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The Shining Court
By
Michelle West
(The Sun Sword Book Three)
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Contents
Dedication:
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Annagarian Ranks
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
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Copyright © 1999 by Michelle Sagara. All Rights Reserved.
Cover art by Jody Lee.
For color prints of Jody Lee's paintings, please contact: The Cerridwen Enterprise
P.O.Box 10161 Kansas City, MO 64111 Phone: 1-800-825-1281
DAW Book Collectors No. 1127,
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
If you purchase this book without a cover you should be aware that this book may have been stolen property and reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher. In such case neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this "stripped book."
First Printing, August, 1999 5 6 7 8 9
DAW TRADEMARK REGISTERED
U.S. PAT. OFF. AND FOREIGN COUNTRIES
— MARCA REGISTRADA
HECHO EN U.S.A.
PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.
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Dedication:
This is for Daniel and Ross and their father,
the three men I'm looking forward to sharing the rest of my life with.
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Almost too many to go into, and the karmic burden will haunt me for lifetimes, I'm certain.
My mother and my father, my husband and my oldest son, were all particularly forgiving in the last eight weeks of the book's harried life when I didn't join them for lunch or dinner and turned the entire household schedule upside down.
My son's godfather, John Chew—also one of my closest friends—who picked my son up every day after school while I worked on this book, thereby earning me the envy of almost every mother in the neighborhood, and with just cause. He also ran interference by telling the rest of our friends that, in fact, I was completely psychotic with stress and should not be disturbed if one valued life, which I suppose was one way of putting it… but I hope not an entirely accurate one…
And last, thanks to the usual suspects at DAW: Sheila Gilbert and Debra Euler who are busy trying to keep a business based on art and artistic temperament running smoothly, with the usual frenetic results one would expect.
I have no idea who the guys in the production department are, but if I ever see them, I imagine I owe them a whole lot more than just a round of drinks.
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Annagarian Ranks
Tyr'agar Ruler of the Dominion
Tyr'agnate Ruler of one of the five Terreans of the Dominion
Tyr The Tyr'agar or one of the four Tyr'agnate
Tyran Personal bodyguard (oathguard) of a Tyr
Tor'agar A noble in service to a Tyr
Tor'agnate A noble in service to a Tor'agar; least of noble ranks
Tor A Tor'agar or Tor'agnate
Toran Personal bodyguard (oathguard) of a Tor
Ser A clansman
Serra The primary wife and legitimate daughters of a clansman
kai The holder or first in line to the clan title
par The brother of the first in line; the direct son of the title holder
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Dramatis Personae - The Voyani
In the Voyani clans, the men will often use their name and their clan's name as identifiers (i.e. Nicu would be Nicu of the Arkosan Voyani or Nicu Arkosa.)
ARKOSA
Evallen of the Arkosa Voyani—The woman who ruled the Voyani clan. She is/was seerborn. Dark-haired, dark-eyed; dies at Diora's hand, a mercy killing.
Margret of the Arkosa Voyani—The new, untested Matriarch of the Arkosan Voyani. Dark haired and dark eyed like her mother; she is not seerborn.
Adam—Evallen's boy, the light of her life, and much indulged.Charming, easily charmed, he is also very perceptive, very sharp of wit; he keeps it to himself, for the most part.
Nicu—Bearded, broad-shouldered; cousin in his early twenties. Son of Evallen's cousin. Looks older. Carmello—darker in coloring than Nicu, dark-haired, dark-eyed, one year his senior. They're friends, sword-mates.
Andreas—Shorter than either Nicu or Carmello, but dark as the Voyani are dark; stocky and barrel-chested; one of Carmello's and Nicu's supporters. Donatella—Nicu's mother. Evallen's cousin once removed; Margret (and Elena's) second cousin.
Stavos—Margret's uncle, much loved and crusty; gray beard, broad belly, laughs like a bear.
Caitla—Stavos' wife. Wide as well, but hardened by the sun and wind. Hair gray and long, eyes cutting and dark.
Elena—Margret's cousin; the heir to the Matriarchy should Margret perish without a daughter. They are both close and rivals, Margret and Elena, and it is Elena that Nicu loves. Elena is a firebrand in most senses of the word; her hair is auburn-red, her skin sun-bronzed, her eyes brown with green highlights.
Tamara—Margret's aunt. Bent at the back, older in appearance than her older (and now dead) sister, she is Margret's support and strength, although she nags rather a lot. Closer than kin. She is Elena's mother.
HAVALLA
Yollana of the Havalla Voyani—peppered, dark curls, almost black eyes. She is in her forties, healthy, wiry.
CORRONA
Elsarre of the Corrona Voyani—long, straight hair, dark with streaks of white. She was, until the death of Evallen, the youngest of the matriarchs at the age of 36.
Dani—Slender, of medium height. His hair is long, thick and is always pulled back in a single braid. His beard is small, his face long, his eyes (as most Voyani eyes) are dark. He is Elsarre's Shadow; Elsarre has no brothers, and no cousins she chooses to trust with her life.
LYSERRA
Maria of the Lyserra Voyani—hair white as northern snow, eyes blue as Lord's sky, she is slender and silent much of the time. She has the grace of gesture Serra Teresa possesses, and for this reason is less trusted than the other Matriarchs. Her husband is the kai of the clan Jedera; Ser Tallos kai di'Jedera. They have four children:
Mika—Mika is broad-shouldered, dark-haired, dark-eyed as all clansmen; clean-shaven, as the Voyani are not.
Jonni—Jonni is quiet; large-eyed, clear-skinned; he wears a beard.
Aviana—The Matr
iarch's heir; she shelters with, and lives with, her mother's kin in preparation for her eventual role. She loves her brothers fiercely, even if they are of the clans.
Lorra—The family baby. Beautiful, but fair-skinned, she lives with her sister, and her mother's people.
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PROLOGUE
15th of Lattan, 415 AA
Terrean of Raverra
The Serra Teresa di'Marano did not travel quickly. No Serra did, whose husband, or if unmarried, kai could afford to grant her the dignity of his rank—and his wealth. She had been ordered to the Terrean of Mancorvo, there to seek her kai, Adano kai di'Marano; the Widan Sendari par di'Marano had delivered into her keeping a message of urgency.
She was also, if she was permitted, to seek audience with the wife of the Tyr'agnate himself, the demure and silent Serra Donna en'Lamberto. Between women, or so it was thought by foolish men, there was ease, and much information might be exchanged. Thus did her brother, Sendari, hope to gain knowledge about the Serra Donna's husband. Tyr'agnate Mareo kai di'Lamberto. The man whose brother had, in the single space of less than an hour, so damaged the hopes and the plans laid out by Sendari, Cortano, and the General—no, the Tyr'agar—Alesso kai di'Alesso.
Serra Teresa herself was not married, had never been married, and would never be married; the dreams of that union, and what it might bring her, lay buried, seeking life when the skies were at their brightest, and the hand of the Lord at its height.
In the North, the darkest of dreams were night dreams, and in the South, it is said that men were also weakened by the Lady's thoughts—but the Serra Teresa di'Marano knew the touch of the sun to be the precursor to madness, ruin, loss; she did not meet the Lord's face.
There were no desert sands on the road she took, but the heat this summer had been scorching, and the grasses and wildness that often encumbered the road with their wealth of scents and hidden insects were a pale gold, dry and almost dusty. The Lady's rains had not been permitted to fall.
Upon the road there was talk, of course; in all things, speech. The Serra was a Serra, but she was only a woman, and the cerdan— free men all and of the clan's distant branches—made freer with their words when their superiors were not present. Her own cerdan knew better, of course; they were of a better breed. She had chosen them herself, although Adano's approval—a formality which no clans woman had any choice but to seek—was necessary.
As much as she could trust any man whose sword served the Lord, she trusted them. As much as.
The tents had been erected, and the palanquin laid aside. It was hot for travel, and the midday rest had been decreed by the master of the caravan—not, of course, by its mistress. Sweet water was offered, and such food as might survive the heat of such a journey unruined; she partook of the first, and gave her gracious blessing to the men, who were given the rest.
Two days, and she would cross the Mancorvan border.
Three more, with some speed, and she might see home—if such a mythical place existed, ever, in the heart of a woman who was sent from brother to brother and place to place at the whim of others.
And today?
She did not touch the samisen case, but instead reached for the lute, with its rounded curves, its musical tradition a thing not created by, or for, the Lord of the Sun. In the heat, she began to play.
When swords left their sheaths, she was not surprised at the sound, although it seemed sudden. Music often carried her to a place that could not be attacked because it could not be felt by any who did not possess her gift. Her gift, yes, and her curse, both.
But swords being drawn brought her back, as most sounds of war did. She carefully placed the lute in its case as Ramdan lifted the flap of her tent, offering his obeisance in such a way that it made the dirt and the dryness seem a gift as it clung to his knees, the palms of his hands.
"Serra," he said.
"Are we under attack?"
"No, Serra."
She closed the case with care, and rose with as much grace as Ramdan had bowed. "There is another traveler, then."
"Yes."
He did not offer what she did not ask for; there was that still-ness, that perfect composure, about him. In all things, he took her lead; he was, of the serafs she owned, the finest.
Treat them well, she heard her mother say, at the remove of years, and they'll be more trustworthy than blood kin. It would have been a scandalous thing to say where other ears could hear it; it was said at the harem's heart, where only these two women dwelled: Serra Teresa and her mother.
They will certainly, her mother had added, bring you more solace if you train and choose them well.
Truer thing had possibly been said in time, but not by her mother. She waited for Ramdan to lift the tent's flaps, and she noticed, as she always did, how ageless he seemed, how perfectly unbowed by the labor of years.
For the first time, before she left the safety of shadow, the Serra Teresa di'Marano wondered if he was truly ageless, or if her eyes were deceived by some strange desire of the heart; Ramdan had been with her for all of her adult life, and she did not wish age or its foibles to force her to part from him, to force her to elevate any other to the position that he now held.
As she entered the domain of the Lord of the Sun, she raised her fan and opened it, shielding her eyes from the glint of new metal. Swords, helms. A Serra, after all, did not squint publicly.
Karras di'Marano bowed, and she returned this respect with respect of her own. He was older than she, and not so fast with a sword as he had once been, but wisdom and experience gave him an edge that no grindstone could. "Serra Teresa," he said.
"Is there a disturbance, Ser Karras?"
"A minor one, Serra, and if you wish not to be disturbed, you might choose to continue your vigil."
"Swords ofttimes disturb me."
He had known that would be her answer, of course; they were old friends, old almost-allies. "Very well. It appears, from what we can see down the rise of the hillock, that there are wagons encamped."
"Wagons?"
"We believe that they belong to the Voyani." He paused. "The Arkosa Voyani, if their flags are not false."
"Surely we are in no danger, Ser Karras."
"They travel in greater number than I have seen," he said. She waited for him to qualify the statement, to finish it, but it hung between them stubbornly.
At last she nodded. "It is the Matriarch, then."
"I believe so." His gaze was given to the ground. "But 1 have seen the Matriarch's van, Serra; there-is something about this gathering that feels wrong." His shrug was eloquent; a way of saying that he could not say more than that, but that he would not be judged ignorant for instinct's sake.
They both knew, because it was a truth as old as the Voyani's homeless wandering, that the Voyani preyed upon lesser clansmen, and smaller caravans.
"If I may be bold, Ser Karras," she replied, "I would tell your young cerdan that this is not the place to earn—or to attempt to earn—the Lord's respect."
His smile was a thin-edged flash of teeth, gone at once; she felt the respect offered in the salute that he almost, but did not quite, give.
She liked Karras, and hoped that he followed her advice, for no cerdan would be likely to escape the wrath of the Arkosa Voyani who traveled in such great numbers should they attempt to exert their authority.
Margret, she thought, staring into the open sky.
Knowing that she had news to offer that would cause a far greater wound to the young Voyani woman than any cerdan's sword. And knowing, after that wound, she must then ask a favor that she could not afford to have refused.
Margret of the Arkosa Voyani was not a woman like her mother. She was a little too young, and the edges about her were sharper, harsher; it was just such a woman who made the greatest—or the worst—of rulers. To come to the clan as Matriarch, unblemished by the winds, unblunted and unscarred, physically, by the test of the sands, was an omen, and it was considered as s
uch by both the Serra Teresa and the Arkosa Voyani.
Or it would be. It would be soon.
She did not wait upon the appointed hour; she did not need to. There was too much steel gathered here, beneath the Lord's sight, for the van to ignore. The Voyani did not often use horses as beasts for single riders; it was an expensive proposition, and one much resented by those who could not afford the luxury. They had, these wanderers, their pride, and much of their pride was a ferocity of fellow feeling with those they claimed as kin. In this case, the Arkosa Voyani. But a rider came out, on horse. The horse was Lambertan-bred; she wondered how dearly they had paid.
She thought the beast fine, and was certain that it would be kept only until a likely buyer was found for it.
Her cerdan stepped forward at the command of Karras di'Marano, barring the rider's way. He stopped short of them—just— and in a way that showed that he ill-loved riding as a form of approaching an uncertain situation. The horse, of course, could sense this, and she could tell by the tensing line of the shoulders of her guards that they could sense it as well. Young horse, and too newly broken to take kindly to the scent of any rider's fear.
Or too poorly broken, which was perhaps the reason he was let go at all. The Voyani rider stopped the horse, but at a lesser distance than any of them, save perhaps the horse, would have liked. A poor start.
Poorer still, he did not dismount, although privately the Serra thought it wise.
"Ho, travelers!" he said, lifting his voice. A normal greeting would have involved the lifting of an arm, a hand, some gesture that touched the open sky. A toss of the head was offered in its place; both hands gripped and held the reins a little too tightly. She wondered if the horse would throw the boy.
Michelle West - The Sun Sword 03 - The Shining Court Page 1