by Ru Emerson
“What color were the sails?” Corlin asked. Bendesevorian closed his eyes briefly.
“Green and yellow, a pattern with no form to it.”
Corlin nodded. “Those are Holthan warships, not their Emperor's ships. I remember those colors, they belong to—” He shrugged. “The name is unimportant. The man has money, power and many ships. I do not like Vess having Holthan warships, especially if he has an alliance with that particular noble.”
“Vess was on the docks, arguing with men there, giving orders,” Bendesevorian went on. “I could not sort the important from self-importance on his part, but it comes to this: The ships are no longer at Koderra's docks. Last night they were anchored near the mouth of the Torth, waiting for the tide and for other ships. They sailed this morning for Yslar. In a five-day, they will move north.”
“Nar,” Levren said. Bendesevorian nodded.
The Narran Ambassador struggled to his feet. “I must—send messages—” Galdan caught his arm and kept him from falling.
“Wait. We have paper here—Father, in the chest behind you on the black table.” Erken brought the small box of paper, ink and pens. “Thank you, Father. My Lord Ambassador, write your messages. Bendesevorian will bridge to Nalda with them this evening.” Ber'Sordes felt his way back into his chair, blindly pulled things from the box and blinked as Corlin lit candles for him. He shook himself, unstoppered the ink and began to write.
“Tell the Lord Mayor we will come to Nar's aid,” Galdan said. Ber'Sordes nodded without looking up. “We would anyway. But with Osnera's new ultimatum they will need us more than ever—particularly since Prince Carthagus claims Nedao is the cause of the embargo.”
“Carthagus is a fool,” Ber'Sordes remarked flatly. He was still writing furiously. “He lets the Heirocrat dictate policy and thinks the sea full protection.”
“The Heirocracy and the sea,” Corlin said. “But the Chosen only control those who share their beliefs and fear their wrath, and Osnera's navy is no more match for Lyiadd's Power than Nedao's herders and villagers were for the Tehlatt.” He turned to the Nasath. “I am curious about a thing. Did Vess go with his fleet?”
“No. He was going to remain with his prisoner, then bridge to Yslar as his ships arrived. He intended to break her with Power and with Ragnolan drugs; then, once Nedao was his, and Galdan and the child dead, he would wed Ylia. She and Nedao would both be his.” Silence. “It does not matter now; he failed. And he will have no second chance. But Ylia knew, for he told her.”
“Gods,” Levren whispered. “You need never have told us that,” he said aloud. “Ylia would not like it, knowing we knew.”
“No.” Galdan managed that much.
“D'ye think we would tell her?” Marhan demanded indignantly. Levren shook his head.
“Those of us who know her well—of course not.” One of Brandt's old councilors stirred in his seat, subsided as Marhan glared at him. “No one in this room will indicate such knowledge, by word or look,” Levren said flatly. He looked at each of those around the table. “I trust no one will.”
“That is settled,” Erken said. “The defense of Nar, however, we have little time to decide what to do, and who must go. We cannot leave the valley unprotected.” Galdan waved him quiet.
“We will not. I think perhaps half our best fighters should go. That leaves behind many who can fight Mathkkra at need. We will be able to bridge armed near to Nalda. Remember Yslar, though. I doubt AEldra Power will work once Lyiadd's fleet arrives, even if he is not personally there. Even if none of them are, there will be men with Thullen brooches. Perhaps my own Power will be useless against those, perhaps not. We will no doubt learn.”
“The brooches will not affect Nedaoans,” Erken reminded him.
“No. Nor does bridging, not for many of our folk—not after this past year. Those are advantages. Against us, Lyiadd may remain in Yslar, and control his men and creatures with a focus. He will be able to remove tired men, send fresh ones to fight.”
“An advantage to him,” Corlin said. “But unless he is stronger than the tales say of the Night-Serpent, he cannot control ships by Power; a ship is too large to move about in such a way. Many ships must hold to a strategy of some kind, and that is perhaps an advantage to us.”
“Since we have you, it is,” Galdan said. “You've fought both Holthans and Sea-Raiders before. The Narrans know warfare on the seas even if they have not practiced it in long years.”
“Another advantage to us, however small,” Corlin said. “And another thing. However much he has changed this past while, Vess still sounds very familiar to me, and I doubt his personality is much different. We know Vess.”
“Vess intends to lead Lyiadd's fleet against Nalda,” Bendesevorian said. “What Lyiadd plans, I do not know. But if he does not choose to leave Yslar, he may well send Vess in his place.”
“I know Lyiadd. As well as you know Vess.” Ysian stood and everyone looked up at her—save Ber'Sordes, who was still writing at high speed. Lyiadd will never go to Nalda until it is defeated. That would be to chance himself, and Lyiadd would never chance himself.”
“He did once,” Marhan growled.
“When Ylia fought him?” Ysian nodded. “His pride was always great; it must have been strong enough to overcome caution. I wager he does not let that happen, again. Also, even though Yls is conquered, I doubt he believes her completely cowed. He may fear revolt, and what better time for a revolt than in his absence? Besides, why should he leave Yslar, when he can use a focus stone and control the baffle through Vess?” She resumed her seat; Galdan stood.
“The War Council can spend more time tonight dealing with this matter; Ylia will be awake and able to contribute any knowledge she has. Those of you on the War Council; keep certain things in mind today as you think about our needs. Lyiadd may have more to send against us in Nalda—remember the creature that slew Ifney! I do not think he will simply rely on armsmen and ships, and he knows his Thullen brooches will only affect the AEldra among us—who are few indeed.
“Obviously, we cannot plan for all chances, and the Narrans will figure deeply in any plans we do make. But we should do what we are able, tonight, at once, to name difficulties and dispose of all such problems as we can.”
Corlin pushed back his chair. “One thing. If Vess controls the enemy fleet at Nalda, he will be a weak link in Lyiadd's chain. Granted Vess has been with Lyiadd for some time now; granted he has skill as a swordsman, that he is brave. But he has no practical grasp of tactics.”
“You cannot be certain of that,” Erken began, but Corlin shook his head, silencing him.
“Consider: Nedao fought no wars when the Plain was still ours; you and I, Erken, we made an effort now and again to hold maneuvers so lads like your son would know how to plan a battle. Vess took no part in those. He took no part in that last battle against the Tehlatt—though there was little or no strategy involved in that fight. Since then, we have worked with our armed, we have planned and fought pitched battles against Mathkkra.”
“But Vess—”
“Hear me out, my friend. We know certain things about Vess, even though he is no longer among us. He spent months asea and in Osnera, seeking aid from the Chosen. Once back in the Peopled Lands, he went to the Isles, and we believe he spent his time on the Isles. No man ever saw him on a Sea-Raider ship. He was part of the Three-fold attack on Yslar, but Lyiadd merely overwhelmed the AEldra with magic; there was no strategy involved in that.” There was a silence. Corlin smiled grimly. “Erken, do you remember the first time you commanded fighting men in a battle?”
Erken grimaced. “Mothers, entirely too well. If Lyiadd entrusts Vess with Nalda, there is another advantage to us. Vess, for all his new Power and his pride, will find himself overwhelmed with detail before battle is ever joined. No matter if Lyiadd has planned Nalda's capture himself, to the placing of the least bowman; his plans still turn on the Narrans and on us. It will take a man of experience to control Lyiadd's pla
ns, our movements, the constant shift and change of the fighting.” “But Lyiadd—” one of the Main Council men protested weakly. Erken shook his head.
“Lyiadd has little or no true battle experience, either. Mind, I do not think this will change the odds between us, not by itself! But it is, again, a small thing in our favor. We can do with such things. It cannot hurt us to remember that we know Vess. Yes, he now has Power, but fundamentally I daresay he has not changed much from Nala's bastard.”
Less than you'd think, Father, Galdan thought savagely. He forced his hand to unclench. I'd kill him, I will kill him, given the chance. For what he did to my Ylia, for the pain in her thought last night! Something the Nasath had said came back to him, a saying among his own kind: Let three wish a man dead, and he is—though he still walks and breathes. He, Ylia—and Mal Brit Arren had condemned Vess. Inniva's warp, he thought, to have been there, to see her stand down Mal Brit Arren himself, to have seen the look on his face!
He was barely aware of men leaving; he somehow managed to respond politely when Lossana stopped to talk to him, though later he could not recall what either of them had said. There was a chatter of voices, bodies brushing by him. Then only he, Bendesevorian, his father and Ber'Sordes—the latter still writing, two folded papers at his elbow—were left in the council-room. Erken called in the door-warder and sent him for wine, brushing aside Galdan's objection.
“Yes, it is early. You need it. Lady?” This as Ysian came back into the room.
“She still sleeps. I just—wanted to see.” Erken nodded, shoved a cup into his son's hands and filled it. He turned to the Narran Ambassador then.
“My Lord Ber'Sordes, I think you need this also.”
“I—yes. Thank you.” Ber'Sordes drained the cup without tasting its contents, sealed the last of his letters and gathered them up in hands that wanted to tremble. Bendesevorian took the slender sheath of paper from him.
“Your Lord Mayor will have these before morning,” he assured the Narran. “Sooner than a boat could reach the sea.” Ber'Sordes seemed satisfied with that, but he was still anxious and pale when he left moments later. “I will deliver these messages and your own,” Bendesevorian said to Galdan. “And then I will return here. But I am concerned about those in Yslar, and young Alxy is fretting himself ill.”
“If you think it safe to go to Yslar,” Galdan began. He shook his head as Bendesevorian would have responded. “Never mind. I know you have ways I do not; my mind is ready to worry any least thing, even the safest.” He brooded on that, shook himself and pushed aside a second cup of wine Erken was urging on him. “Alxy should not worry so; even I was reassured by Geit's message.”
He was also amazed by the tortuous route it had taken, from Geit in Yslar to Alxy: It had arrived late the previous afternoon. Four separate children—young and insignificant enough to be ignored by Lyiadd and his armsmen—had made the relay from the southern coastal city, passing the memorized oral message, until the last of them reached the unguarded northern village and the shepherd who could bridge. That man brought Geit's message to another, a herdsman summering his flocks in the mountains not far from the Ylsan border. He could not bridge, but his grandson could. The lad had appeared and spoke the message to Alxy as it had come down the chain from Geit: “Lyiadd's men still patrol the streets regularly. But they seldom take anyone away to the Sirdar's palace, and there are fewer of them. Those who patrol do not seem as worried for their hides as they once did. He is relaxing his guard, he is overconfident.”
“Geit himself might be overconfident. But he should know what chances; Lyiadd will only announce his war against Nar after Nar is his. I will warn them to caution, and to await further word. If they can aid us, they should have the right to do so.”
Erken nodded. “One thinks of them as children; they are young but they have the fight to fight for their own folk and their land. We can send that child messageless back to his village, if he is still intent upon return. Another thing, however, before Ylia wakens. We must agree, now, that she will not go to Nalda. What you told us is dreadful; she must have time to recover from that ordeal. And the House must not all be put in danger.”
Galdan shrugged. “I agree with you, Father, you know that. But Ylia will never agree. You argue with her, I do not think I can, and I do not think you will win any more than I would.”
“You will not win,” Bendesevorian said. “Because she must go.”
“She can't!” Erken protested.
“She must. Even if she were injured and unhealed, it would be necessary. Because she is Ylia of Nedao, because she carries that sword—Shelagn's weaponry—because she is Catalyst. I cannot say what will happen at Nalda if she is there. But if she is not—that would be truly disastrous.”
“But she—” Erken's voice trailed away as Bendesevorian shook his head.
“Catalyst. As Shelagn was. And Shelagn was the cause of the Lammior's defeat and death, you know that. Because Ylia is who and what she is, Nedao is allied with the Dreyz, and with—well, at least two Nasath.”
Erken shook his head. “Dreyz? What are Dreyz?”
“You call them naiads and dryads.” Erken felt for a chair and sat, rather abruptly, and the Nasath smiled. “I am here because of her. Not much, I know. But any weapon is more than no weapon.”
“You found her,” Erken said somberly. “If you had not—” He shuddered, took the wine Ysian poured him and drank it.
“Do not think on it. I did, nothing else matters.” He shook his head, looked at the packet of messages hanging forgotten in his hand. “I had better go find sleep, if I can. I will attend your War Council tonight and bridge to Nalda immediately after.”
Ysian went with Erken but she left him in the main hall. Lisabetha was keeping watch over Ylia and she wanted fresh air. And perhaps an hour or so with Golsat before she came back to sit with Nedao's sleeping Queen.
The Nasath stepped through the open door. Lisabetha sat in a thickly cushioned chair at the head of the bed, where she would hear if Ylia woke; her eyes were half-closed but she looked up at Bendesevorian's light step. Ylia lay on her back, one hand curled under her head, Nisana a small dark spot on her stomach. Bendesevorian smiled faintly as Selverra sat up, slid off the bed and tiptoed to the door. She contemplated him gravely as he knelt. My mommy is home. Like you said.'”
“Yes. She's very tired.”
“I know. Aunt ‘Betha let me come into bed with her. I called to her with my thought, but she didn't hear me but Nisana did. She said to go to sleep.” Silence. Bendesevorian, sensing what she wanted to ask, what she could not find words for in her child's vocabulary, patted her shoulder. He had never known a human child, and so had no basis for comparison, but he liked this one: Selverra was already a strong-willed individual, Ylia's and Galdan's but also her own person even at such a young age. The blend of Power she inherited from both parents would make an interesting mixture when she began to wield it.
“Your mother is all right, Selverra. Not hurt. Just very, very tired.”
Selverra yawned. “I am, too. Chedra has baby Bren and she said I could hold him later, but they went to sleep again after Aunt ‘Betha left. And I wanted to be sure my mommy was all right. So I better stay, in case she wakes up.”
Perhaps you had better,” the Nasath replied gravely. He smiled as she hurried back across the room, planted a swift kiss on Lisabetha's cheek and pulled herself up onto the bed. Lisabetha covered them both; Selverra burrowed under the covers, little hands locked hard around her mother's arm.
He walked on up the hall. One of Ylia's women would be better than he to waken the child's nurse and let her know where Selverra was. It certainly wouldn't do to let the woman simply find her gone.
That accomplished, he turned into his own chamber, closed the door and felt his way to the bed. No point in lighting lights: He did not intend to be awake long enough for them to matter.
Over the next days, Bendesevorian went back and forth between Nedao an
d Nalda, serving as liaison between the two countries in their preparations for battle. He also made what search he dared of Yls and Yslar, and brought that news to the councils of both countries.
Counting Vess’ ships, Yslar Harbor held a fleet of a hundred and fifty—as many from Holth and South Osnera as from the Isles—but only fifty sailed for Nar. Vess had taken the Sea-Raider vessel Fury for his own and it rode at the head of the fleet. Many hundreds of Lyiadd's armsmen gathered in the grounds of the Sirdar's palace, and strange lights and unpleasant odors emanated from the high towers there.
Nedao sent four companies of mounted armed down the Aresada—Corlin's and Erken's mostly, among them a scattering of Marckl's young men and women. Levren took a large company of bow in two Narran flat-boats. Brelian and Golsat would bridge to Nalda with the Elite Guard the day before Vess and his fleet reached the bay.
Marckl was named to lead the valley guard in Erken's absence and many of the strongest sword and bow were left with him. Lennet was one of those; Galdan had expected vehement objection from her but since Ylia's return she had been subdued. Perhaps it was as he and Levren both thought: The girl loved swords and fencing but she could not accept killing, however necessary it might be. It was just as well: Alxy could not be permitted to fight and he would hate it if Lennet went without him.
Ysian and Nisana were to remain in Nedao also: With their AEldra Power, they would be of little use in Nalda. Galdan planned to use them to bridge fighting companies back and forth to let them rest; if the battle went on for very long.
Ylia was pale and quiet during the War Council, to no one's surprise. There was a faint mark on her right temple, barely visible against her hair. She looked tired and drawn but she told them what she knew readily enough and made her usual contributions to the discussions.
The meeting was a short one. Galdan left immediately with Corlin and Erken. Brelian was gone moments later and Levren had left early. Ylia found herself alone at the table. She got to her feet wearily, and stopped as she turned toward the door. Marhan stood there, waiting. “I'm going with ye, lass.”