The Complete Lythande

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The Complete Lythande Page 28

by Marion Zimmer Bradley


  “Greetings, Essence of Fire,” Lythande said gravely. The guards looked startled, and the nervous one shied away in fear, staring wide-eyed at Lythande. Lythande ignored them and lifted the salamander so that they were eye-to-eye. “Is Eirthe here, Alnath?” she asked.

  The salamander streaked off through the air again, clearing a path behind it. Lythande followed, ignoring the pair of guards who hurried after her.

  The flaming trail led to a roped-off work area at one side of the courtyard. Alnath dove into the fire beneath a large cauldron of wax. The dark-haired woman bending over it scarcely spared the salamander a glance as she carefully dipped a row of slender candles suspended from a wooden bar from the cauldron, lifted them out, and set them on the rack to wait for the latest coat of blue wax to dry. Then she looked up, met Lythande’s eyes, and smiled. “Lythande. So they did find you.”

  “As you see,” Lythande replied. Eirthe Candlemaker had been a friend of Lythande’s for more than a decade. She was one of the few women now living who knew Lythande’s secret. Although everyone who had known Lythande before she became an Adept was now long dead, from time to time a woman would discover what Lythande truly was. As long as Lythande could trust the woman not to betray her—and as long as none of Lythande’s enemies suspected that the woman knew anything worth torturing her for—Lythande could have these women as friends. Such friendships were, necessarily, rare, and this was one Lythande particularly valued.

  By now Eirthe must be in her mid-thirties, but she still looked like a girl of twenty, except for her hands, which were scarred and burned from years of handling hot wax, fire, and Alnath. “What brings you here, Eirthe?” Lythande asked. “You are far from home.”

  “The funeral, the coronation, the wedding, and the trade fair, not necessarily in that order,” Eirthe answered briefly, picking up another row of candles and dipping them into the melted wax in their turn.

  “I saw the fairgrounds on the way in,” Lythande said, “but I still do not understand why. Is this not a rather out-of-the-way place for a trade fair?” Tschardain was tucked away in a mountainous region, well south of the more populated areas of the continent.

  “It’s Lord Tashgan’s main contribution to the kingdom’s economy,” Eirthe explained. “He arranged the first one the year after he came back here, inviting many of us from Old Gandrin.” She smiled fondly. “I think he missed us, once he no longer came to our fair each spring, so he brought us to him. Some of us remain through Yule-tide as well; Tashgan is a gracious host. I usually stay for a while—it’s not as if I had any family left to spend the season with.” For an instant Eirthe looked sad, then she pulled her thoughts back to business. “The fair is actually fairly profitable; he holds it the week before the Yule-feast, so everyone is shopping for gifts. There’s also a pass through the eastern mountains between Tschardain and Valantia, which is the trade center for everything on their side of the mountains. That’s where his bride comes from.”

  “So Tashgan is marrying. How interesting.” Lythande forced her features into a suitably grave expression.

  Eirthe didn’t even try. She grinned openly. “Well, he does need an heir—he’s the last of his family left. You should start thinking of suitable music for the wedding; it will be celebrated a week from today.”

  “Is that why he had me come all this way?” Few things in life truly surprised Lythande after the first few centuries, but it did seem that Tashgan could have found a musician closer to home. In fact, he fancied himself quite a musician—or had when Lythande had seen him last—so surely he must have at least one minstrel at his court. “I suppose I should go present myself to him,” she added, “and leave you to your work.”

  “It is true that I still have a lot to do,” Eirthe admitted. “I always come early for the fair, so I have plenty of time to make candles here instead of having to transport them, but I wasn’t counting on the funeral and all the rest.” She picked up another row of candles. “I’ll see you later.”

  ~o0o~

  “You are well come to my court, Master Magician,” Tashgan said, smiling broadly. From his voice one would have supposed Lythande to be his oldest and dearest friend. Tashgan sat in an elaborately carved wooden chair on a stone dais at the end of the great hall. A fire roared in the hearth behind him in addition to the large fires in the side hearths, so the room was comfortably warm—or at least as warm as any stone room in a castle could be.

  Two women sat with him: the younger an absolutely gorgeous young woman who sat on a slightly less ornate chair next to his right. She had long midnight-black hair curling at the ends and sapphire-blue eyes which looked out of a face that could have been carved of marble or alabaster, except for the rose color in her cheeks. Her features were so perfectly symmetrical and regular that she could truthfully be called inhumanly beautiful. She looked a very well-made doll. A much older woman flowed over a stool on the girl’s other side. Her heavy body was dressed in concealing dark clothing, and she had thin tight lips and a discontented expression.

  Tashgan eyed the leather case on Lythande’s back. “Is that a new lute? You must play for us after dinner,” he continued, giving Lythande no chance to reply.

  Lythande bowed silently in assent. She never minded playing; music had been her first love, before she came to know magic, and it was still an important part of her. Besides that, the practice of music held much less potential for disaster than that of magic.

  “Certainly music is a much more appropriate profession for a man than magic is,” snapped the elderly woman sitting on the dais.

  Tashgan smiled again, but with the air of a man trying to be polite while listening once again to an argument he had heard too many times already. “I am sure that Lythande will change your mind about men and magic, Lady,” he said. Then he turned to Lythande again. “Permit me to present you to my promised bride, Princess Velvet of Valantia,” Lythande bowed to the Princess, who nodded a bit stiffly in return, “and this is her lady-in-waiting, Lady Mirwen.”

  Lythande bowed again, less deeply, but Lady Mirwen simply sniffed and turned away. Apparently she does not wish the acquaintance, Lythande thought. Princess Velvet seems merely shy. How does she come to this marriage? Did Tashgan pick her for her name? He was ever fond of fine fabrics.

  Tashgan continued speaking, turning to Lady Mirwen. “Lythande will be my Champion in the Marriage Games.”

  This produced an outraged gasp. “That is completely impossible! A man cannot work magic—especially in such a delicate matter. Women are the only ones with the proper delicacy of touch and subtlety of feeling.”

  Subtlety of feeling? Lythande thought with a touch of amusement. That woman would not know ‘subtle’ if it walked up and introduced itself to her.

  “Lady Mirwen,” Tashgan said firmly. “This is my country, not yours. I am willing to conform to your customs so far as to include your rituals in my wedding, but the choice of Champion is mine, and I will not be bound by your customs there. I have dealt with female magicians—my father’s Court Magician when I was young was a woman—and I have dealt with Lythande, and I choose Lythande.”

  “My lord?” Princess Velvet murmured softly at his side.

  Tashgan turned to her with an indulgent smile. “Yes, my lady?”

  “What happened to your father’s Court Magician? Did you turn her away when you came to the throne?”

  Tashgan shook his head. “No, indeed. Within her abilities, Ellifanwy was extremely skilled at her job. Unfortunately, she chose to venture outside her area of competence. She died in a were-dragon’s lair years ago, before I ever came back to court.”

  “And what did you consider her area of competence to be?” Lady Mirwen asked. From her tone, she appeared to think there was no reason for her to be even polite to her charge’s future husband. The Blue Star between Lythande’s brows prickled. She had been aware ever since she entered the hall that there was magic at work here. This woman had magic, that much was sure; but somethin
g felt dreadfully wrong. This marriage was more—or maybe less—than it seemed. “Love spells?” Mirwen inquired scathingly.

  Tashgan was momentarily speechless, which Lythande felt to be just as well—love spells were exactly what he had considered to be the pinnacle of Ellifanwy’s work. But Lythande had known Ellifanwy as well, and while the woman had not been in Lythande’s class—or anywhere near it—she had possessed strong skills in several areas. “Actually,” Lythande said, before Tashgan could recover enough to open his mouth and blurt out anything unfortunate, “she was famous for her binding spells. Things she bound stayed bound.” Like that lute of Tashgan’s.

  “Even beyond her death,” Tashgan agreed. “Were she still with us, Lady Mirwen, perhaps I would chose her as your opponent, but, alas, she is no longer here. As you seem to doubt a man’s abilities in this matter, surely you do not fear to match yourself against Lythande.”

  “Certainly not!” the woman snapped.

  “Before I agree to this matter,” Lythande said smoothly, “perhaps someone would care to explain just what it involves. ‘Marriage Games’ could be anything—from animated banquet sweets up to a magical duel to the death, although I should think anything that drastic would cast a damper on the festivities.”

  “Isn’t that just like a man,” Mirwen said, “always thinking of death.”

  You inspire such thoughts in me, Lady, Lythande thought wryly, but said nothing aloud.

  Princess Velvet took a deep breath and replied, “They are a contest of skill, Master Magician. The two sorceresses—er, sorcerers—vie to see who can create the most fantastic and beautiful illusions.” She looked nervously at Lythande and added, “In Valantia, it is generally women who practice this sort of sorcery, but I don’t believe that there is anything which forbids a man to do so—if he wants to, I mean.” She looked nervously at Lady Mirwen and then at Prince Tashgan. He smiled dotingly at her and reached over to take her hand.

  “Have you seen many of these contests, Princess?” Lythande asked.

  Velvet nodded. “I have nine older sisters, and I attended all their weddings.”

  “‘Most fantastic and beautiful,’” Lythande mused aloud. “Who judges these contests?”

  “The wedding guests do,” Velvet replied. “Everyone except the bride and groom.”

  “The bride and groom presumably having other things on their minds?” Lythande asked smiling.

  Velvet blushed and looked at her lap. Tashgan chuckled.

  “Very well, Lord Tashgan,” Lythande said. “I shall serve as your Champion in the Marriage Games.”

  “Excellent,” Tashgan said enthusiastically. “I am most grateful to you. I know that you will make my wedding day a day that will be long remembered in my kingdom.”

  Somehow I feel certain it will be, Lythande thought, although it may not be in the way any of us expects. I have an odd feeling about this...

  “I shall have my Chamberlain escort you to your suite,” Tashgan continued, raising a hand to beckon the man forward. “We have put you next to Eirthe Candlemaker—as I recall, you and she are great friends.”

  From the smirk on his face, he had—and was giving everyone in the room—entirely the wrong idea of what kind of friends Lythande and Eirthe were, but Lythande did not doubt that Eirthe could take care of her own reputation. Besides, she suspected that this was his way of telling her that he knew she had stopped to talk to Eirthe in the courtyard on her way in. “As your Highness says,” she replied, bowing, before she turned to follow the Chamberlain. She intended to have a long talk with Eirthe in any case; the younger woman could doubtless tell her a good deal about the current situation.

  ~o0o~

  Lythande’s suite was luxurious indeed; Tashgan was apparently displaying his gratitude to her with more than mere words. Eirthe’s room was next to Lythande’s but Eirthe was not there, even after dinner when it was dark outside. Lythande, forbidden by her vows to eat or drink in the sight of any man, had eaten alone in her suite, so she did not know whether Eirthe had been at dinner or not, and she had not seen the candlemaker among the people who gathered in the Hall after dinner to listen to her play her lute. She frowned thoughtfully and headed back to the inner courtyard.

  Eirthe was still dipping candles, one rod after another, in a smooth unbroken rhythm. She had obviously melted a new pot of wax; this batch was golden instead of blue. She had plenty of light to work by; in a circle around her were eight of Cadmon’s goblets, each with a ball of fire inside it.

  Cadmon and Eirthe had been partners until Cadmon’s death; they had been under curses which canceled each other. Until Eirthe, with some assistance from Lythande, had managed to free herself from her curse, nothing would burn near her, nor would any candles she made. Cadmon had been a glassblower, but anything flammable put in his glass burned up in an instant. Anything that was not usually flammable would burn at a normal speed as if it were flammable. Put together, his glassware and Eirthe’s candles made excellent lamps; and in the fire pit he made for her one could burn even rocks.

  Alnath’s favorite resting place was a piece Cadmon had originally intended as a fishbowl. Any fish put in it would have been broiled to charcoal before it could be dumped out, but it was the perfect home for a salamander. At the minute, however, Alnath was in the fire under the cauldron, which, Lythande knew, was her normal place when Eirthe was working.

  Lythande crossed between two of the goblets, frowning as she felt the faint flicker of a very simple warding spell. “Eirthe, what is going on here?” she demanded.

  Eirthe looked up as she switched rods. “If you mean the warding spell, it’s to keep people from getting burned. Between the salamanders, the fire, and the wax dripping, this is a dangerous area for the unwary. Tashgan does tend to choose his servants for their looks rather than their brains.”

  “That is true enough,” Lythande agreed. Then Eirthe’s earlier words registered. “Salamanders?” She took a closer look at the goblets around her. “Sweet Queen of Life, where did they all come from?”

  “Alnath had babies last year,” Eirthe informed her. “She comes into heat—no pun intended—every six years or so, but last year was the first time there was another salamander around when she did.”

  “How can you tell that a salamander is in heat?” Lythande was genuinely curious. Alnath was the only salamander she had ever spent much time with, and the only thing taught on the subject in the course of her magical studies was that salamanders were the elementals associated with fire and were considered capricious and dangerous. Of course, all elementals were considered capricious and dangerous—and so, frequently, were the elements they represented.

  Eirthe laughed. “I can feel it through my link with her. It makes me restless and snappish; when she actually mated I didn’t dare be around another human being for two weeks. And she must emit a scent or something like it, because Cadmon always used to sneeze when he was around and she was in heat. It was really awkward; it isn’t regular enough to predict, and he couldn’t blow glass while he was sneezing. After the first time, I took her off into the countryside to get both of us away from people, but it was still a real disruption to our business.”

  “I can see that it would be,” Lythande agreed. “At the moment, however, they are certainly giving you enough light to work by. But why are you working so late?”

  Eirthe sighed, and rubbed her middle back. “The trade fair starts at mid-day tomorrow; the funeral used up half of what I planned to sell there, and there’s still the coronation and wedding.”

  “Can I help?” Lythande asked. She wanted to talk to Eirthe, and they were unlikely to be disturbed here.

  “Have you ever dipped candles before?” Eirthe asked.

  “Actually, I have,” Lythande replied.

  Eirthe’s eyebrows rose skeptically. “Within the last century?”

  “More like two,” Lythande admitted. “But I think I can still manage to dip plain tapers.”

  Eirthe s
tood back and gestured to the next rod. “Very well, give it a try.”

  Lythande picked up the rod by the ends, positioned it over the cauldron, and smoothly dipped the candles into the wax until they were covered to same depth Eirthe had been using. Without pausing she pulled them straight up again, and held them over the pot as the new coat of wax ran down their sides and dripped off their bases. When the worst of the dripping stopped, she put the rod back on the rack, picked up the next rod, and repeated the process.

  “Not bad,” Eirthe said. “If you can finish this batch, it will let me get a start on the ornamental candles for the marriage feast.” She grinned at Lythande, and added, “We can talk while we work. Despite the gossip from the Hall, I don’t think you came looking for me for the sake of my beautiful brown eyes.”

  Lythande gave a mellow chuckle as she continued to dip the candles. The repetitive motion was soothing, rather like playing finger exercises on her lute. “You are correct, Eirthe. I find I am woefully behind on the gossip here. Tell me about this marriage and what you know of the people involved.”

  Eirthe pulled a stool next to the fire, carried over a small work table, and set it up next to Lythande. One side of the table held several blocks of pure white wax with wicks coming out of their tops and the other side had a narrow tray holding a number of thin silver tools that were obviously used to carve the wax. She picked up the first block and, with a few swift strokes, carved it into the shape of a man, robed and crowned.

  “Prince Tashgan you know: third son of Idriash, King and High Lord of Tschardain, trained in minstrelry, self-trained in wenching and drinking. His father was ill for decades, and the Vizier ran the kingdom. He still does, although when Tashgan came home after his brothers’ deaths he did take some slight interest in how his future kingdom was managed. Now that it is his, I expect he’ll continue to let the Vizier do most of the work and make most of the decisions. The trade fair is a good example of how it works: Tashgan decided he wanted his own trade fair, he told the Vizier, and the Vizier made sure that all of the details were taken care of so that what Tashgan wanted happened. Of course, the kingdom makes a handsome profit off it as well, which makes the Vizier happy.” She carved a good likeness of Tashgan’s face into the wax she held, then placed it carefully in the exact center of the work table, setting her tools in a tray at the table’s side.

 

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