. “Red-Eye, what are you doing here? I’m supposed to be keeping vigil alone!”