by Ru Emerson
Lyiadd shook his head. “A moment. Brit Arren, there's nothing further we have to discuss, if you wish to leave.” It was a dismissal, but one as between equals.
“Wait.” Marrita's voice stopped him. “There are things I need.” Brit Arren leaned against the door, stared back at her impassively. “Get me silver mushrooms, a smoke pot and a small bag of Ragnolan herb. Mud and water from the footprint of a grey sea-bird, this last untouched by hands. Gather it in a dish or a spoon and transfer it to a corked or lidded jug. And,” she finished cooly, “an infant.”
“A what?” He started; his fingers dug into Jon's arm and kept him from retreating.
“An infant. Newborn or near it. Unmarked, for I cannot use one with gold rings already in its ears.” She laughed. “A female child, of course.” Jons relief was so visible she laughed again. “Not an important child, not a boy.” The laughter was gone, wiped from her face as though it had never been there. “Bring these tonight, at moonrise, to my room in the base of this tower.”
“You'll have it, all of it,” Brit Arren assured her grimly, and propelled Jon out the door before him.
Vess waited until the door clicked behind them. “What didn't you want him to hear, Father?”
“Things they do not need to hear. Watch against overconfidence concerning Ylia. She is more than your uncle's daughter; she is the ally of the Folk. She is the confidante of the Guardians, the heir of Shelagn. Like Shelagn, she is Catalyst.”
“I—” Vess frowned. Guardians? Folk? “Who is Shelagn?”
“She was once the Catalyst by which the Lammior was defeated. Ylia could destroy us all.”
Marrita nodded; she knew. But she had plans of her own for Ylia. A dead woman could not be Shelagn's heir.
“I won't underestimate her,” Vess said. But as Marrita brought Lyiadd wine, Vess let his eyes close and he drifted into a familiar pattern of thought. It had come to his dreams one night, remained to tease his waking hours now and again. If someone undid her, destroyed her Power ... If she became once again the fumbling, weak creature she had been in Koderra ... If someone were to break her ... If somehow she were his.
If only he had spent time with her before the Tehlatt had fallen upon Nedao, if only there had been time and a way! If only he had made a way under her defenses, seduced her instead of wasting his time on nobles’ daughters and assassination attempts against Ylia! She had hated him, distrusted him; but she would have loved him, if he'd wanted it. She would have wed him, not Erken's grubby son, she would have named him equal and King!
Ylia. Sweet cousin. He called up a vision of her compliant, the way he could make a woman—as Lisabetha, Lord Corlin's lovely young daughter, had become, longing for his attentions. Willing to do anything to keep his love once it was hers. A way, there must be one! He passed that over for the moment, thought of her in his power. He would court her, overwhelm her, until he had what he wanted: half of Nedao, himself as her consort. If she named him King, if he had the right by naming and by conquest! He would be kind, he would not dispose of her even then, what man would be such a fool? Her hair was red-gold, her skin like warmed cream, her body...
He looked across the table at Marrita. How could his father love such a cold-blooded woman? Even her beauty would be no consolation! Only devotion to Lyiadd kept them from each other's throats.
Well, he would not always be under her watchful eye, serving as student to her teacher. Yls would be theirs, Nedao his. And as his strength and his Power increased—
Wait, he promised Marrita silently—her, himself and one other—from deep in the innermost recesses of his mind. Wait.
Strength of will: So many folk across the Peopled Lands and beyond them had so much strength of will to carry out their desires. And such varied ones: My Ysian, blistering fingertips to learn bow at her age, walking and riding in all sorts of weather, so she could return to beleaguered Nedao. Vess, casting aside prejudice and fears to embrace Power, so he could clasp Nedao's crown to his twisted bosom. The Nedaoan people, learning to fight, taking up new trades and new lives after the fall of the Plain.
Galdan, who fought the block that kept him and his wild Power apart. Together, he and I struggled against the dread fear he might never be able to use more of it than he did.
But it was pleasant for once to hear no stubborn argument when I said, “Try.”
2
The wind wasn't half as loud within the thick walls of the Chosen sanctuary; it wasn't a tenth as cold, either. Ylia thanked the young novice who showed her into the small guest receiving room. It was tightly shuttered and almost unbearably hot after outside. She draped her snow-whited cloak across a chair to drip, and scowled at it. One of the seams was leaking.
She never visited Grewl so late at night; but the storm had blown up suddenly from a few fat flakes to a thick, swirling mess it was hard to see through; with a wind that went right to the bone, through lanolined wool, fur lining, thick stockings and waterproofed leather boots. And though she'd never admit it to anyone, Galdan included, it had been a long and hard six months since Berdwyn's birth. She still felt the fixed of it, times like this. Odd that Selverra three years before—her firstborn—-hadn't taken such a toll of her.
She stripped the thick mitts from her hands and moved to warm them at the grate. Grewl came in with a small tray holding two small cups. “Lady. You must have been caught by the storm, it's no night for a visit.”
“Not an intended one.” She gave one last shiver as the heat of the brandy coursed through her. “I'm sorry for the inconvenience.”
“It's no inconvenience,” he assured her with a smile, and stretched his feet out to the fire. She watched him. She worried about him, lately: He was old and so much responsibility had been thrust on him so late in life. Now, without him, there would be factions within the house. Grewl had kept problems at a minimum, despite edicts from their main house in Osnera, despite the one attempted take-over she knew about.
He looked healthy, though. He seemed to have adjusted to the weight of leadership and to have found peace, though he had never wanted such power; and had only taken control when it became clear he must.
“Have you any needs?” She was beginning to feel her toes again; they itched.
Grewl shook his head. “None. We won't need more paper until Nar gets through this spring. We've enough even with all the copying and the school.”
“Other things for the school; then?”
“Nothing.” Another comfortable silence. She could hear the whine of wind through trees, the occasional hard splatter of wind-driven snow slamming against the shutters.
“I'd better leave soon; I'll be stranded here if it gets deep, and they'll worry.” She could leave her horse, bridge to the Tower. Grewl knew that. But Ylia never used AEldra Power on Chosen land. The fanatic Jers had been ejected from Nedao three years ago and there were no such strict adherents to Osneran policy still in Nedao. But many of them believed magic to be wrong, whatever its kind, however it was used.
Ylia paused half-way to her feet. There was another sound, rising above the wind. Grewl heard it too, and with a speed that belied his years he crossed the room to fling open the door. Ylia came hard on his heels.
Horns. She heard them clearly now, echoing through the hall, Erken's patterns spelling out the cry for help: Mathkkra. Aid to Village Dessa, we are beset; Mathkkra!
Dead of winter, a grandfather of a snowstorm and Mathkkra after Nedaoan sheep!
She dove back through the door to catch up mitts and cloak. Horns bellowed out nearly overhead: Chosen sentinels were passing the cry toward the City.
“Mathkkra,” Grewl whispered. Ylia passed him at a dead run. “Where?” he shouted after her. She paused at the outer doors, shouted, “Dessa!” and sped into the night.
The cold caught her as though she'd never been warm; a bundled Chosen shoved the door closed behind her, a second brought her horse from the visitor shed. Snow whirled around them, the building was no more than a b
lack shape and the two priests indistinct forms. In the partially enclosed catwalk overhead, a priest shouted translations of the calls to his companion. Horncry was all around. She vaulted into the saddle and pressed her unwilling, skittish horse through the gates.
What light there was in the courtyard was behind her, and wind drove the snow sleet-hard into her eyes. It burned her face. ‘Galdan! Nisana!’ She sent an urgent, powerful mind-search for both of them as soon as she was on the road.
'Here, girl!’ That was Nisana, of course; Galdan could not hear her mind-speech unless they touched. ‘We can hear the horns. Galdan's gone downstairs to order horses.’
'No. Find him, tell him I said to get some men together and hurry! Tell him to let the guard ride out, but you bridge Galdan and those men out to Dessa. The snow's piling up, you know how deep it gets in those box canyons!’
No response; the cat had broken contact. Ylia urged her horse forward.
The wind was building ominously, keeping pace with the horns that still echoed across the valley. Mathkkra—a clutch of half-starved creatures—had attacked one of the other side holdings after a three-day blizzard, late at night. Village Bennan lost two sheep out of the winter pens and two herders before Erken's armsmen could get through to them; the drifts had been formidable. If Lyiadd's behind this, he couldn't have chosen a better time to harass us with his filthy blood-drinkers, she thought furiously.
She clutched at mane as the horse floundered in deep snow; they nearly tumbled into a drift. No help for it; it was too bad she'd chosen to ride this young four-footed idiot instead of her best mare, who'd survived enough bridgings to take them in stride. This poor colt was shying at everything in sight, spooked by the wind, letting her know exactly how displeased he was to be out in the storm. He was pretty, but pretty wasn't going to count for much out here. Well, his first lesson was on its way. “Brace yourself, horse.” She wrapped both arms around his neck, hooked her fingers together in a hard grip and bridged.
The horse whinnied wildly and stopped cold; Ylia was disoriented from the bridging. She flew over his neck, fortunately into deep snow. By the time she fought free and staggered to her feet, he'd already bolted.
"Damn!" She rubbed caked snow from her eyes, dragged sword and dagger from under the cloak that was wrapping around her legs. The small shield was already in place on her left forearm. There was a fire somewhere up the road, creating ominous shadows; a woman's frightened shriek rose above the storm and horns. ‘Nisana! Where is Galdan?’
'On his way. I could have told you that animal would never bridge,’ the cat added sourly.
'You might have told me before he threw me,’ Ylia retorted. She was heading for the village; the snow was blowing across the road, ankle-deep at its worst. A flare of AEldra Power between her and the first houses, and a tight knot of men were suddenly there, swords drawn, arms linked. At once they began to separate: Galdan, there, Levren on his left. Brelian's arm linked through Levren's. Golsat had braced himself against their shoulders, arms woven behind their backs. Six of the Elite Guard, old hands at bridging, were already running to aid the villagers. Ylia ran with them.
Mathkkra were pinned against the sheep pens, in the shadows between houses. Their white bodies and the pale hides they wore blended with the snow, making them hard to see. But they were not a small band of starving stragglers, and they were fighting hard. Normally, they feared fire, particularly the AEldra Baelfyr. But even when Ylia sent it among them from both hands, they held. Gods. They haven't fought like this in three years! There wasn't time to worry it just now, though, and no more room to chance Baelfyr; Ylia blocked a short sword with the bronze shield, brought her blade down across the creature's neck. It fell, two more replaced it. Galdan's accustomed presence against her left shoulder was not only welcome, it was absolutely necessary for several long, chill moments.
She and Galdan fell back as Levren, Golsat, their archers and the Dessan herders shot a thick volley of arrows into the enemy. Too many of the shafts missed. Levren bellowed orders, the archers took an extra moment on release and the second volley was more successful.
“Father is on his way with half a company,” Galdan shouted, when he could finally spare the breath for it. “This is not amusing, the nasty things are too hard to see!”
“Think they planned it that way?”
“Funny woman! Watch your open side!”
“I have been. Watch your own!”
The enemy finally broke and ran. Villagers and armsmen, the village headman and his wife, Nedao's Lord and Lady all stood in the silent square and stared at each other in the aftermath. The wind had fallen, the storm was easing. Dead Mathkkra were everywhere.
Sheep milled in their locked pens; young herders ran to check on them. The headman's wife stared down at a small many-limbed body almost on her furred boots, Her lip curled. “That's no pleasant sight to haunt a body's dreams.” She gazed west, up into the woods. “We'll be until full thaw, finding all the bodies.”
“Set the dogs at them,” Golsat suggested. He took a handful of arrows from one of the village boys, wiped them on his breeches and slid them one at a time into the individual pockets on the outside of his cloak.
The woman nodded. She turned to Galdan then and curtsied gravely. “You came with good speed, sire. We hadn't expected the horning to be so effective.”
“Your own folk helped,” Ylia said. “What damage to Dessa?”
The village had suffered little harm: One goat had vanished into the night, but two of the men found it in a drift near the last house. One sheep was bleeding; Ylia healed it and a villager with a bad cut. Their own small force had taken no harm.
Erken's men came in not long after; they would stay for the rest of the night, just in case. Levren, Golsat and other men borrowed horses from the night guard to ride back to the barracks; Galdan and Ylia bridged.
“Oh, that's nice.” Ylia sprawled in a pile of cushions, feet extended to the grate. The room was small, easy to keep warm. It was also next to the nursery: They could faintly hear Malaeth soothing Berdwyn to sleep.
“Nice?” Galdan grumbled. “You think so?”
She eyed him benignly across her shoulder. “I'm warm, dry and drinking an excellent cup of hot wine. Two hours ago, I was wet, chilled, and I hurt from coming off a horse at high speed. Do you suppose anyone will catch him?”
Galdan shrugged. “He'll turn up in the morning, if he hasn't already. He knows where breakfast is.”
“I suppose.” Ylia wiggled her toes. “He needs work. I hadn't counted on snow, never mind Mathkkra, when I rode out this afternoon.”
“You'll learn,” Galdan replied.
“Possibly.” Silence. “Did you see the difference tonight?”
“Difference?” He pulled the winejug from the ashes. “Thought you were still talking untrained horseflesh,” he mumbled as he went back to his chair. Silence. “Noticed? Who didn't? That wasn't just a food raid by half a few skinny vermin. I'd say we've a nest of Mathkkra again. Close by. I haven't sensed one, but how would I know?”
“Don't start,” Ylia said. “We've said all that. You're getting better. You've got Power—”
“—and I can't use it.” Ylia waited, he shrugged. “All right, we've had it out, we've said all that. Go on.”
“How much of that bridge was yours?” Ylia asked. Silence. She drank, inhaling the spicy, tart-apple, hot wine-flavored steam.
“Don't know.”
'Half,’ Nisana put in sleepily from the back of his chair.
“Same as last time,” Galdan added. “So?”
“Last time you two bridged four.”
“So?”
“You're doing better,” she said finally. “Don't fuss so much, it's coming.”
“Hah,” he retorted automatically. He didn't sound quite so unhappy. “Can you sense them?”
“Who? Mathkkra? A nest of them? The Three? I can't sense Mathkkra unless they choose to be sensed, you know that. A nest—find
ing that takes luck. And the Three are still with the Sea-Raiders, that's what I think.”
“Why?”
“Sense. And I know Lyiadd. He's not going to take any chances, not until they're ready to move against Yls. They'll go for Yls first because otherwise the High Council might somehow be able to stop them. Lyiadd has learned caution. So has Marrita.”
“What about Vess?” Galdan asked.
Ylia scowled. “Vess wouldn't know caution if it fell on him.”
'Wishful thinking, girl. His father has had three years to teach him caution.’
'He won't learn, cat.’
'Hah.’
“Nisana's right, Ylia.” A corner of Galdan's mind still wondered, after a year and more, that it was Nisana he heard, her sour commentary reverberating through his thought. That he and Ylia often could share thought the same way. “Vess has always been good at taking care of himself, and you know it. He must have inherited that; your Aunt Nala certainly could not have had it. Lyiadd, of all men!” He sighed. “I rather wish word had not gotten out, however...”
“Why?” Ylia demanded. “Do you think we could have kept it quiet, with Lisabetha's dreams, and those of half my household women? Marckl's wife? Besides,” she added with grim satisfaction, “no one speaks of him as my cousin now, or even Nala's bastard son. He is Lyiadd's.” She scowled at him. “Those who never liked Vess now know why.”
Galdan sighed heavily. “I suppose so. I suppose it is better for folk to know Vess is with Lyiadd because of kinship, rather than simply a twist in him.
“Why?”
“Think on it—any mother's son could grow up to become a Vess, without such a reason!”
“Hah,” Ylia replied sourly. Silence. She turned her gaze to the fire once again. “He's mine,” she said finally.