The Lord Marshal sighed in resignation. “Ah yes, the color of the Cymrian rulers, bequeathed by the kings of Serendair. Poor little one—he cannot escape the curse of his family, of his destiny. But he has your beautiful skin, and your coloring, and the shape of your eyes and cheekbones, your eyelashes, which, by the way, were the first things that entranced me about you, and the bowlike curve to your upper lip that enflames so many men’s dreams. A lucky blend of both his parents. Keep him safe, whatever else you do.”
As the wind from the steppes kicked up around them, blasting the golden tendrils of her hair about her face, Rhapsody’s eyes stung, and her throat went dry. Anborn saw the change in her expression, and the crinkled smile lines around his eyes smoothed out.
“What is it? Tell me.”
Rhapsody looked away to the west, beyond the steppes to the vast expanse of the Krevensfield Plain. Below she took in the sight of Achmed and Grunthor, in the midst of the supply troops of the Archon quartermaster, packing up wagons and dray horses. In the distance she could see the rising smoke from the thousands of campfires, twisting menacingly in the morning light.
“I don’t know how,” she said, her voice breaking. The pain in that voice twisted Anborn’s heart. “I took him away from his father, brought him here to the Teeth, where I thought he would be as safe as it was possible to be, only to find that your bloody mother had already broached the Bolglands, had slaughtered everyone who was unfortunate enough to be outside when she arrived, and no one had a weapon to kill her, because Achmed was with me in Gwynwood.”
“So I heard. I also heard that your Archons and Grunthor drove her from the tunnel system with a blasting flood of sewage, and then trained their catapults on her in the canyon below, slinging boulders and garbage at her until she fled, bruised and broken—utterly brilliant tactics, and appropriate retribution; I haven’t had such a good laugh in as long as I can remember. Grunthor regaled me with the tale on my tour of the armory and the forges, which they have improved mightily from Gwylliam’s time in the mountain, by the way. I couldn’t be more impressed with what you three have done with the place, Rhapsody; I was not sure what to expect upon seeing Canrif—er, Ylorc—again, and had truly been dreading it. But I am both amazed and delighted to see the wisdom, the vision, with which you all have rebuilt it. The armaments and defenses, of course—your two Bolg friends are truly ingenious when it comes to strategy—but your contributions as well. The shaping of the culture, commerce, medicine, the education and training of Firbolg, for the sake of all that is holy, who would have believed it? Achmed’s forces, from what I can see, are as well-trained as any on the continent, as well-armed, and well-vested, in a place where the shallow artistry of Gwylliam’s reign has been replaced by a sensible civilization. I am delighted to finally see inside it. You should be safe here, my dear; as safe as anywhere else.”
Rhapsody clenched her jaw, trying and failing to prevent the burning tears from falling. When she spoke, her voice was strained and thin.
“The first place Anwyn destroyed was Elysian,” she said.
19
Anborn had never heard the word before.
“Elysian?”
“It was my—my duchy, a joking word for it from Grunthor, who has called me ‘Duchess’ for almost as long as I have known him,” Rhapsody said sadly. “My own tiny piece of land within Achmed’s kingdom, a grotto with a dark lake hidden within the guardian mountains past the Blasted Heath.” Anborn’s eyebrows shot into his hairline, but she didn’t notice. “Just a small island with a tiny cottage—”
“The Dovecote?”
Rhapsody blinked. “Excuse me?”
“In the middle of the underground lake—a cottage, with a gazebo?”
“Yes,” Rhapsody said. “It was a haven, a place the Bolg couldn’t find. There was a vibration of sadness, of anger, to it and the fields above it when we first came. But we cleansed it of all that; I planted heartsease in the field, and replanted the underground gardens, and an orchard, cleaned out the mess of years of decay and soot and destruction, and filled the cave with music. It was my home here. It was there that Ashe and I fell in love, and—”
The look on Anborn’s face brought her words to a screeching halt.
“What?”
“You were living in the Dovecote?” A string of familiar-sounding draconic curses rose up from Anborn’s viscera and began spilling out of his mouth. He stopped suddenly, seeing the expression on Rhapsody’s face which matched that of the child in his hands, then coughed.
“That’s your first draconic swearing lesson, Meridion,” he said, assuming a forced calm. “Practice the double glottal stop and the hiss at the end of each verb, or it doesn’t have the same meaning.” He turned to Rhapsody. “Forgive me, m’lady. As much as you may not wish to hear this, believe me when I tell you that my accursed mother, may she be staked down on her back in desert sand and eaten alive by raptors, has done you a tremendous favor. You have no idea what an evil place that was, what horrific deeds and atrocities were committed there.”
“Actually, I do. I had a vision, right after we got there, of the Grievous Blow, when Gwylliam struck her; I actually think I saw it from Anwyn’s perspective. It knocked me off my feet, literally.”
Anborn’s face was grim, but he kept his voice quiet and steady, and continued to force a smile at the baby. “That is the least of the abominations that occurred in that place.”
“I’m not sure Anwyn would agree.”
“Promise me you will never go back there,” Anborn said. “Please, m’lady. Please.” The urgency rose in his voice, and Meridion began to whimper.
“You needn’t worry, Anborn; the place is in ruins, utterly destroyed. And Achmed and Grunthor have far too much more important rebuilding and war preparation to undertake to even begin to look at repairing Elysian any time soon.”
“Good—please keep it that way. One day, after the war is over, and we are trading tales and playing with this child in peacetime, I will tell you the stories, and then you will understand my insistence.”
“Meridion really needs to be put down for his nap,” Rhapsody said. She turned and signaled to Yltha, who hurried forward. “Please bid him farewell, Lord Marshal.”
Anborn nodded, then looked back down one last time at the little boy in his hands.
“Take good care of your mother, lad,” he said. “Other than that, remember that your job is to eat well, which you clearly are already doing, sleep as much as you can, for your poor mother’s sake, grow strong and healthy and above all, don’t worry. Be a baby—don’t let fear touch your life, not yet.”
Meridion replied with a buzzing cackle from the back of his throat, drawing a delighted laugh from the Lord Marshal.
He kissed the child on the eyes, caressed his head, then reluctantly handed him over to the Bolg midwife, who took him hurriedly back into the mountain.
He looked at Rhapsody, who was shaking with the effort of suppressing her tears. Anborn drew her into his arms and held her tightly against his chest, cradling her head with his hand.
“Tell me,” he said again, his lips against her ear. “I’m here, beloved niece-in-law; my lady, tell me.”
Rhapsody’s self-control crumbled, and she bent at the waist; Anborn pulled her closer to keep her from falling to the rocky ground.
“I can’t keep him safe,” she sobbed. “I don’t know where to go, how to protect him, where to hide him. This place that I thought was so unassailable is vulnerable, not only to Anwyn and the armies of Sorbold, but to the demon inside the stone titan. While Talquist may want the continent, the F’dor will be seeking the Sleeping Child, and whatever the prophecy meant about eyes watching Meridion will eventually lead them to finding him too, if all of that attention and determination is trained on Ylorc. And Anwyn is looking for me; gods forbid she finds me when I am holding him or nursing him. In my dreams last night I ran out onto the Krevensfield Plain screaming her name, over and over, calling her, Naming
her, just to flush her out and get her to take me while he was safe within the mountain. Maybe that’s what I should do; at least there will be one less threat to him.”
Rough hands tore her from the warmth and comfort of his embrace as he pushed her back. Rhapsody looked up into his face through her tears to see his azure eyes blazing down at her.
“Unspeak that right now,” Anborn commanded angrily. “Don’t even give voice, or thought, to something so foolish. How many times do I have to tell you of the unbridled, hellish evil that is nascent in that woman? Unspeak your words, and never repeat them ever again.”
“I can’t unspeak anything, or undream my dreams,” Rhapsody said, choking. “I would happily give my life to save him, but knowing he is being sought on his own, for undoubtedly horrible purposes by the Merchant Emperor, is killing me, Anborn; killing me. I can’t breathe; I can’t breathe.”
The Lord Marshal held her at arms’ length a moment longer, studying her face, as she gasped, struggling for air. Then he drew her close again and kissed her on the forehead.
“You may not believe this,” he murmured as he pulled her head against his neck again, “but there is no one who understands your terror as completely and utterly as I do. No one. Not even his father.”
This time it was Rhapsody who pulled back. She looked into Anborn’s eyes, and saw deeper sympathy than she had ever thought was possible to know. And something more; something worse than fear, more awful than pain.
“I do believe you,” she said. “Even though I do not know why.”
The Lord Marshal smiled slightly. He cupped her face, watching her, then released it and took her hand instead.
“Come sit with me,” he said, leading her forward to the end of the ledge overlooking the steppes. “I need to save my legs, and you don’t seem too stable on your feet at the moment, either. What other horrors are hiding in your heart? I have a sense that you are not finished.”
Rhapsody sat beside him, her legs dangling over the edge. The wind rising from the canyon wall billowed her skirt around her.
“I know, as much as it sickens me to say it, that sooner or later I will be drawn into the war itself,” she said softly. “I am the Iliachenva’ar; there are but three such weapons as the one I carry in the entirety of the Known World. With what you have said about the winged beasts, what Constantin has said about Talquist, and what Rath has told us of the demon, it is clear to me that Daystar Clarion will be needed in the fight eventually—Tysterisk is new to Gwydion Navarne, and Ashe shouldn’t be in the fray while he is holding the continent. What will I do then? I would give the sword into the hands of anyone who is capable of using it, but that would dishonor the blade and denature the tie I have to it, depleting its power. I have to bear it, fight with it, until it decides otherwise.” Anborn nodded in agreement. “What will I do with my baby then, Anborn? I can’t bring him into battle, and everyone I would trust to protect him is already involved. In what hands am I supposed to leave him? Where will he ever be safe?”
The Lord Marshal lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it gently.
“I don’t know,” he said simply. “I understand, believe me. When the world is collapsing around you, the only thing you can do is the best you can at the time. For now, until that time, love him as fiercely and deeply and tenderly as you can. Make his life as secure and happy and full of the music of his mother while that is still possible, and tell yourself with each waking breath, each beat of your heart, that you will do whatever you have to do, whatever it costs you, and then do it. Be ready to move; don’t be trapped anywhere, even a mountainous fortress like this one, if your instincts tell you to run. Pray to the All-God, or the One-God, or whatever it is you believe in that it will be enough when the time comes. But I swear to you, m’lady, as your devoted knight, I will do everything in my power to keep you out of it, will spare you the need to fight, if I can, so that your entire focus will be on keeping him safe.”
“Thank you,” Rhapsody whispered. She dropped her head. As she did, Anborn saw Achmed signal from the floor of the steppes. He sighed, then stood slowly and pulled the Lady Cymrian up beside him.
“The time has come,” he said. “I must be on my way.” He handed Rhapsody his handkerchief as another flood of tears came forth.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered brokenly, dabbing her eyes. “I am sorry to show such weakness to you as you leave. I hope you will forgive me for crying in front of you, and expunge this sight of me now from your memory. I had wanted to send you off with the sight of a cheerful and confident face.”
The Lord Marshal took a deep breath, then let it out slowly.
“You are sending me off with the sight of my favorite face in the world, a sight I would never expunge from my memory, even if I could,” he said. “A lovely face, a kind face, occasionally a face with some very comical expressions of anger or annoyance on it, but most importantly, it is an honest face, a face which has always been remarkably open and easy for me to read. I am sworn to you, Rhapsody, because I love you deeply, in ways even I don’t understand. But if you were to put on a brave face for me, when your heart is so full of fear, not only would I see through it, but I think I would lose some respect for you. That you trust me enough to cry in front of me, to tell me your deepest terrors, means more to me than I can possibly explain to you.
“I have no idea what women soldiers need to inspire them as they leave for battle, though watching you with my great-nephew seems to answer the question,” he continued quietly. “For a man, it helps to have the face of a woman in his memory, a woman who says she loves him, to think of, to dream about, to plan to come home to. A woman who serves as the reason to take up arms, to take other men’s lives, to lay down his own life, to give him reason to endure through pain and injury and death. A beautiful face to haunt and inspire his dreams. Even if she is the faithful, adoring wife of another man; even if she is only his friend. It helps, Rhapsody. Believe me, it helps.”
Rhapsody’s throat was so tight she thought she might strangle.
“Me? Am I that for you, Anborn? That face to live for?”
“Yes.” His smile dimmed as the look in his eyes intensified. “There is no other face in my memory or my eyes, not now, anyway. I hope that doesn’t offend you, or make you feel compromised in any way, my dear. I recognize and respect your marriage; reprobate and sinner though I am, I would never think or even hope for anything more than what you have given and been to me—my sovereign, my lady, a friend, a Kinsman, a confidante, someone who tells me the truth, tells me when I’m wrong or when I’ve overstepped, tells me that life is better, more worthwhile than I have ever seen it be. I would believe that I could fly if you said it to be true, Rhapsody—I would toss myself off this cliff into the arms of the wind, believing it so, expecting to soar to the clouds.”
“Why—why ‘says she loves him’? Do you not believe me when I tell you that I do?”
Anborn looked at her, shadows in his eyes.
“No, my dear, I believe you. But it is different—because you do not love me in the way that she did.”
Rhapsody blinked, surprise finally stanching her tears. “She? Who?”
After a long moment, Anborn spoke. “My wife.”
Rhapsody’s brows drew together.
“I—thought you said you didn’t like each other.”
“Not Estelle.” The words came from a throat that sounded as if it had swallowed shards of glass. “Damynia.” He pronounced the word softly, reverently, like a prayer.
“Damynia?” It was a name that had never entered her ears before. “You—you had another wife?”
“I have lived a long time, Rhapsody.”
“I had no idea. No one has ever told me this.”
“No one else knows—no one living, anyway, not even my brother Edwyn. It was long ago. I tell you, my favorite Lirin Namer, now because, among other reasons, should I not survive the war, I want the lore, the history of that marriage to survive, at least—
a tiny bit of immortality of some part of me that once was good.”
“There is so much of you that is good,” Rhapsody said. Her face was wet with tears again, and Anborn had to look away.
“This is what you do not grasp, Rhapsody—whatever could be described so now is entirely because of you. I have not led the life of a good man—not for centuries, anyway. There was a long time during which I was a cold-blooded, efficient killer, a relentless conqueror, remorseless in the destruction I leveled upon this land. The Lirin you love, that you were willing to try and undertake making peace with through our marriage, had it come to pass—no matter what I achieve, I will never be able to make amends for the damage I did to them, and they are certainly not the only ones that could say this.
“It is because of you and your foolishness—your insistent belief in the worth of this Alliance, your willingness to love those who really don’t deserve it, your belief in forgiveness and redemption, your refusal to see people as they are, to see the blood on their hands, the Namer in you, that has brought about a change in me. As much as I scoffed at you in the beginning, in the end I have come to believe you—and as a result, I can walk again, which is the least important element of this transformation. Your undeserved faith in me has awakened something in me I thought long dead; I am remembering again a time when life’s ideals and aspirations actually meant something to me, when camaraderie and valor and love of land and kin were the reasons to pick up arms, not wanton violence and the rage of revenge. It’s sparking in me a rebirth of a sorts, a hope of absolution, making whatever sacrifices, whatever efforts in the coming war worth something meaningful; you cannot imagine how important this is to me, after a life as long as mine, time which I have passed, dead inside, until I met you. I have sworn allegiance to no one since Gwylliam, and when I did that I was unrecognizable as a human being. I am not understating this, Rhapsody; you are right that it is a good thing we did not meet in earlier days, because you would have hated me, as the entire empire did. You are well aware that my freedom is what I prize above most other things, but I am not certain you made the connection that my sworn allegiance to you was a voluntary surrender, a limitation on that freedom, that wherever you are, your safety, your need, is my happiest priority now. It is because of that allegiance, and because of you, that I wade back into this fray as the man, the leader I was born to be—unlike—unlike—” The Lord Marshal fell silent.
The Merchant Emperor (The Symphony of Ages) Page 18