Limits of Power

by Elizabeth Moon

  Kieri felt the hairs standing up all over his body, prickling, but he sang on even as other voices faltered, welcoming the bones back to the light in words he had never heard before. Was it even his voice singing? He was not sure.

  Finally all the bones lay still. Their arrangement resembled the layout of the royal ossuary, with aisles between the rows of skeletons. Kieri walked among them. They had been long in the earth, but under the dirt he could see some trace of color here and there, less crude than he had expected.

  With a bow to the skull on the Oathstone, he called his court down. “We must find the sacred boughs to lay on them now,” he said. “And build them a bone-house as they once had, that some of the Sinyi—or iynisin, I do not know which—destroyed. For these are the ancient peoples who lived in this holy place before the elves did, and they require honor.”

  The Seneschal advised which leaves were best to place and how; Kieri felt the gratitude of the bones as one and then another had eye-holes and earholes touched with green under the sun. Then with a bow to the skull once more, Kieri led the procession back to the palace.

  The procession was silent until they were within the palace walls; then Sier Halveric said, “So … the Oathstone is not from the elves?”

  “Apparently not,” Kieri said.

  “Did you know about this?”

  “What happened to me at Midwinter suggested that something lay beneath the mound. I had thought to have it excavated, but with Arian’s miscarriage and the Lady’s death, I had not done that yet. The Kuakkgani said there was something very old and the answer would come at Midsummer.”

  “Were those people murdered?”

  “Not all of them, surely. They had a settlement of some sort and a bone-house. I am sure people lived here before elves came, and their sacred place was taken over.”

  “By the Lady.”

  “I am not sure of that,” Kieri said. “She said no … and we know she had traitors within her company.”

  Sier Halveric nodded. “I would like to hold her blameless, sir king, in spite of all we know.”

  “So would I, as she was my grandmother. But unless we find proof … what can we think but that she is at least tainted with suspicion?”

  Construction of the bone-house began immediately after the end of the Midsummer festivities. Kieri insisted it must be completed by the Autumn Evener, but the simple structure stood ready to receive its guests well before that. The Seneschal spent time with each skeleton, then told Kieri where it should go. The oldest skull, the one Kieri had found at Midwinter, rested on the Oathstone.

  “I wonder what other secrets the elves left us,” Sier Davonin said after the dedication of the bone-house. “Patterns that let enemies into the palace, a pretty hill to cover an ugly crime…”

  “We are not likely to learn them all,” Kieri said. “And some, I hope, were not so dire.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Vérella, Tsaia

  The atmosphere among the peerage at Midsummer Court was less strained, Dorrin thought. She still caught sharp glances from some of the women and a few of the peerage, but Dukes Mahieran and Serrostin were back to being friendly, and Duke Marrakai had never been less. Daryan Serrostin attended Dorrin at court and also visited his family’s house. Gwenno Marrakai did the same. Beclan, who could not attend court or meet his family, had been allowed to come to Vérella “for his safety” but stayed in Verrakai House. He did not complain and set himself to study the estate rolls Dorrin had brought along and write up her notes from the meetings every evening.

  “We have a situation,” High Marshal Seklis said to Dorrin on the second day. “The king and I must speak to you privily.”

  Dorrin sighed. She suspected there would always be a situation where she was concerned. “At the king’s pleasure,” she said. She was not surprised when, at the conclusion of the morning session of Council, the king nodded to her and Seklis. She followed him away from the other peers and the table set out with food and drink.

  “First—as you know already—Prince Camwyn has shown mage ability,” Seklis said when they and Marshal-Judicar Oktar were closeted in his office. Mikeli had waved Dorrin to a chair, but himself wandered the office restlessly. “He is not the only one.” Dorrin looked at the king, who was staring out a window. “I had … um … not told the king,” Seklis went on, “that I first heard of someone outside the royal family having magery near the Spring Evener. Marshal-Judicar Oktar and I considered it a matter of Girdish law and sent word to the Marshal-General, as you told him to do, quite correctly.”

  “If I had known,” Mikeli said, still looking out the window, “I would have spoken with Seklis at once about Camwyn. It was … unfortunate.” His voice was quiet, but Dorrin realized it masked anger.

  “I agree,” Marshal-Judicar Oktar said. “I was wrong to instruct Seklis to withhold that information. We wished to have the Marshal-General’s opinion to give the king the best advice, but still—”

  “Well.” Mikeli turned back to them, meeting Dorrin’s gaze. “So it was done, and so I found when I told Seklis about Camwyn’s magery. Go on, Seklis.” He turned away again.

  “The Marshal-General has convened a special conclave to consider the issue, to which I am bidden,” Seklis went on, looking at Dorrin. “She informs us that magery has appeared in Fintha, as well as in Tsaia. In children as young as five winters, though most are over twelve, and a few adults, all bred of families with no record of it.”

  “Where?” Dorrin asked. “In cities or—”

  “Scattered across the land, including Fin Panir itself. In remote villages where—unfortunately—some were killed out of hand by zealous Marshals. The Marshal-General has ordered no more killings, but there is … unrest … in some areas.”

  Dorrin repressed a shudder. A crisis in the succession of Tsaia—even in the Crown itself—was nothing to the chaos that could result from the entire Fellowship of Gird losing its cohesion.

  “In the meantime,” Seklis said, “she bade me inform the Marshals under my eye that they are to report any signs of magery to Oktar, but take no action. She forbade killing suspected mages here, as well as in Fintha. She would like Prince Camwyn to come to Fin Panir with me—”

  “And I forbade that,” Mikeli said, without turning to face them. “I have but one brother, and he is dear to me. Let him be as wrong in the Code as he is, and I will still protect him.”

  “How many know about him?” Dorrin asked.

  “We and Aris Marrakai,” Mikeli said. “For a wonder, given their ages, they have not said aught to anyone else, and a combination of physical exertion and the daily exercise of his power in secrecy has kept it from displaying publicly. So far.”

  “Has the Marshal-General any idea why magery is suddenly appearing?” Dorrin asked.

  “Several, and none proven,” Seklis said. “The Marshals and paladins she has called to study this may find out.”

  “The dragon destroyed Achrya before Midwinter,” Dorrin said. “And is that not when gnomes came to Lord Arcolin? Could it be connected?”

  “Anything could be connected,” Mikeli said. “Kieri—King Kieri—used to say everything was. But we do not know, and without knowing we cannot act—”

  “Good deeds as well as bad have consequences,” Dorrin said. “It may not be a threat.”

  Mikeli finally looked away and sat down abruptly in the remaining chair.

  Seklis cleared his throat. “There is more, Duke Verrakai. When we returned from the king’s progress, messages from the Marshal-General also told us of elves come to Fin Panir. Did you know that magelords were in some sort of enchantment in the far west, in that stronghold discovered a few years ago?”

  Dorrin frowned. “Paksenarrion said something about that, one night up at the stronghold. I don’t remember any details.”

  “Well, there are magelords—clearly magelords from the ancient days—in both the records of the place and by the look of them. They’re just … there. Sil
ent, motionless, unresponsive. The elves now demand that all humans leave—the Girdish and the magelords both. The Marshal-General has ordered the Girdish expeditions home, but has no idea how to remove the magelords—they cannot, it seems, be picked up and carried off. The elves claim they cannot remove them, either, but insist they must be removed. It will take a magelord, they told the Marshal-General, to break the spell that binds them.”

  Dorrin’s brows went up. “They cannot mean for me to do it!”

  “The elves did not know of you,” Seklis said. “The Marshal-General, however, did. She regrets that she mentioned you to them. I was told to ask if you had any idea how. Despite the outbreak of magery here and there, you are the only adult trained magelord we know of. I certainly have no skills in breaking enchantments.”

  “Prayers to Gird?” Dorrin suggested. “The High Lord?”

  “Will be tried, of course. The Marshal-General sent a paladin by the mage-road to Kolobia for that reason. We have not heard back, which suggests that so far the gods have not granted it.”

  “Do you even know what kind of enchantment it is?” She thought of the reading she had done in the Verrakai library: nothing suggested a way to hold someone enchanted for all those lifetimes.

  “No. But if the elves say it is not theirs—”

  “If they are telling the truth,” Dorrin said.

  “You would doubt them?”

  “Kieri’s grandmother, the Lady,” Dorrin said. “She was not always truthful. Elves love harmony, as you know, and will avoid conflict if they can. Including by subterfuge.”

  “Do you then think it is an elven enchantment?”

  “I don’t know,” Dorrin said. “I have not seen the enchantment … I have not seen any enchantment of that kind. It is like a bard’s song or a fireside tale … and the only tales I heard spoke of enchantment from eating something enchanted.”

  “I have spoken to witnesses who have seen the stronghold and its contents,” Seklis said, “so I know the enchantment is real. Do you think you’d recognize the magery used if you went there?”

  “Went to Kolobia? I doubt it. And anyway, I can’t go.” She glanced at Mikeli. “Not without your command, sir king, and with the messages from Arcolin on the situation in the south, I should stay in Tsaia.”

  “I agree,” Mikeli said. “Unless you thought you could quickly deal with the enchantment and return. We also want to know whether you can open the box that shut itself when Paksenarrion was here.”

  “I don’t know,” Dorrin said. “I can try—if you truly want me to.”

  “I think it best. Among other things, we need to know if the pattern on the box is the same as the pattern the elves use to move about. Queen Arian found such a pattern; we have chiseled out the stones where it was and put them outside the city. I would rather not have a sudden arrival of elves in my palace.”

  Dorrin could understand that. They all went to the treasury, and she looked at the plain wooden chest.

  “As you see, the wood grew together—there’s no longer a way to open the chest.”

  “Nor can we move the chest,” High Marshal Seklis said. “Several strong men cannot move it a finger’s width.”

  He and the king looked at her as if she could move it with a touch. Dorrin almost laughed but laid her hand on the chest.

  “Is it talking to you?” they asked.

  “No.” I am here, she thought at it. The chest trembled beneath her hand; her hand tingled. She took her hand away; the chest lurched a little toward her.

  “I saw that,” Seklis said. “I can hardly believe it, but—ask it to open, Duke Verrakai.”

  “Please open,” Dorrin said, laying her hand on the top of the chest. With a sound like ripping cloth, a crack appeared around the chest where the opening had been before. Dorrin said, “Thank you,” and reached forward; the top lifted without her assistance.

  Inside, the contents appeared as they had before, wrapped in clean white linen, the oblong shape of the box that held the rings and bracelets, the shape of the cup, and the irregular shape that held the crown.

  I am yours. Take me—put me on. The crown in its wrappings lifted in the chest. Dorrin put out her hand to hold it gently in place, and the light of its jewels blazed through the cloth.

  “It’s—doing that again,” Mikeli said. He sounded more interested than angry.

  “It is not yet the time,” Dorrin said to the crown. “But as I promised I would return, so I have returned. I would see you again, and the others.”

  A sense of sadness, of yearning.

  “I wish I knew where you came from,” Dorrin said. The colors shimmered through the cloth. Take me. See me clearly. “I cannot wear you now,” Dorrin said, “in courtesy to the king of this land. But I will unwrap you and look.”

  She took the crown in her hands and set it in her lap, unwrapping it. The jewels blazed. See us all. To Mikeli she said, “It wants me to unwrap them all.”

  “Go ahead,” Mikeli said. “We must learn what the mystery means, and at the moment no assassins are with us.”

  One by one she lifted the other items out. She ran her thumb along the pattern on the box of regalia and lifted out the rings, the bracelets. She set the cup atop the chest and laid the other things to either side.

  “You are beautiful,” she said to the array. “But I do not understand you. I do not know where you come from, or who made you, or what you truly are.”

  The light from the jewels brightened even more, shimmering on the walls and ceilings of the treasury like reflections of sunlight dancing on moving water. Dorrin looked at them more closely than she ever had. Blue of deep water … clear as water, as well. The jewels of other colors on the goblet and on the top of the velvet-lined box seemed garish in combination with the blue and clear.

  What could it be? Fire and water? Air and water?

  “There is a necklace,” Dorrin said to the jewels. “It is not here; it was stolen long ago and stolen again last year. One who saw you and that necklace both thought it belonged with you. Do you know?”

  Yes.

  “Who made you?”

  Ask the right questions in the right order.

  “I do not know the right order,” Dorrin said. “Let me tell you what I do know. Long and long ago, men came to the south from farther south, from over the sea. Once that land was green, but then it became sand, so men sailed a sea and came north.”

  Silence as heavy as gold filled the room.

  “I believe you came with those men,” Dorrin said. “And I believe you remember.”

  Into her mind a flood of images: men, ships, women, children, waves of green water edged with foam and waves of sand edged with … blood. Dorrin shuddered. “Ibbirun,” she said. “The Sandlord? And … invasion? Blood?”

  No.

  “Is that the old story about the Sandlord having sent waves of sand into Aarenis, making it a desert?” the king asked.

  “That’s what I always heard,” Dorrin said with a sigh. “The fall of Aare was caused by the Sandlord, Ibbirun, a servant of the Unmaker. But that’s not what I’m getting here.”

  “Perhaps they did not know how to care for farmland,” High Marshal Seklis said. “Perhaps they—” He paused suddenly, scowling. “In the west, in Kolobia, the former magelords turned farmer. And while that settlement prospered, they turned rock and sand into farmland. According to the records we found there, they brought in soil from Fintha and multiplied it by magery.”

  “Multiplied it?”

  “So it was written.”

  “I have no idea how they did that,” Dorrin said.

  “What I’m thinking is … good farmers make the land better. Bad farmers make the land worse. What if there were bad farmers in Aare who ruined the land? Then they might have blamed the Sandlord rather than themselves.”

  “But if that’s so, how could they be good farmers here in the north?”

  “They learned from the old humans, those who were already here,�
� Seklis said.

  “I suppose.” Dorrin looked down at the crown she held, its jewels no longer flashing brightly, though they still shone. “Did they ruin the land?” she asked the crown.

  No. Light filled the room again, shimmering once more as if under water. Not land. Water.

  “They did something to the water,” Dorrin said, looking up to meet the king’s eyes. “That’s what it told me.”

  “Something to the water?” Mikeli frowned. “What could they do to water? Foul a spring, I suppose, but—water as element—it’s too much.”

  “In Gird’s war we have the tale of a magelord named Grahlin,” Seklis said. “He could make water disappear or reappear; he took a river’s water and diverted it to a well, making the well burst. Gird’s friend Cob was lamed for life by that.”

  “I remember now,” Mikeli said. He turned to Dorrin. “And you,” he said, “you brought water back to a cursed well.”

  Dorrin stared at him. “I … removed the curse and took the bodies out…”

  “According to the Marshal-General,” Seklis said, “you did more than that. You moved stones by magery, you removed the curse—it must have been by magery or Falk’s power or both, and magic in any case—and you told her that water returned to the well when you prayed over it and your tears fell.”

  “It was Falk,” Dorrin said.

  “If it was Beclan’s own magery mixed with Gird’s power that saved him,” the king said, “it could have been your own magery mixed with Falk’s power that brought water back. It could have been your magery alone, for that matter, like Grahlin’s. It was your magery alone that killed the traitor.”

  “What I don’t understand is what the regalia have to do with it all,” Seklis said. “Are they calling you simply to tell you that your ancestors—or someone’s ancestors—stole the water from Aare and you’re supposed to put it back? The first is unprovable, and the second impossible.”

  “I don’t know, High Marshal,” the king said, leaning back in his chair. “Unless we learn to travel in time, you are correct that we cannot know exactly what happened in Aare. But as for impossible … what is not possible for me is possible for a Marshal, and what is not possible for a Marshal may be possible for a paladin.”