Winter of Ice and Iron

by Rachel Neumeier

  “Makes me particularly glad you’re here, Your Highness, I’ll say that,” Lady Taraä agreed forthrightly. “I’m not such a fool as to let a foreign Immanent anchor itself into Leiör whatever it promises us, but invite Raëhemaiëth into a closer bond with Leiöriansé? That I’d do in a heartbeat to keep out this ambitious enemy. Raëhemaiëth, we trust.”

  Tiro nodded, not knowing how to answer this. He was fairly sure he was flushing, though she hadn’t meant anything personal by that, he knew. He tried to steady his mind, think about what Corvallis had said.

  He could think of just one time where a king had forced his Great Power to anchor itself into foreign lands to which it had no proper bond, promising to support the lesser Immanences while instead—this part was surmise—intending to forge his own ruling tie to each Immanent Power, superseding the lords who already bore those ties.

  Actually, every part of that story was surmise. That had been in the south. Not much was known about the calamity that had consumed the entire south. Something had gone wrong, and the Great Power had become an Unfortunate God, a thing of chaos and terror. Such disasters were not common; that was the best known of such apotheoses, and almost nothing was known even of it. But every child knew at least that the lands of the north, too, might have been destroyed except the Fortunate Gods had raised up the Wall of Storms to utterly and forever divide south from north. And even the Fortunate Gods had not been able to prevent the Wall from spawning black storms at midwinter, nor dragons from riding the obsidian winds across the northlands.

  Or had not cared to prevent such things. Even the Fortunate Gods were mysterious and chancy; one prayed to them for favor and luck, but their wishes and intentions were only a matter for speculation. Tiro himself agreed with the school of thought that argued that the Fortunate Gods mostly wanted Immanent Powers approaching their apotheosis to become Fortunate rather than Unfortunate Gods, and that it was only happenstance that this goal also led to happier outcomes for mortal creatures. But even that was only speculation.

  “What I think,” General Corvallis said in his blunt, straightforward way, “is that Methmeir Irekaì wanted to anchor his Power to a land far in the north, where black storms and dragons never come. If he ever needed any reason other than ambition to do . . . whatever he thought he was doing. And if this was his work, which we don’t actually know.”

  Tiro nodded, but he was almost grateful to think of the King of Pohorir merely destroying the Immanent Power of Suriytè in order to anchor his own Immanent to that land. That was peculiar and frightening and probably boded ill for what Methmeir Irekaì might do next, but destroying an Immanent was surely a great deal safer than forcing one out of its land and into apotheosis. Methmeir Irekaì might be leaving lands hollow, which was bad, but Tiro couldn’t see how anything the Pohorin king was doing could lead to the apotheosis of his own Great Power into an Unfortunate God. Rather the reverse; it should force the Irekaïn Power to stretch itself out thin. It might even force it to fracture into smaller Immanences, though . . . Tiro wasn’t sure that was actually possible. He knew just the books he wanted to consult, but they were all back in Raëh, unfortunately.

  And of course if the Great Power of Suriytè had been destroyed, it was no longer a threat at all. Surely whatever Methmeir Irekaì was doing, bad as it might get, couldn’t lead to anything like the calamity that had fallen on the southlands.

  “Your news is alarming, certainly,” Tiro said. “We’re pleased you brought us this word. Yet I’m not sure just what you meant to ask my father to do.” Obviously General Corvallis must have ridden south almost at once to be here in Leiör so soon after these events he described. Which meant the general had been driven by some urgent necessity. Tiro went on, careful not to imply agreement to anything. “May I ask what it is you want from Harivir, precisely?”

  The general gave him a short, acknowledging nod. “Your Highness, I would very much like to see Emmer and Harivir come to a useful understanding. That will obviously not be possible while Hallieth Theraön Suriytaiän remains King of Emmer. I ask you—I ask His Majesty Torrolay Elin Raëhema—to help me bring down the Mad King. I’d hoped force of arms alone would be sufficient. Force of arms should have been sufficient if he’d lost the Suriytè Power and stopped there. But clearly that’s not the case. This new Power that’s reached across the miles to anchor itself in him and in Suriytè . . . This complicates matters, whether it’s Methmeir Irekaì’s doing or another’s. I ask—I ask humbly—for the assistance of Torrolay Raëhema and Harivir in this cause. But I must point out that if Hallieth Theraön Suriytaiän is not brought down without delay, he may well reach some accommodation with this lord who has bound a foreign Power into Suriytè, and then Harivir may very well find itself at odds with both the Mad King and his new overlord—surely not a situation any of us can wish to see develop.”

  Yes, that was very humble. Tiro kept his face smooth. This moment was the kind that would be remembered forever by every historian in the Four Kingdoms; he knew that as surely as though he were opening a dusty tome right now and reading an account of the general’s words. He only wished the next words didn’t have to be his own, because he didn’t know how to answer this. He wished he were watching this scene from behind his father’s chair. Lady Taraä wasn’t leaping into this moment, either. Which would be very wrong of her, of course, but Tiro would not necessarily have minded.

  Except . . . if he’d been standing behind his father’s chair, he would have known what he would suggest. It’s just that he wouldn’t have had the responsibility for things going horribly, irretrievably wrong if his advice proved terribly mistaken.

  He took a deep breath, let it out, and said, he hoped calmly, “Harivir would want some form of surety, I expect, General Corvallis. A demonstration of your sincerity. For example . . . Sariy.”

  Lady Taraä smiled. “Oh, now, there’s an excellent notion.”

  Tiro nodded to her. Obviously she had understood at once that if he could bring Sariy into Harivir, bind it to Raëhemaiëth when it had been bound to Suriytè, then that would be the beginning of a buffer between the Mad King and the southern bank of the Imhar. It would most particularly serve as a buffer between the Mad King and her own Leiör.

  Corvallis looked like a man who’d bitten into a summer-ripe plum and found it unexpectedly sour. But he didn’t reject this counteroffer out of hand, either, though Tiro was proposing to cut down the size of his potential kingdom right from the beginning. Corvallis probably had not expected to hold all the lands once claimed by the Kings of Emmer who had held the close bond to Suriytè. The general only said, “Sariy has belonged to Emmer for a long time. You know that, of course.”

  “Certainly. And as Suriytè has become hollow, then Sariy has no true overlord at all. While the lord of Sariy may find that an excellent state of affairs at the moment, it will put him in a dangerous position if a stronger Power moves to force a bond on Sariy’s Immanent. For example, this Power that has, you say, anchored itself in Suriytè. Aran Sariäna must be aware of the danger. I can promise—I do promise—that any bond Raëhemaiëth establishes will be Fortunate. That’s all I have in mind: an ordinary Fortunate bond. He knows Raëhemaiëth will do no harm to Sariy. Do you think he’ll hope as much for the Irekaïn Power? Do you hope for as much from Irekay?”

  The sour-plum look deepened, but Corvallis said reluctantly, “I don’t think anyone sensible expects anything good from Methmeir Irekaì.”

  Tiro nodded. “Later, I do expect to find out whether Raëhemaiëth can extend itself all along the river. But Sariy will do, for a start.” He paused and then asked with real curiosity, “What else did you have in mind when you crossed the river, if not this?”

  General Corvallis shook his head, by which Tiro understood that he had hoped to get a lot more for a lot less. Probably he’d hoped to somehow finesse the situation to make sure the Mad King faced Torrolay Elin Raëhema on this side of the river, on Harivin soil. That might not even b
e a bad idea, if it came to true battle: Raëhemaiëth was strongest in the land to which it had been bound the longest. But Tiro was very sure his father would be even better pleased if the whole grim situation could be worked out in some way that kept any battle right out of Harivir entirely.

  He said, “If you want Harivir’s help in this, then you’ll have to persuade Lord Aran of Sariy. Such a bond between Sariy and Raëh would benefit us all. Once Raëh has established a bond to Sariy . . .” Tiro opened his hands. “Perhaps we make the same arrangement with other towns along our common border. Daman, perhaps, and even Luòriy. I only wish there were still an Immanent in Talisè to which Raëhemaiëth might be bound.”

  This was true, but a regret unexpectedly nudged at the back of Tiro’s mind. He frowned, but it would not come clear.

  Corvallis said shortly, interrupting his thoughts, “Your Highness, we can discuss Sariy. And Talisè. But anything farther north is out of the question.”

  Tiro focused again on the present moment. He said carefully, picking his words, “General Corvallis, Harivir’s interest isn’t in helping you establish a ruling line of Corvallis Suriytaiän kings. I’m sure that’s clear to you. It’s in protecting our own people and countering the continuing threat posed by Hallieth Theraön, whatever tie he carries now. And that means expanding our own reach and reducing his, by whatever means are necessary.”

  The general gave him a level look. “I’m in no position to lay down terms. I know that. But, Your Highness, neither are you. Harivir must help me, and quickly, or it’ll be the Mad King you have on your border again, and I don’t mean some new border that stretches east to west on the other side of the Imhar River. Nor can you expect to face Hallieth Suriytaiän alone, but also whoever’s forced this new tie on him. Methmeir Irekaì, as you say; I wouldn’t be surprised. Tell your father that, Your Highness. I’m a reasonable man, but no one besides me is in position to pick up the land the Mad King’s left in broken pieces. If I fail, who knows what enemy Harivir will find itself facing by midwinter?”

  “Sariy,” said Tiro, clenching his hands together under the table and forcing himself not to look away. “And then we’ll talk about the next step.”

  This got a long pause, as General Corvallis plainly hadn’t expected such a lack of give. At last he nodded, grudgingly. “I’ll speak to Aran Sariäna. I agree in principle. But, no offense, Your Highness, I’d expect Lord Aran would be happier if it were Torrolay Raëhema himself who established that bond.”

  So would Tiro. He started to say so, stopped himself, and said instead, “How many days’ grace will Hallieth Theraön give us? Can you say? Can Aran Sariäna? This doesn’t just benefit Leiör. Sariy would also be far safer bound to Raëh.” And he got to his feet, leaned forward, grasped the heavy haft of the massive ax, closed his eyes, and called inwardly, Raëhemaiëth! Beside him, he was aware of Lady Taraä drawing a shocked breath, but he was mostly aware of Raëhemaiëth’s rising around and within him. The bond between the two Immanences was normally Fortunate, with strength flowing from Greater to lesser; but now Raëhemaiëth rose hard, and Leiöriansé gave way, and Tirovay Elin Raëhema lifted the ax smoothly from its long rest. The deep, deep gash in the wood was stained with rust that looked red as blood in the afternoon light.

  Then Tiro let out his breath and the glittering strength of the Power faded, and suddenly the ax was so heavy in his hands he could barely hold it. Stiffening his back, he offered it across the table to General Corvallis. “Take this to Aran Sariäna,” he commanded. “And tell him that I will reclaim it in friendship or otherwise, as he chooses.”

  It was almost exactly what Tiro’s own great-great-great-grandfather had said to that remote, slantwise relative of Lady Taraä’s, when he’d slammed this very ax into this very table. Very soon after that, Leiör had become a part of Harivir without any other weapon being lifted.

  Whether or not General Corvallis knew the story, he took the ax with a respectful nod that was close to a bow. “I’ll tell him . . . I’ll tell him, if he desires to forge a bond between his Immanent and yours, he need have no concern regarding the strength of your tie.”

  “Yes,” Tiro said, a shade too quickly, and made himself pause and then go on in more measured tones. “I shall pass this word to my father, I promise you, General Corvallis, but I think we won’t wait for his answer. Speak to Aran Sariäna, and send me word . . . tonight?” He couldn’t quite bring himself to make that an order, but he knew his tone had definitely become too uncertain on that last word. “Or by dawn tomorrow,” he said, as firmly as he could. “I’m sure His Majesty my father will agree that Sariy would do better bound to Raëh than to whatever Great Power has taken Suriytè.” He couldn’t stop himself from adding, “And I’m sure my father would be even more disposed toward assisting in a change of line and authority in Emmer if someone were to find my sister and return her to us safely.”

  Whatever the general thought of this—he looked grim enough—he nodded. “I’ll find Her Highness,” he promised in his turn. “If she’s still anywhere in Emmer, I’ll find her and send her back safe to you.”

  7

  Kehera Raëhema entered Pohorir sometime during the early part of the Month of Frost. She did not know the exact day. In the pass that led from Kosir into Pohorir, all the days blurred together in one endless sweep of cold and apprehension and exhaustion.

  She knew she and her captors had approached most closely to Harivir on the fifth day of the month; they had been so close. The riverboat Nomoris had hired had passed right by Leiör before beating its way upriver and into Kosir. Kehera had stood at the tiny window of her private cabin and stared out at the town as they passed it. She couldn’t help but wonder whether her brother or father might be in Leiör at that exact moment, watching her boat pass by the town and never knowing she was a prisoner upon it.

  She had tried so hard to think of a way to escape. But she had failed, and lost her chance. And then she’d lost track of the days as well, which made her feel strangely disconnected from the world and from herself.

  Or maybe that was lingering grief and guilt for Eilisè. And increasing terror for herself. She felt so alone. She was so alone. At least that meant no other friend would die to save her, but she felt so helpless, and so afraid. No wonder she clung to the numb distance born of loneliness and cold and silence.

  At home they would still be waiting for the first frost to whiten the stubble in the fields. It would not snow near Raëh, not this month, not until midwinter. But here on the border between Emmer and Pohorir, traveling into the teeth of the mountains, her captors had carried her into what already seemed the depths of winter.

  If someone had asked her a month ago, Kehera would have said that traveling through the Takel Mountains was impossible even early in winter. No one dared Anha Pass once the snow began to fall. She knew it must be worse later, but to her the bone-grinding cold of the heights seemed terrible enough already. It drained strength, killed thought, and paralyzed the will.

  Kehera rode with her head bowed and her hood pulled across her face. She had learned to pry shards of ice out of the hooves of her shaggy horse, handling her borrowed hoof-pick with fingers she could scarcely feel. She had not realized that chunks of ice and frozen pebbles could be so dangerous until she had allowed her first horse to go lame. Gheroïn Nomoris had put her on a different animal and left one of his own men behind with the lame horse, abandoning man and beast without regard for the man’s pleas. The man who was left behind had been one of her captors, and Kehera had told herself firmly that she didn’t care about his fate, but riding away from him had been horrible. After that she checked her new horse’s hooves every time she felt any worrisome change in his gait.

  No one stopped her from pausing to care for her horse or for her own needs, or seemed concerned that she kept the hoof-pick in a pocket of her skirt. It was the cold that held Kehera prisoner now.

  Nomoris had driven them all mercilessly, hoping to get clear of Anh
a Pass before the deepening snow could close it off. When they did not quite succeed, he rode out before them and spread out a hand into the teeth of the wind, and the winds rose and threw the snow back.

  Kehera had been horrified to discover that Nomoris was a sorcerer—a man without a natural deep tie, a man on whom a deep tie had been forced, a man who now held something of the power of a king at the cost of allowing Methmeir Irekaì’s will, even the king’s identity, to subsume his own. Even worse, the Irekaïn Power itself would draw out Nomoris’s life and strength through that unnatural bond, feeding both gradually and steadily to Methmeir Irekaì, preserving the king’s youth and health and strength as Nomoris withered into age and infirmity before his time.

  There were stories about sorcerers and sorcery. None of them had happy endings.

  The King of Pohorir must have set that unnatural deep tie into Nomoris, and Nomoris must have allowed it to happen. Maybe Gheroïn Nomoris was the sort of man who thought all of that was a fair trade for the power that came with the deep tie. That was horrifying in a different way.

  Once she knew of the tie he carried, Kehera was also terrified of the hissing cold in his voice and behind the winds he called up. She flinched from Nomoris, avoiding his eye as best she could. She didn’t understand how he could call on any Pohorin Power when he was so far from its precincts.

  It had said it wanted her. It had said that once it got her to its own precincts, it could take Raëhemaiëth. She didn’t understand how the Irekaïn Power could do that. It was no older than Raëhemaiëth—more aggressive, yes, but no deeper. On the other hand, she truly didn’t want to find out how it would carry out such threats.