by Ru Emerson
His attention shifted. Galdan still knelt, eyes tightly shut, but he was swaying, as though to some music only he could hear. “Galdan.” Bendesevorian gripped his hands hard. He spoke aloud for the benefit of the watchers. “You've nearly found it. A last try.”
Last try. He was exhausted already and that worried him. If he needed strength to survive what followed, he might not have it. He was uncomfortable, uncertain how much those with Power could sense of what he picked through, searching for what he needed. Even Ylia. For there was much of Galdan he found wanting, there were things he'd greatly prefer no other living creature knew.
Something walked along his nerves with catlike feet, then, and he knew. ‘I have it!’ The Nasath was waiting for him.
'I know. Hold ready!’ Brace yourself, he might as well have commanded. ‘Look at me.’
Unwillingly, afraid he might lose his grip on what he'd quested for, Galdan did. The room swam in an odd light: It was as though the air itself had turned, faintly, yellow-green—or as though the light of a spring sun through aspen leaves had come into the chamber. He looked at everything with new eyes, or with a newly heightened sensitivity, he wasn't certain which. It was decidedly unnerving and rather dizzying, and he was glad he had Bendesevorian's hands to steady him. The Nasath gave him no time to analyze it, or to let the sensation build from unnerving to fear.
“Ylia. To my fight side. Galdan, when I release your hands, grasp the shield along with your friend. Do not let go.”
“I won't.”
“Golsat?”
“Here.” The dark man came forward.
“Set the horn to your lips. When Ylia touches Galdan's shoulder with the sword, blow through the mouthpiece and think only, of that sword upon your friend's shoulder. The horn will know what notes to make from the air you give it. “Golsat eyed it warily, but nodded. “Ysian, you and Lisabetha come to my left side and join hands. Ysian, take hold of my arm. Back me,” He smiled at Lisabetha. “You may feel weakened, but I will draw as little upon you as I can.”
“Don't worry for me,” Lisabetha replied as she took Ysian's hand.
'Nisana.’
The cat pressed against his ear. ‘If this goes awry, I will shield as many of the untalented as I can.’
'Good.’
“What must I do?” Erken asked. He was tense and pale. “Be ready to catch him, if he falls,” Bendesevorian said. Galdan managed to laugh. “That is a task for you, Father. You've done that since I first learned to walk!” Erken snorted, but he looked suddenly less nervous. Galdan turned back to Bendesevorian. He nodded once. Bendesevorian let go his hands. Brelian knelt and held the shield out. His knuckles were white from the intensity of his grip on the edges. Galdan caught hold of it, top and bottom.
Ylia gripped Shelagn's sword and at Bendesevorian's gesture let it down to rest against Galdan's shoulder. Golsat raised the horn to his lips and blew.
The yellow-green of the air intensified, until it was more like staring up into leafy sunlight from underwater; there was sound, but afterward none of them could have said whether it resembled horncry, music, or if it was merely vibration. It shivered through them like a wind, intensified, was suddenly gone as Bendesevorian threw back his head and cried out.
Words, or song, or merely sound? There were words in the cry, Grewl thought, though no language he'd ever heard before.
Nedao's King shuddered under the multi-fold assault. Brelian's grip on the shield tightened; he somehow kept it over Galdan's heart. The sword bounced on Galdan's shoulder. Ylia pressed it firmly against his jerkin. Bendesevorian's voice rose, filling the chamber, setting the light to swirling in a dizzying fashion. Grewl moaned, closed his eyes. Lisabetha sagged and but for Ysian would have fallen.
Galdan's cry suddenly topped Bendesevorian's: “No!” The torches were extinguished by a sudden blast of wind, the lanterns went out as though snuffed. There was only the swirling, greenish light.
The horn blazed with light of its own; Golsat shouted as it fell from his fingers and clattered on the tiled floor. The sword flared and brought forth an answering blaze of light from the great topaz at the shield's center.
“Take that which is yours!” Bendesevorian cried out. The words echoed through the chamber. Galdan's lips moved soundlessly; topaz and sword were pulsing wildly with his heartbeat. “Reach for it; take it!”
“I can't! Ah, Mothers, it hurts!” It was tearing him apart, burning through his inner being like fire, it was agony! “I can't!"
“You must! Do it now!” Galdan's hands moved, slowly at first, fingers crawling across the shield's face until they met over the center stone. He jerked once, color flooded his face, and with a last cry, he fell as though struck, taking the shield, Brelian, Erken—and the light—with him.
Poor man: so soon after the death of his beloved son and his heir, to have to fight so hard for what was his, but beyond his reach. And then to endure weary days and more days with Bendesevorian, with Ysian or with me, learning to wield his Power. But he did all that without complaint. I think only Bendesevorian and I knew how near he came to death when he tried that one last time to refuse his gift and to take shelter behind the barrier of his Nedaoan blood. If Galdan knew, he never said.
12
It was a subdued Council that met to discuss final plans for Midsummer Fest—as subdued as the folk without who were decorating stalls, finishing crafts for sale or dressing out fresh beef and venison, washing fruit and setting it in baskets in the River to chill for the next morning's festivities.
In her seat at the head of the table, Ylia pushed hair back from her brow and again wished Galdan at her side. He was better at settling arguments or leading the discussion in the right direction. She could have particularly used him just now: There were entirely too many niggling matters, and she was nearly asleep where she sat.
It had been her night to lead the Elite Guard against any raids, the last night, and so she had been dozing only when the alarm sounded at second bell past middle night. She and ten of the guard bridged out to the trouble—one of the western pastures adjoining Bnolon's lands. She'd returned to the Tower when Bnolon's guard reached them, but was on her feet less than an hour later responding to a second alarm.
It was tiring, this splitting of the duty. But Galdan had been secluded with Nisana most of the night, and the War Council had been firm in its decision, after Ifney's death; no longer would both King and Queen battle Mathkkra together.
And so it had been near dawn when she'd tumbled back into bed. The meeting was thankfully brief: The only urgent matter was the unexpected arrival of twenty young Ylsan nobles for Fest. Ysian had warned them the Sirdar's grandson and several companions intended to come. But Ylia assumed the Sirdar would prevent the visit, and no one else took the notion seriously, that Ylsan nobility would chance the dangerous journey to Nedao all for a chance at the Fest and its tourneys.
“Unexpected,” Vedrey said. Ylia repressed irritation; this was only his third full council meeting. She hoped for better of him, if he ever got past his nervousness. “My son has been guiding them about this morning; he tells me they've come mostly for the contesting.”
“We know that,” one of her father's men said testily. She looked at him; the older man, sensitive to the Crown's subtle signals, leaned back in his chair and got a grip on his own irritation. His next words were more mildly stated. “They should have a formal reception, Lady.”
Already decided, Ylia thought, but she merely nodded. “They will. Tonight, after evening-meal; that is for the Narrans, of course. Vedrey, is your son still showing them around?” He nodded. “Have him extend the invitation; go ahead and send someone now.” Vedrey hurried from the chamber. “We will need to fit them into the contesting. It will be well worth the trouble to place them with care, so they aren't over or underchallenged.”
“Well, of course,” one of the other older men began. He stopped as Ylia held up a hand.
“It's a matter of different style
s of fighting; archery, sword, wrestling,” she said. “It won't be as simple as devising levels for our own. I'll speak to Marhan and Lev this afternoon and see how best we can gauge and sort the Ylsans without offending anyone.”
That should have satisfied the Council; of course, it didn't. Several of the men wanted to argue for more prizes, more divisions, even more placings for prizes. Ylia turned all that down flatly. “The Ylsans would not appreciate our making it simple for them to win, as though they were spoiled children. If the events were to be changed or more prizes given, do you think they would not learn it was done simply to give them a chance to win? They'd find that more of an offense than not winning at all. I would.”
That did not set well with most of the older council-members. Ylia knew they likely did not understand what she'd tried to tell them. Too few of the men who had been her father's were or had ever been fighting men.
Ylia watched them file out finally, stood and stretched hard. A late noon-meal was waiting for her, Galdan and Nisana were not long ahead of her, Galdan eating bread and fruit like a starving man. Nisana was sitting near the end of the table, her back to them, batting a seed back and forth. As Ylia came in she gave it a final shove off the edge, and stared down at it with intense concentration.
“Ah. Lady wife. What were the alarms last night?”
Ylia sliced off a thick piece of the dark bread, smeared it with runny butter from the pot and sank her teeth in it. She chewed, swallowed and tucked another bite into her cheek. “What, you haven't been down to the barracks yet to find out?”
Galdan scowled at Nisana. “She won't let me.”
'No such thing,’ the cat retorted stiffly. Nisana was never in the best of moods when she taught, particularly when things weren't going the way she wanted them to. Her present preoccupation with the appleseed, Ylia realized suddenly, was an attempt on the cat's part to separate herself from a formidable attack of temper. ‘I told him to bridge there; he won't.’
Ylia leaned back in her chair, let her head fall back and laughed. “It's not funny,” Galdan said stiffly; he was as near anger as Nisana. “I keep trying, and all it does is make me sick!” Ylia sat up to gape at him; she smothered a giggle with one hand, clapped the second over it, finally gave it up and roared with laughter. “It's not funny, I lost my breakfast, trying to get from the Reception to the barracks!” Nisana transferred her scowl from Galdan to Ylia.
'Stop that. I don't find it amusing, either!’
"You wouldn't, cat,” Ylia replied. She drew a deep breath, let it out as a sigh, fought another fit of giggles—this time almost with success. “You never listen to me, do you, cat?”
'You bridge,’ Nisana said flatly. Galdan was looking from one to the other of them, following the conversation with considerable confusion, but without effort. At least, he thought sourly, I can do that now!
“I do bridge. I—” She realized Galdan was watching her. “Sorry, we're talking riddles. I had the same problem, bridging. It was too much like high places, they still make me sick.” She frowned, transferred the frown to the cat. “Odd, though. Galdan was bridging before.”
“I was going along for the ride,” Galdan said dryly. He broke off another piece of bread. “It's different since the other night; everything is. The few things I used to be able to do, I can't work the way I did. Others like the bridging, things I didn't have, I can't seem to work at all, and some things—hells. Doesn't matter, I'll manage, eventually.” He popped the bread in his mouth, mumbled something around it.
“What? Galdan, you can't eat and talk at the same time, think it, why don't you?” Ylia demanded.
'I said, how did you finally master it? The bridging? Maybe I can do it that way.’
“I hope not. It just happened, all at once, because I found something that was more important than being afraid. I—here, I'm forgetting now, look." And she brought up a four-year-old memory: the Tehlatt camp on the night they rescued the Nedaoan captives from certain death by fire. Golsat had been stranded among his half-kin, and Ylia had had no way to reach him save to find the bridging and simply do it. “I had to, there wasn't anything else. It hurt almost worse than anything I've done, before or since.
“But I couldn't have done it just for the practice, or for anything less than Golsat's life. I still think Nisana hesitated, though, in hopes I would find a way to bridge without her.”
'I swear, girl, I would never have risked the man's life so! Poor Ysian was hysterical, who else was there to keep her from screaming so the Tehlatt could come for us? And I was already worn—’ The cat eyed her tiredly. ‘Think what you want; you do anyway.’
Ylia merely shook her head. Silence. Galdan was peeling an early apple, letting the skin fall in a bright green coil to his plate. “Nisana was right to force me to learn,” Ylia said finally. “Making me try when I knew I couldn't, that I'd never be able to do it. Because once I had to bridge, how was reflex.”
“Oh, I'm not giving up,” Galdan said grimly. He sectioned the apple, cored it and held out a wedge; she leaned forward to take it with her teeth. “Anyway, enough of that. Tell me about the raids last night. And this other thing: What do we do with these wretched young Ylsans?”
Galdan left with Nisana not long after, but promised he'd be back early for the formal reception. “I'll meet you down at the barracks, in a couple of hours,” Ylia called after them. Galdan turned in the door, made a face that left her laughing again. He vanished down-hall, Nisana curled around the back of his neck like a collar.
She consulted the list Lisabetha had left in its usual place, under her winecup, War Council next. She'd better finish eating quickly, she was running late. Then a walk through the market, a meeting with Lossana at the clothbarn. Lossana was working on a new felt and the Narrans were pressing for samples.
Barracks, then: She needed to work with the women in her Elite Guard. One or two of them had seemed weak lately. That wouldn't do. And Ylia needed the workout herself. Neglect no skill, when any of them might prove the one needed. She should know that better than anyone else in Nedao: She whose Power had been strong, if only roughly managed, when she'd been captured by Lyiadd. Power hadn't been his downfall.
She finished her bread, set the list aside. Nothing else on it; but her evening would be quite busy: The reception for the Ylsans, then the Narrans: Ber'Sordes always brought his new household for introduction, and they changed annually on Fest Eve. Galdan—if she could help him at all, if he'd have her aid—He'll be worn from Nisana, but if there's anything left of him, perhaps we can find something together.
'I am not pushing him that hard.’
'That was a private thought, cat. Save your attention for Galdan, Why don't you?’
'If it's a private thought, keep it to yourself,’ Nisana responded huffily, and before Ylia could reply, the mind-touch was gone. Ylia rolled her eyes, caught up the last two sections of apple and walked back to the council chamber.
The War Council discussed the two raids of the previous night, the step-up in patrols and the change in times and patterns to these. A plan had already been worked out by Lord Corry, and Erken presented another plan to allow the parameter guards as much time at Fest as possible, while still maintaining tight watches. Unlike the Main Council, the War Council seldom wasted much time, and when it broke up moments later, Ylia slipped away to the weaving barns.
Lossana was busy enough for three women, even with Ysian and Lisabetha to help her, and with the support and assistance of the other women who worked the looms and spindles. There was a consignment of wool to go out after Fest, another of linen and another bale of the unique yellow. And she was participating once again in the Women's Sword Crossings and Women's Bow. Somehow; she never looked harried and somehow, everything would be accomplished.
Ylia took the piece of felt Lossana gave her and let sunlight fall across it. It was soft and much thinner than ordinary felt. It was a smooth thickness, without lumps. Lossana had dyed the sample a rich, deep b
lue. “The Narrans will like this, Lossana.”
Lossana pushed hair back from her brow and tucked it into the loose plait. Over the past winter she'd lost weight and there was as much grey in her hair as dark brown, but her eyes were as lively and young as her daughter's. “I hope they do; it's a good use for the second-grade fleeces and this piece has goat hair worked into it for strength. I lined my old woven red cloak with some and it's nearly windproof.”
“The Narrans will like that.” Ylia handed back the sample.
Lossana took it. Her eyes were grave.
“How are you, lass?”
Ylia shrugged. “I'm all right.”
Lossana shook her head. “You don't have to be, not with me,” she said. “I know what it is to lose a son.”
“I know you do,” Ylia whispered. She couldn't manage anything else. Lossana wrapped an arm around her, held her briefly.
“I couldn't talk about it for a long time, not even to Corlin. It was different, for both of us; I think that was the first time neither of us could fully understand the other. The first time I realized that we both loved Gors in different ways. Maybe because I carried him in my body. Corlin didn't have that.” Silence. “So I understand in a way perhaps even Galdan can't. If you need that. Remember, will you?”
“Thank you, Lossana. I will.”
Lossana glanced out the open doors. “Mothers, it's past third hour already, my red dye will be burned to the pot! Are you fencing Marhan again tomorrow?”
Ylia laughed faintly through a tight throat, but it was loosening already; trust Lossana to bring her back firmly to safe ground before sending her on her way. “I have to; the old man's made a thing out of it, and Ber'Sordes’ new household has already been primed for it!”
“Good. I won't dare leave here tomorrow except for my firstround bow and to watch that. Usual hour?”