Her own needs fit, as they always had, in two saddlebags and a roll behind the saddle. The regalia would travel on a packhorse, with supplies for the trip. And it was done. She looked around her room as if seeing it for the first time. The bed, the chairs, the table, the fireplace with its decorative screen in this season. She looked out the window at the garden, at the apple tree where Arian had first shown her how to reach the taig.
She turned away from that. Night had fallen; morning would come early. She undressed in that room for the last time, lay down, and in spite of all fell asleep at once.
Chaya, Lyonya
The news of the enchantment laid on the Tsaian royal palace and the injuries suffered by Prince Camwyn arrived in Chaya by special courier. Kieri, reading King Mikeli’s letter, felt a cold chill—this was worse than what had happened the previous spring, when the Lady was killed. Easy to imagine how Mikeli had felt, seeing his brother apparently dying, realizing that everyone had been helplessly trapped in an enchantment but the prince and the prince’s best friend. All too easy to imagine such an enchantment here … Would his own elvenhome be any protection?
Mikeli had sent for Dorrin—of course—and of course wanted her to take the regalia away. By this time she was probably on her way to Vérella. He stopped reading and counted off days of travel in his mind. His couriers and Mikeli’s now used relays of horses, thus making the journeys much faster. She would not be in Vérella yet.
He read on, brow furrowed. Mikeli’s analysis of his kingdom’s peril showed the experience the young king had gained from the many challenges of his reign. Asking Dorrin to leave the realm and resign her title and heritage: he might have done so himself in Mikeli’s place. A king must consider his realm before his own feelings. Wherever she went, as long as she had the regalia with her, Dorrin would be a danger to anyone who sheltered her, attracting both common thieves and those with greater purpose.
“I believe she must go east, through your realm, to begin her journey. I ask that you give her what assistance you can to come safely to a destination she will tell you. You have powers I lack, and these items have a destiny Duke Verrakai discerns. You are better placed to help her than anyone else I know.”
Kieri had duties Mikeli did not know and could not understand. Oaths to keep: to his dual realm, the people of Lyonya and the elves of his elvenhome, and the Old Humans into whose tribe he had been adopted. Magelords to release from old enchantment so that the dragon could remake the stone and end the irruption of iynisin. From everything Dorrin had told him, from everything Mikeli told him, she and those strange jewels threatened all he was sworn to protect. By any measure of common sense, he should ban her from his realm.
But he could not. He would not. Though she was not oathsworn to him now, their friendship was not a matter of mere oath. She, like Arcolin, had been the foundation of his domain in Tsaia. She wore Falk’s ruby, even as he did, and never once wavered in her duty.
He wrote a short note to Mikeli, saying he would give Dorrin whatever help he could, and gave it to the courier, who mounted and rode away. One thing was clear to him. He must attempt to break the enchantment he and Paks had made and get the magelords out of the stronghold in Kolobia so that the dragon could do his work and once more lock iynisin into unyielding stone. He had thought to wait until he was certain of his magery; he had thought iynisin would attack him, not Tsaia. And certainly not the young prince. He would not wait any longer. If he succeeded, there would be fewer iynisin anywhere, less danger for all. If he failed? He would not fail. He must not fail.
He called Caernith and the King’s Squires on duty into his office and read them Mikeli’s message.
“You see, my lord, why you must hurry,” Caernith said.
“Yes. I do. Delay will not serve any of us. And I will make the attempt today. I’m going now to tell the queen about this. Come.”
“You should be dressed formally,” Caernith said as they went upstairs.
Kieri glanced at him. It had grown hot a hand of days before, and he had been wearing only a light shirt over his mail. “Why?” he asked.
“You will try to bring them here, you said. They are used to formality in kings and will respect that. And where will they stay? You must have plans, my lord, even if it means a few days’ delay.”
“So I must.” They had come to the royal apartments. Arian opened the door of her chamber.
“Am I late for luncheon?”
“No … I have had disturbing word from Mikeli, and I must talk to you about it.” He told her the bare facts while she stood there. “And so,” he said, “I will do my best to wake the magelords and bring them here. Today.”
Her glance flicked to Caernith and back to him. “Today. You would like me to arrange … something … with the steward?”
His mind had caught up with his emotions now, and he nodded. “It will take both of us most of the day, I don’t doubt. Possibly longer … though I feel strongly that every moment counts now. We need rooms for them—the palace will not hold so many. I’ll send someone into the city to make arrangements at the inns. Food. A place to gather them as they come.” He looked at Caernith. “How many can use the transfer pattern at once?”
“Only a few, my lord.”
“And Caernith says I must change and show a king’s appearance, something they will recognize.”
Arian smiled. “I agree. I will see to the palace arrangements if you deal with the innkeepers and such. And you will rest, Kieri, before you begin the magery: this is not something to begin with your mind full of hurry and confusion.”
Soon the palace was all in a bustle of preparation, and Kieri’s messengers had found and secured every available room in Chaya for the guests they hoped would arrive. In late afternoon, Arian found Kieri trying to squeeze in a quick meeting unrelated to the immediate need and insisted he come upstairs instead.
When he came from the bath she’d arranged, she held out a nightshirt. “There’s no time,” he said.
“There is.” Arian laid her hand on his brow, kissed him, and said, “I will not let you sleep too long,” before she cast him into sleep in the old way. He woke refreshed, and as he dressed, this time in full formal style, Caernith came in, Kieri assumed, to give him more elven advice.
“Where did you get that?” Caernith asked. He sounded angry.
Kieri turned around, startled, his gorget in his hand. “What?”
“Around your neck.”
Kieri’s hand rose to the torc. “This was my mother’s.”
“No. It cannot have been hers.”
“It was. She wore it the day I was taken.” He bent his head a little to let one of the Squires fasten the gorget around his throat, hiding the torc.
“And how, then, did you get it? Have you always had it?”
“No—it was when I returned to the place where she was killed. I told you about that.”
“You didn’t mention this,” Caernith said.
“No, I didn’t,” Kieri said as Squires eased the green, gold-bordered surcoat over his head. “What has it to do with the magelords I’m supposed to wake?” A hint, if Caernith took it, that he needed no distraction now.
“It is far older than your mother was. It is a great treasure of elvenkind, and your grandmother was its guardian. It belongs to us.”
Kieri repressed a sigh. “What is it, then?”
“I … must not say. It is from the dawn of this world, like the Elvenhorn, but even older. Be sure those you bring from the west do not see it.”
Caernith wouldn’t have seen it if he hadn’t come in while Kieri was dressing. Kieri did not say that, tipping his head a little so his Squires could place the crown on it. Then he straightened and looked at Caernith. “No one will see it. You haven’t seen it in all the time you’ve been here. I am more concerned that it might have magical properties that affect what I’m about to attempt.”
Caernith flushed a little. “It will not. Unless … no, I believe it will not
.”
“I trust you will tell me what I need to know if it should do whatever it does,” Kieri said. He could hear the edge in his voice, and it annoyed him. He did not need to be worrying about what the torc was, or what it might do and under what circumstances, when preparing for magery he was not certain he could perform. And facing magelords who might have powers he could not match.
Then Arian came from her chamber in her own formal robes, and he forgot all about Caernith. She took his hand, and they went down together.
In his office, the transfer pattern had been uncovered and all furniture moved well away.
“Are we ready?” Kieri looked around the room at those assembled for the attempt. To his sword-side, the elves—two from the west and four from his own elvenhome—murmured their assent. By the door, two King’s Squires and two Queen’s Squires; they bowed. Still others waited in the hall to escort any magelords brought successfully from Kolobia to the reception room prepared for them.
Kieri looked at Arian, standing beside him next to the transfer pattern on the floor. Arian had insisted, despite his continued protests, that she would not stay safely away. Now she met his gaze with such determination that he did not even try to protest again.
“Then let us begin,” he said. He touched his magery—the elven, the mageborn, the Old Human—and braided them into one strand of power, then imagined the chamber he had seen before. It was easier this time. Almost immediately a wavering scene, as if painted on a veil of air, hung before them: the great hall partly filled with rows of kneeling figures. No sign of Luap. No turmoil in the background: just silence and stillness deeper than silence, the way Paks had described it. For a long moment he and Arian stared at the scene, unspeaking.
“This had better work,” Kieri muttered finally. He raised his voice. “Awake! Awake: your rest is over; your time has come.” It sounded silly to him, but what else could he say?
For a moment nothing happened. He was sure he had failed again. Then a stir moved over the kneeling figures, as if they took a long breath in concert. More than half simply vanished, as if they had never been there. Slowly the others rose, row by row, their shining armor and colorful cloaks brilliant in the clear light, and slowly they turned, first to one another and then all around, as if searching for others.
“Too long,” Arian said of those who vanished. “Nothing left but the semblance the enchantment held. Like the figure of Luap Paks saw, I suppose.”
Light blossomed from one hand after another as the magelords greeted one another and then turned to face whatever it was they saw from their end.
Arian eyed Kieri. “You must come,” Kieri said, staring at the image. The wavering image steadied as more and more of the faces looked toward him. “Now that you are awake, you must leave that place.”
One, a gray-haired man with startling blue eyes, shook his head. “We cannot, mage-king. Outside is death. We were told …”
“On the mageroad,” Kieri said. “Come to me.”
“It is forbidden to us now. They said—”
“It was forbidden then,” Kieri said. “Ages have passed, hundreds of winters, since you were cast into enchantment. Now it is time to go. I am King Kieri of Lyonya, half-elven and half human, of mageborn and Old Human blood both.”
“You—I saw you before—” That was another man, younger, almost pushing the older one aside. “You talked to Lord Selamis the Luap. You are half-elf and mageborn? If it is so long—then is your elven blood why you live so long?”
Kieri had not realized any of them would recognize him from the first time. He’d thought no one but Luap and those standing near him could see him, and besides—all those years. But for them it had been no time at all since they slept. Thinking about it made his head hurt; he did not want to try to explain it to them.
“I am indeed half-elven and half human,” Kieri said, not answering the rest. “And my queen, Arian, is also half-elven. We have spoken to the Lord of the Kingsforest, eldest of living elves, and by his permission, the mageroad is open to you.” He paused for breath; the magelords stared at him, silent. “Take the mageroad now.”
“But … but where will we go upon it?”
“You will come here,” Kieri said. He hoped saying it would make it so. If any of them knew other destinations that had not been blocked, they might go … anywhere. But if he was firm enough, their bewilderment should lead them to where he wanted them.
“Here in Lyonya,” Kieri went on. “Your old homeland is all Girdish now, and Tsaia’s king does not want you there. Here none will harm you if you do no harm.”
“We do not know Lyonya—it is for elves—” The older man looked worried; others nodded behind him.
“And for humans now. Come: fix your minds on this place and on us as your hosts. Come one or two together; those who arrive can then help bring the rest.”
“I will go,” said one woman, streaks of gray in her dark hair. “Derin—will you come with me?”
“Gladly,” said another woman. The two of them walked to the dais at the end of the hall and stepped onto the pattern. They made gestures Kieri did not recognize and then, with a gust of air, appeared on the pattern in his chamber. One of the King’s Squires quickly led them aside and offered a seat, but they turned back to the group by the pattern.
“Lord king,” the first woman said with a bow. “Tell me true, what are you?”
Kieri felt the enchantment she tossed over him and shrugged it aside. “I am the king of this land, as I told you. Falkieri Artfiel Phelan, whose mother was an elf, daughter of the Lady of the Ladysforest, and whose father was a mix of mage and northern human. Bear in mind, Lady, that I am not easily enchanted, and in this day it is considered unmannerly to attempt to enchant one’s host.”
“My pardon.” She bowed very low indeed this time. “I am called Meris, now a widow, for my husband was killed in Gird’s War, and my children by iynisin there in the west.”
“Be welcome, Meris,” Arian said. “And also … Derin, is it?”
“Yes, lords,” said the other woman, bowing low as well. Both wore mail and had swords belted at side. Derin carried a bow of a shape Kieri had not seen before. Neither had the calluses he would have expected from soldiers. Or farmers, for that matter.
“Come, reassure your comrades that you arrived safely,” Kieri said. He gestured, and they came forward to the group.
“Can you see us?” the first woman asked the image in the air. “Here is real—and the people look as they should. No demons. It is a palace. There are elves here as well: it must be Lyonya.”
“You must come now,” Kieri said to those in the stronghold. “The Elders mean to close the stronghold, destroy it permanently, and needed only your long sleep broken to begin their work. If you stay, you, too, will be destroyed.”
Some of those waiting looked around wildly, as if for friends or belongings.
“Nothing is left where you are.” Kieri said. “While you slept for ages, others have visited from time to time. Come now.” He held out his hand. The mageborn moved toward the dais and its pattern. He concentrated on keeping the connection open and knew Arian was helping.
By ones and twos, the magelords stepped onto the dais of that underground hall. As they emerged in the palace, King’s Squires led them out into the hall to make room for more. Kieri could hear them behind him speaking softly, but he ignored that. Men and women both; most were somewhere in what seemed middle age. At last, he saw one final person step onto the dais and turn to face him … and shock held him. This was no magelord, this dark-skinned flame-eyed person. Out came the long tongue, flames flickering from its surface.
“That was well done, Sorrow-King and Half-Song. Let us seal this passage.” And the tongue, glowing, slid through the veil while Kieri’s mind seemed to stutter in its thoughts.
“As you will, Lord Dragon,” he said, stepping forward onto the pattern with Arian at his side. As before, heat smote his face, but the dragon’s tongue did not
burn his own. Instead, he felt warmth spread through his body.
“Sorrow-King, I rejoice in your children.”
Arian followed next, unhesitating. Kieri knew the dragon spoke to her but could not hear the words.
The tongue withdrew. In that distant chamber they could see but not touch, the man’s shape transformed to Dragon’s own shape, and the great eyes blinked at them. “Your honor is clear,” the dragon said. “Release the bond, Sorrow-King, for what I do now must not be seen by mortals.”
Kieri was not sure how to release it; his mind felt clenched on that connection, but he tried to visualize opening his hands and his mind … and it was gone, melting back into nothingness.
He looked at Arian; she was pale, and her hand trembled as she reached out to him. Squires helped them both to chairs; his knees gave way as he sat down, and his vision darkened for a moment.
“At least we didn’t fall on the floor,” he said. Arian smiled but did not answer; her eyes were closed. The Squires brought them sweet pastries and water, and in a short time Kieri saw that Arian was sitting upright, eyes bright and cheeks flushed.
“We did it,” she said. “You woke them, and we brought them here.”
“So we did,” Kieri said. He looked over at Caernith, still in the room though the other elves had gone. “Your king will be pleased.”
“Indeed so,” Caernith said.
“I suppose you heard one of the magelords say he had seen me in that other time?”
“Yes … it is still hard to believe.”
“I know,” Kieri said, running a hand through his hair. “I do not understand it, and I prefer not to think hard about it—it hurts my head.”
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