She gave him an unsmiling look, cautious but in no way fearful. He knew she was aware of Eänetaìsarè. Its presence did not frighten her. It never had. Her own tie to the gentler Immanent of Raëh protected her . . . or Eänetaìsarè became gentler in her Immanent’s presence. He truly thought it might be so. He had not expected such a phenomenon. Yet it seemed it might be so.
Innisth said none of this, but only gave his guest a small nod. She returned it, though she still did not smile.
“We have had a surprise,” he told her. “Lord Laören has crossed the border. He is no longer within Eäneté’s precincts.”
“Already?” she asked, frowning. “I thought Gereth said three days more.”
“Indeed. My eastern border lies eighty miles and more from these mountains. A four-day ride in good weather, for a man who wishes to travel comfortably.”
She thought about that. Then she asked, “Why would this Laören ride good horses to death just to get out of Eäneté? What would be so important? Do you think—but that doesn’t make sense.” That small, thoughtful line appeared between her eyebrows.
“He did not ride fast,” the duke told her. “A normal pace. He was just passing Padné. That is a village two days’ ride from the city of Eäneté, still well within the province. Then he was gone. Toward Irekay, I imagine, though I cannot be certain. But gone from the province entirely. Of that I am certain. He is gone.” The duke paused. The girl didn’t ask how it was possible for a man to step, between one breath and the next, from Padné to the Eänetén border. She knew it should not be possible. She was waiting for him to explain how it could be true.
“Methmeir Irekaì has reached out and gathered Laören up, him and all his party,” Innisth stated. It was surmise, but what other explanation could there be? “He wished to question him about Eäneté, about me. He persuaded the Great Power of Irekay to extend its awareness and its reach and snatch Laören away from Eäneté. I see no other likely explanation. Only a Great Power could do any such thing.” He paused, because of course the princess knew that. Then he added, “But the man you knew, this servant of Pohorir’s king. Gheroïn Nomoris. He bore a tie to the Irekaïn Power. So much seems clear. Nevertheless, he walked from place to place like a normal man, not covering miles in a step. Methmeir Irekaì did not use his strength so to bring Gheroïn and his men and you yourself to him. I surmise events have begun moving more swiftly or more urgently.”
“Or perhaps he couldn’t do for Nomoris what he did for Laören,” Kehera suggested. “We had barely entered Pohorir when I got away. We were still nearly in the mouth of the pass, just above Enchar. And Enchar is different, isn’t it? Because it belonged to Kosir until fairly recently. So I don’t know what Nomoris or—or your king might have done as we came nearer Irekay’s precincts, if I hadn’t escaped.”
The duke considered her. She did not appear frightened. Concerned, yes. He could hardly fault her for that. He said, “Sit, if you wish. Tell me again of Gheroïn Nomoris and the tie you saw in him. How did you escape once Gheroïn had brought you into Pohorir? I would not think your thin tie could have gotten you clear of a sorcerer who carried the sort of tie that could cast back deep snows and open Anha Pass when it should have been closed.” The quality of the silence alerted him, and he studied the Raëhema girl with narrow attention. “Well?”
“I had help getting away from Nomoris,” she admitted. “He’s dead; I told you that, didn’t I? A . . . a friend shot him with a crossbow and killed him. But I won’t tell you about my . . . my friend. In case he . . . in case.”
She met his eyes with quiet certainty. Normally he took defiance as a challenge. Normally he enjoyed breaking it to cringing submission. This girl . . . Eänetaìsarè stirred behind his heart, but softly. The Immanent did not take her defiance as a challenge. And Innisth . . . The girl would not answer him, and he found her defiance merely . . . appealing.
The Harivin princess was not what he had expected. He did not know what he had expected, but after a scant few days of her unwilling company, he did know that Kehera Raëhema was not it. She feared nothing, not even him. She looked at everything, including him, with the same clear gaze, a line of thought springing into existence between her calm gray eyes, and kept her own counsel about what she saw. Or she said what she thought, with an astounding lack of fear.
Innisth found, remarkably, that he had very little desire to break that calm. He began to say something to her, he did not know what, and instead found himself surging to his feet, gripping the edge of the table, his leg blazing with the pain of the abrupt movement. Eänetaìsarè was abruptly fully roused and furious. Kehera Raëhema stepped back and tucked herself against the wall by the window, shrinking half behind the draperies. Her man, naked sword in his hand, had stepped to one side where he could help conceal her and still have room to move. And all of them were staring at a dead man.
Aside from Kehera’s tale, Gheroïn Nomoris seemed both like and unlike the man Innisth remembered from his visit to Irekay in his youth. The Gheroïn he remembered would have been laughing, derisive. This man looked exactly like he had died, and remembered his death. But, despite Kehera Raëhema’s tale, he certainly did not look dead now.
It was impossible twice over for Gheroïn to have come here like this, of course. When an Immanent Power took up the dead within its precincts, as sometimes happened, it did not raise them up. It took them into itself, certainly. That . . . was whatever that was, and it was different for every Immanent, but it was certainly not this. But Gheroïn did not know he had revealed so much to Innisth by coming here. He could not suspect that Innisth knew that he, Gheroïn, had been killed in the mouth of the pass above Enchar. He must think he showed the king’s strength in stepping through the miles. But he surely could not guess that he showed Innisth the king’s impossible ability to raise up dead men and send them walking through the air.
A king who held the deep tie to a Great Power . . . a king could sometimes do amazing things. From the princess’s tale, Gheroïn Nomoris had carried a strong tie to the Irekaïn Power, and he had been about the king’s business. But none of that explained a man who had died and now lived again, a man who had—what? Snatched Lord Laören across the miles from Eäneté to Irekay and then stepped in the other direction himself?
It was impossible. And yet here was this dead man, alive and standing here in the heart of Eäneté.
“Innisth terè Maèr Eänetaì,” Nomoris said, paying no apparent heed to Innisth’s astonishment. His voice was flat and chill, nothing like the voice Innisth remembered. He said, “We are rising up in our strength. We are ready to move now in every direction. We have taken Immaör in Kosir and thrown down Corrièl Immariön; the King of Kosir is no more, and his heir has fled.”
Innisth stared at him in utter astonishment. “Is that the king’s ambition? To take Kosir? Why Kosir?” That we could hardly refer to anyone but the king as well as Gheroïn Nomoris. He asked, hardly believing it, “You say he has taken Immaör in the heart of Kosir; you say he has thrown down the King of Kosir. Does he intend to strike from Kosir against Emmer and Harivir at once?” He hesitated a breath, then went on smoothly, as though it were a reasonable question and he expected a reasonable answer. “Had he not already thrown down Hallieth Suriytaiän and destroyed the Great Immanent of Suriytè?”
“Hallieth Theraön resists us,” Gheroïn said, still in that flat voice. “So we took Immaör in order to establish our hold in the north. Corrièl Immariön is dead. The Great Power of Immaör clings now to Cimè Immariön, but she will not long survive. We will find her. We will take her tie and entirely subsume her Great Immanent. All Kosir will fall before us. Then we shall press west from Kosir into Emmer and force Hallieth Theraön’s submission. But we shall not wait for that before we move against Harivir. Raëhemaiëth has proven our bitter enemy. Now we will strike west through Roh Pass. If we are swift, we will deal Torrolay Raëhema a mortal blow. We must press forward against Harivir and take Raëh as
quickly as we may.”
Innisth said, carefully deferential, “And you wish Eäneté to serve this aim.”
“We will strike west through the mountains here. Once we have established ourselves in Emmer, we will strike against Raëh from the north. Once you cross through Roh Pass and take Coär, we will also be able to come against Raëh from the south.” He must have felt the anger rising in the duke, or in Eänetaìsarè, for he added, “You will not refuse. Your Immanent is not sufficient to withstand Irekaìmaiäd.”
Anger rose, and sudden understanding. This had been Laören’s report, the only part of it that had interested Gheroïn, or perhaps the part that had interested the king. That the Immanent of Eäneté was not strong enough to withstand the Great Immanent of Irekay.
Innisth had intended Laören to make exactly that report. But he had not expected this result.
“Two days,” said Gheroïn. “You will be prepared to yield the soldiers of Eäneté to us within two days. We will take Coär. We will take its Immanent. We will take it. Then we will come against Raëhemaiëth from two directions at once. Raëh will fall, and all Harivir will be ours.”
Kehera Raëhema made a small noise, not quite a gasp, quickly stifled. But it was enough to catch Gheroïn’s attention. He turned, gazed at her for a moment, and then said, not even seeming surprised, “Raëhemaiëth. Here you are.” He paused and then added, now sounding surprised, “But sheltering with Eänetaìsarè?”
The girl shrank back, cowering from this man as she had never cowered from the Eänetén duke.
Tageiny, his expression calm, stepped smoothly around and made as though to run the man through from behind. But his sword rebounded, twisting in his hand. He had struck hard and not expected the block; he dropped the weapon. His little wrist knife was already in his left hand, but his expression suggested he knew he would do no better with that than with the sword. Gheroïn had not even turned to look at him.
Innisth, with a feeling of inevitability, stepped to the side, reached out, caught Tageiny’s left wrist, and held out his own hand, palm-up, in silent command.
“I saw you die! Quòn killed you!” Kehera said, all her attention on Nomoris. Then she said, sounding even more horrified, “There’s nothing left in you but the tie, Fortunate Gods, you’re hollow. You’re not Gheroïn Nomoris at all. You’re dead. There’s nothing there—” She backed away, but there was nowhere to go. Nomoris was between her and the door.
Tageiny opened his hand and let his knife fall into Innisth’s hand.
“Heir of Raëhema. Give me Raëhemaiëth,” said Nomoris, or the dead man that had been Nomoris. He stepped forward, coldly expressionless, reaching out to seize her.
Innisth terè Maèr Eänetaì, the Wolf Duke, the Iron Duke, raised up the Immanent Power of Eäneté. Eänetaìsarè roared into him and through him, brilliant and furious and terrified. He laid the strength of the mountains into the blade. Eänetaìsarè sent the brilliant leap of fire and the sharp fury of the high winds slicing along its edge, and they stepped forward and drove the knife into the lower back of the man who had been Gheroïn Nomoris, angled upward, aiming for the kidney. This time, the knife did not rebound.
Nomoris, or the man who had been Nomoris, uttered a short hissing cry, jerked back and away, and was gone, into a swift blur of shadows and light.
Innisth Eänetaì bowed his head, closed his eyes, and raised the borders of Eäneté. All the borders, from the edge of Kimsè to the border that ran hard against southern Tisain, and the other way, away from the mountains, east nearly eighty miles. Eänetaìsarè reached through him like fire exploding through stone and struck along every boundary, marking Eäneté off from the rest of Pohorir, raising a barrier to anyone carrying a foreign tie.
For some time, Innisth was unable to perceive anything besides Eänetaìsarè.
At last that faded, and he discovered himself seated at his table, in his own house, in his own body. He drew a long breath. Another. Eänetaìsarè still simmered beneath his skin, but the great roaring fire had burned itself out. He was aware of the Raëhema heir near at hand. Of the attenuated presence of her Immanent. Raëhemaiëth had supported him—supported Eänetaìsarè—he was aware of that, now that the pressure had eased.
Another breath, while he tried to judge whether he might have returned to himself enough to think.
“Your Grace?” someone said. A hand touched his—an outrageous familiarity. He guessed it was the Raëhema girl by his very lack of outrage. It might have been Caèr Reiöft. But the voice was not Caèr’s. The touch was not Caèr’s familiar touch.
His eyes were closed. He had not realized. He opened them and lifted a hand to his face gingerly. He had become strange to himself.
“Your Grace,” Kehera Raëhema said again. “Your Grace, are you . . . all right?”
“Send for Gereth,” he said. His own voice was unfamiliar to his ears: worn and husky. His throat hurt as though he had been shouting. He did not remember shouting.
“I’m here,” Gereth said from the doorway. “I’m here.” He sounded shocked. Innisth wondered distantly what he saw. Some length of time must have passed, for others crowded behind Gereth: Captain Etar, of course. A scattering of other staff.
Innisth rubbed his face hard with both hands. He said huskily, trying to order his thoughts. “That was a sorcerer. We already knew that Methmeir Irekaì made him into a sorcerer. But he is something else as well now.”
“I’ve no doubt Your Grace is correct,” Gereth said.
“He was hollowed out,” Kehera Raëhema said shakily. “Wasn’t he? I wasn’t wrong about that. He was a sorcerer when he caught me in Suriytè. He already had a tie then. I told you about that. Not a natural tie such as everyone is born with, but a deep tie your king had forced on him. It was in him then. The Irekaïn Power, I mean. That’s how you make a sorcerer, I know. But that . . . that’s not what I saw in him now.”
“I doubt the king had to force the deep tie on him,” Innisth said grimly. “Gheroïn was the sort to grasp at power, believing he could sidestep the cost. But you are correct. That is not what is in him now. That was a dead man. There is nothing in him now but the Irekaïn Power itself.”
“Is that even—” the princess began, and stopped. Plainly it was possible. They both knew it had happened. They could both sense it through their Immanences. Their own Immanences made sure they knew it.
Innisth said, “The Immanent Power of Tisain is not strong, and it will have been weakened further because Geif has left its precincts, even if he still lives.”
“Tisain matters, after all this? How?” Gereth sounded exasperated.
“This is the time. This is the moment,” Innisth said to him—to all of them. “This is the only moment we may ever have. We have betrayed ourselves completely, to an enemy more inimical and far more powerful than we had guessed. We must move at once. Forward, as there is no way back. Tisain is vulnerable. It is small, but taking it will strengthen Eänetaìsarè. So we shall take it.” He held his hand out to the Raëhema girl. “Your Power steadies mine,” he told her plainly. She already knew it, and though her eyebrows rose, she answered the implicit command, taking his hand. Her fingers were slender in his hand, but her grip was firm. She met his eyes, quizzical and fearless. She had never feared anything. Except the Irekaïn Power. That showed good sense.
“Now,” said the duke, and raised up Eänetaìsarè a second time. This time it came more easily, with less fury. It was surprisingly easy to fling its power south, a hundred miles and more. Wolf-wild, wolf-fierce, he met the border of Tisain . . . of Tisaniceì. Vicious, but small. Like a little weasel, a stoat. Quick and sharp-toothed and angry, not dangerous to the wolf, but eager to bite. Its anger met his, and both flared, but the thin, silvery presence of Raëhemaiëth drew him back and steadied him. Stone shrugged upward and settled; fire rose upward and settled. The wolf closed its jaws on the little stoat, but gently. Gently.
For some measureless time, Tisaniceì contin
ued to struggle. But then, recognizing that it was not being crushed, it grew still. It was not exactly afraid. Immanent Powers were never exactly afraid. But it was like fear. It knew Eänetaìsarè was much stronger. “Yield,” Innisth whispered. “Yield.”
Tisaniceì stilled. He held it. He did not let it go, and it lay still and did not fight him.
Fiercely satisfied, he released the Raëhema girl’s hand. His awareness of that deeper aspect of the world faded, yet he remained aware of Eänetaìsarè. The satisfaction mostly belonged to the Power, though some of it was also his. He was still aware of the Immanent Power of Tisain. It did not fight him—Eänetaìsarè—it did not fight them, even now, when it might have tried again to free itself. Its submission was satisfying. The bond he had forced upon it would feed his own strength. But Eänetaìsarè did not draw on the bond, not yet. It ruled Tisain now, whether to support it or take its strength . . . that was entirely Innisth’s choice. And Eänetaìsarè’s, of course.
“It needs . . .” he began, and looked at Verè Deconniy. “I will take the tie from Geif, lest he become a weakness through which our enemies can reach the Immanent of Tisain. To whom should it go?”
The young captain blinked and drew a slow breath, visibly turning this question over in his mind. “Innè,” he said at last. “Perhaps Innè Gereïné. She is his niece. She is not kind. But she likes her people to prosper—to show her own strength, that she has the power to protect them.” He stopped, swallowing, and added, “I don’t know what she would be like, without the need to resist her uncle.”
“She will do,” Innisth said. “I will make it plain that she must protect her people from me. And if she displeases me too greatly, I can always kill her and set the tie elsewhere. I will make that plain to her as well.” He looked at Gereth. “Send a man to Innè Gereïné with a message informing her of my intention. She must be ready to take the tie. Be sure this is clear to her.”
“Yes,” said Gereth, sounding a little bit stunned.
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