by Ru Emerson
“Yes.” Ylia walked toward the doors, turned back just inside them. “Lossana—thank you.”
“Certainly.” And Lossana was gone, practically running into the open-backed dye shed to check her kettles. Ylia shook her head in mild amazement and headed toward the barracks.
She and Eveya worked the new women exhaustively, then Ylia watched while the third-year Elite Women went through daily crossings. It was hot out in full sun, would probably be hotter the next afternoon for the competitions. It was too bad they'd never found time to cover the main square save for a covered seating area and the royal platform there. This year, we'll get it covered, she resolved. This year if there's time, and Nedaoans left to do it. She sat back to watch Lennet and Eveya; the two were working out the practice maneuvers for paired rapiers.
“Huh. Look at her, numbing her backside on the bench. Is that how I taught ye?” Ylia started as Marhan dropped heavily onto the bench beside her, then drew herself up indignantly.
“I was out there—!” she began defensively. Marhan laughed.
“Huh! Of course ye were, until just this moment, no doubt! I'll have ye easy tomorrow, boy.”
“Don't count that victory yet, old man,” she warned him. Marhan chuckled evilly. “They're good, aren't they?”
“Hah.” Marhan would never admit to such a thing, however good any of them were. Women. She could almost hear the single word rising like a curse, just the way he thought magic. Women wielding swords and daggers, wearing breeches, standing shoulder to shoulder and fighting with men. “Lev's girl, isn't that?” He knew full well it was.
“And Eveya,” Ylia said. Marhan scowled at her.
“I know it's Eveya. Old man hasn't lost his memory yet. Lev's girl's got guts, I like that.” He silenced the remark Ylia would have made with another hard look. “Won't teach her, don't ask. Ye were enough.” He watched in silence another moment or so. “She doesn't need my teaching, and I'm too old for those silly blades.”
Ylia laughed. “That's a challenge if I ever heard one!” Marhan turned to face her with slow deliberation. One eyebrow went up. “And don't tell me you haven't tried them, I know you better.”
“Hah. Hah!" The Swordmaster leaned back against the wall. “Don't have to prove anything to you, boy."
She could have bullied him into it, she was certain of that. But a sudden flare of Power caught her completely off guard. Marhan scowled and Ylia turned to look. Galdan leaned against the barracks, to all the world relaxed and unconcerned, Nisana on his shoulders and a complacent smirk on his face.
“Well. Look who's come,” Marhan snorted, “Your lady wife is trying to tease me into fighting her.”
“Foolish woman,” Galdan said. He sounded rather winded. “He's at least as stubborn as you. Moreso, actually. Comes of being older, I suspect.” Marhan laughed.
“Hah. Listen to you. He's breathing heavier than the old man ever did!” Marhan turned to scowl at the silent, staring armed: Some of the lads looked as though they thought Galdan might jump all over the cheeky old Swordmaster. “Well?” Marhan bellowed. Novices scattered back to their practice ground. Marhan followed them, shouting changes as he went.
"You!" Ylia turned on Galdan. He smirked at her. “Of all the rotten timing! He started it! I wanted a go at him with those rapiers, and I swear I could have had him!”
“Never mind the rapiers, you know how he is. And get him tomorrow, isn't that the one that counts?” Galdan demanded reasonably. Nisana poked his shoulder with one delicate claw and got his immediate attention.
'You used entirely too much Power. I warned you about that,’ she began. Ylia shook her head.
'Nisana, by all the gods at once, let him use more at first, if that's what it takes!’
'Who,’ the cat demanded frostily, ‘is teaching him? You or me?’ Silence. ‘If you want the task, say so and it's yours.’
'Mothers no, she'd kill me, first night,’ Galdan said anxiously, but he was grinning widely.
Nisana turned on him in exasperation. ‘Come back to the Tower when you're done being pleased with yourself, there's more you need to know.’ And she dropped to the ground and vanished.
“Galdan, she's grouchy when she teaches, haven't you learned that yet? I can't think why you want to push your luck like that, then she'll skin you alive yet.” Ylia laughed. “How'd you do that? And how'd you get the nerve to bridge into this crowd?”
Galdan shrugged. “To be honest, I didn't think about that. Nisana said I had to bridge to the barracks if I wanted to come here. I got that stuck in my mind. Eveya saw me, and I think Brel did, and of course Marhan. If anyone else did, I couldn't tell; no one takes it seriously.”
“They shouldn't.”
“Well, then, that's all right. I suspect I ought to get back to the Reception the same way, maybe Nisana won't clip my ears for me. Want to come? For the ride?”
Into the Reception? She opened her mouth to say no. She hated bridging into buildings; despite Nisana's assurances, it never felt like a safe thing to do. But Galdan—he was so very, very pleased with himself. And he had every right to be proud. “Sounds much better than walking in this heat,” she said.
Galdan clapped her on the back. “You said that so well; a man could almost believe it if he didn't know you. Not inside. Into the meadow behind the outdoor kitchens, all right?”
“All right. But not from here, in the open. No point to showing off, is there?” She led him back into the shadows. Only Lennet, who had stepped back to let Eveya get a rock out of her boot, saw them vanish.
It had been many long years since I had seen so many young Ylsans. My usual caution assured me they could not all be like these brave and sensible lads, but I was glad to see that they at least were not so passively certain as most of their elders that they were the sole worthy strength in the Peopled Lands.
These lads, the Sirdar's grandson Alxy among them, were the core of a recently formed Yslaran league. Little was required of any who wished to join them, neither high House affiliation or wealth. What each must have was belief and desire to work in the knowledge of that belief. And each swore an oath on joining, to work to improve his Power—or hers—and to bring it to its greatest strength. To learn weapons-skill and to hone it; to be ready to kill in need. And with those skills and those weapons, to protect their land from decay within and invasion without. For unlike the Sirdar and his Council, they believed Ylia's tale that the Lammior had heirs. And that those heirs would not rest until the Peopled Lands were theirs.
13
“Perhaps I should go to Yslar.” Bendesevorian was pacing the floor of the Reception; Ysian sat on the topmost step, watching him prowl back and forth across the chamber.
If you think it might do good,” she said doubtfully.
“You would know better than I. What do you think, Ysian? You were on the Sirdar's Council. You know the Ylsans, you are AEldran. I knew your folk when they were AEldra, much too long ago.”
Ysian considered this in silence for some time. “It's difficult for me to say. Yes, I am Ylsan, but I do not think much like the Council. That was one reason I left Yls four years ago and came here. They wouldn't believe Ylia's letters, and they wouldn't listen to me. I went back, of course. Things didn't change. They weren't any different when I resigned my post for good and came here to stay.” She shrugged. “Then again—even the most hidebound of the old fools had to admit the truth of the Lammior and his valley when confronted with proof. Perhaps if they were also confronted by one of the Guardians, they would believe in you. The One knows they invoke your name often enough!” she added bitterly.
“Ah?”
“By the Nasath,” Ylia said. Bendesevorian laughed.
“I see. Well. The question is, what can they do to thwart Lyiadd and his allies, if the Three are intent upon taking Yls?”
“But if you were to back the Council with your own Power?”
He was already shaking his head, and she stopped. “What I have, what any o
f my kind have—I can wield Power, of course. But our strength is not individual strength, Ysian; it works best with many of us, and against a force such as the Three could bring—one of my kind, even two or three, would be utterly helpless.”
“I—see.” She smiled faintly. “That wouldn't be a sensible idea, then.” “No. Should I go?”
“I don't know,” she replied honestly. “But remember the young Ylsan company that is here. Alxy—Alxeidis—is the Sirdar's grandson, after all, and he knows the household situation better than I would. I think you should speak with Alxy and his friends before they go home.” She sighed. “I doubt there is sufficient Power in the entire Council to battle what Lyiadd was before he left the Lammior's hold for the Isles.” She spread her hands, turned them over and gazed thoughtfully at the palms. They were hard, now; hard like they'd never been in her pampered life, and there were calluses at the bases of her fingers, calluses where she'd gripped a bowstring, practicing until her arms ached and her neck was stiff. “I knew about Alxy's group. They began it soon after Ylia's message about Lyiadd leaked out. I thought they were just—oh, talking. Playing. One never takes the young seriously, you know.”
“I know,” Bendesevorian said. He did.
“I don't think that of them anymore; anyone can see they're ready to salvage what they can, if—when—Yslar goes under. It's not a child's game, when they see the need for that."
Bendesevorian resumed his pacing. Ysian watched him. He was not handsome by the standards she applied to men: His nose was too long; his mouth overly wide. His cheekbones slanted at a sharp angle, casting strange shadows over his face. His eyes were the nicest thing about him: Wide-set, warm, an almost luminous green. Overwhelming. He was that, however unconsciously. After all, he was not only a Nasath, giver of the Gifts—he had spoken with Shelagn, he had touched the sword that Ylia now wore when it was still Shelagn's.
He was also worried, and that worried her; the Nasath should be invincible, should be gods, should not show such a weakness. That was unfair, and she knew it, but it was hard to ignore the teachings of her childhood. No, he wasn't a god. He was a tired and worn being, young among his kind and now exiled from them.
“I'm sorry,” she said, suddenly, impulsively. Bendesevorian stopped his pacing, turned back to look at her.
“You mustn't be. Our decision was already made, mine and Nesrevera's, that I must come back and aid you. We knew the risks and the effects of our actions. I would have come anyway, even without your call. Though if I had come sooner—but my fate is not your fault.” He came to help her up. “I think I shall go explore the hillsides. I walked these mountains once, but this valley retains nothing familiar. Perhaps if I can no longer see people and change, I will know it better.” And he was gone. There was no feel of a bridging, no sense of Power. Nothing.
“Just like that,” Ysian said to herself. The words echoed through the empty Reception. She shook herself. She'd had noon-meal, but was hungry again, maybe there was still bread or fruit in the family dining room. It was quiet in the Tower: Galdan and Nisana were gone, Ylia was down at the docks. The women were either in the outdoor kitchens preparing for the reception dinner that night or down in the market helping with preparations there.
Selverra was with Lisabetha for the afternoon. Ysian shook her head. After she ate something, she ought to go get the child.
Poor Sel. Poor Ylia. Ysian had never had a child to lose and while she ached for her niece, she could not really understand Ylia's way of dealing with her pain. If I lost one child, I would cling to the other. I know I would. I wouldn't desert her. But that wasn't fair. Unless it happened to her, she couldn't know. And I am not likely to have a child, at my age. Galdan spent time with Selverra, the women did and so did Lisabetha; Ysian did. But Ylia could not look at her daughter without weeping, and so hardly looked at her at all.
Selverra was subdued these days; she seldom asked for her mother and never for Malaeth or Berd. She accepted the attentions of her father, her great-aunt and her honorary aunts Lisabetha and Lossana. She let the household women fuss over her. I hope the child doesn't hold it against Ylia, later.
Perhaps before she got Sel, she ought to track down Alxeidis and his young cohorts. Perhaps they could turn the favor back: Alxy had sought her out three years ago in hopes of getting information he could not milk from his father. She'd been weeks away from the Council; Alxy could tell her what had happened of late.
And while she was looking for the Ylsans and their guide, she could walk down toward the barracks. Golsat might be there.
There was an unpleasant smell in the air: Tevvro had forgotten how very much he disliked the odor of sea-wind blowing across those southern marshes. Well, with the One's aid, he'd be here no longer than a few hours. And it was his own caution that set this meeting aboard his Osneran ship, rather than in Vess’ newly taken Koderra.
I don't trust him, quite. No, he didn't quite trust Vess, not anymore. The man's outside allies were disquieting: Sea-Raiders, by all that was holy, and this unseen Ylsan and his lady! The whole reeked of blood and sorcery; there had been rumors as far as Osnera before he left; the docks were rife with them. The seamen on this ship and its captain had told him worse, and little of that was rumor.
Of course, the Ylsan was Vess’ father, or so Vess’ messages said. And a man was to hold faith with his father. But—if the father were a black sorcerer? Tevvro prided himself on being a little more worldly than most Chosen. There was magic and magic—there were allies and allies. A man thought carefully and long, whether it benefitted him to follow the teachings literally or to turn his face from things it was better he not see. But, if half the tales were true, he was not certain he could countenance this Lyiadd as even the most distant of allies. It might be necessary to tread very cautiously; he must keep all his wits about him. There were more ambitions involved here than his, and more at stake than he had ever thought possible when he had first allied himself with Vess.
Movement up the Torth caught his eye: A small black-hulled galley was coming down-river. Tevvro glanced at the sky; with luck, his ship could be back out to sea, back in one of those sheltered coves west of the Torth before night fell.
The sun was down, the streets torchlit as merchants and City-folk worked to put the last touches to their stalls. A steady hammering echoed up from the east end of the square; half a dozen men were at work on the Royal Pavilion. It was three times the size it had been its first year. The Queen's arms and the King's were both painted on the front; a canvas shadecloth in the blue, white and gold of the House of Ettel lay in a roll on the floor, awaiting the posts and overhead latticework it would cover.
The Great Reception was ablaze with light: A carpet of deep blue, bordered in figured gold and white—a gift from the King of Gehera for the latest wool contracts—led from the Reception doors to the thrones on the shallow dais.
Galdan forced himself to sit uptight, brought up a smile as the Narrans were announced, though at the moment all he wanted was sleep. Ylia had warned him about Nisana's single-mindedness. If anything, she'd understated. Between the cat's intervention and his own strong intent, he was sleeping like a log when he finally tumbled into bed, but never for long enough to erase the exhaustion that overlaid numbing grief.
He settled the sleeves of the voluminous rose-colored shirt—they were a little snug at the wrist—and resisted the urge to tug at the waist of the new doublet. The Narran fashion had gone shorter, and he wasn't used to it. His hose were figured down the outsides, burgundy on rose. Soft, half-height boots of black and burgundy suede completed his share of the Narran gift.
He preferred blue for himself. But he matched Ylia, and he liked the rose and burgundy on her better than blue or green she usually wore.
Ylia looked radiant in the new Osneran women's fashion: A low, squared throat edged in deep burgundy with a velvet bodice that ended just beneath her bosom and voluminous skirts that swirled to the floor. The wrist-length sleeves were sla
shed and tied all the way down, to let the rose brocade lining show through. A cloak in the same satin as the sleeve lining lay across her chair and she wore slippers of softest Ylsan leather stamped in gold. And there were stockings of a wonderfully fine thread and weave. Lossana was going to be entranced by those stockings.
Ylia claimed she felt half-clad with her bosom swelling above the throat of her gown, and Galdan was glad young Ang'Har had never seen her dressed so. Of course, he hadn't been jealous of the Narran for years; Ang'Har wasn't here, anyway. He had gone down-river the day before to be with his father, who had suddenly taken ill.
There'd also been a hat of some sort, a silly affair that was half stiff framing, half a swath of veils. Ylia had stoutly refused to have anything to do with the hat, and Galdan was glad. It would have hidden her hair and he loved it unbound as it was tonight, falling across her shoulders in a glorious red and gold wave. In place of a crown, she wore a strand of grey pearls that had been Shelagn's across her brow.
Her face was tired, seen close. But the smile for Ber'Sordes was warm, and the Narrans with him would not have guessed, just looking at her, what she'd endured the past days.
Ber'Sordes bowed low and formally before them. “Your Majesties.” Odd, Ylia thought. I once flinched from that title. It's hard to remember that. “With Your Majesties’ permission, I present my new household.”
“It is our pleasure to receive them,” Galdan said. He still wasn't quite comfortable with such formal speech. Ber'Sordes brought them forward one at a time, pronounced names and household or ship affiliations of each. There were many of them, and Galdan was certain he'd be weeks sorting them out. Of course, he had thought the same thing the year before, and the year before that.
Ylia came down the steps to clasp Ber'Sordes’ hand. “You must give me the names of the women who crafted this,” with a sweep of her hand, she indicated the velvet, “so that I may properly thank them.”