Winter of Ice and Iron

by Rachel Neumeier

  Behind all this, Raëhemaiëth was now also solidly rooted well to the east, in the bustling river towns of Leiör and Sariy and Las, the rose-pink and ivory stone of West Daman and East Daman, which had never been Harivin before, and the mountains of Eilin, which had belonged to Harivir for a hundred years and more. And in the west, Raëhemaiëth was bound to the fine-boned people and the ancient trees of Ghiariy and to the bright-sailed fishing boats and busy markets of Timir, where the winds spoke always of the sea. Emmeran and Kosiran and Harivin provinces alike were now contained within Raëhemaiëth’s precincts; whatever they’d had time to claim and bind to Raëh.

  To the south, of course, Raëhemaiëth now reached only to the rolling hills and farms of Tinìen. Everything past that belonged now to the Eänetén Power. That was bitter, and Tiro couldn’t blame the Lord of Tinìen for being upset, but he was fairly certain he wouldn’t have had a chance to withstand the Irekaïn Power if he’d tried to hold much more territory than was now bound to Raëh.

  Right now, standing in the heart of his strength, in Raëh, a city built out of the bones of the mountains and the bones of the folk who had lived and died here, he wasn’t sure he could even hold what he still possessed.

  “Everyone will support you,” Gereth said, watching him. “You were wise to call them all in, I think.”

  Tiro nodded, though he wasn’t sure. The other Immanent Powers would support Raëhemaiëth with all their strength. They had no choice now. They spread like a shining web across the face of the land, from point to point, wherever the Power of Irekay had not broken and destroyed them; wherever Raëhemaiëth had restored them; wherever enough men had lived for a long enough time to pour their fears and their hopes and their brief brilliant lives into the realm that lay behind and beyond the world of men. Raëhemaiëth drew life and vigor from all these lesser Powers; it sank roots into the land all across the kingdom, wherever Tiro held a tie, and so all that he held, held firm. But whether he’d been right to summon all the lords and ladies who held those other provinces to Raëh . . . He thought they would be able to do more to support Raëhemaiëth here than from their own provinces.

  His father would have known what to do. Kehera would have known what to do. It was appalling that Tiro was the one at the center of all this effort.

  “You’re the one who figured out how to create new Immanents without losing Raëhemaiëth,” Gereth pointed out. “You guessed it might be possible to bind lesser Immanences to Raëhemaiëth with bonds that are that strange mixture of Fortunate and Unfortunate.”

  Tiro had to laugh. “How do you guess what I’m thinking?”

  The Eänetén smiled. “Long practice. Innisth took Eäneté when he was hardly older than you are now. Though he intended to, of course, and prepared himself for it, so it wasn’t as hard for him.” The smile faded. He added in a low voice, “Nothing was as hard after the old duke was dead. I’d hoped Innisth would never face anything worse than that.”

  When it came to taking a ruling tie, “intended to” and “prepared himself” were phrases that had some fraught implications. Tiro didn’t make a single comment about overweening ambition—certainly not about murder. He knew the old Duke of Eäneté was supposed to have been terrible. Besides, he was aware—Raëhemaiëth was aware—they were always aware of the looming pressure of the Irekaïn Power just outside their borders. Tiro had no choice but to depend on the Eänetén duke to defend the south and most of the east. And he told himself that a man who had made Gereth Murrel his seneschal and had won his apparently unshakable loyalty couldn’t be entirely wicked.

  “I think—” he began.

  And at that moment, as the black winds swept across the moon and the silvery light dimmed, someone unfamiliar stepped soundlessly out of the deep shadows and walked toward them along the tower’s balcony. He held his hands at his sides, palms turned forward to show he carried no weapons. Other than that, Tiro could see very little of him.

  Tiro had an impression of dark and quiet and dangerous, and a fainter impression of familiarity, as though he might have met this man somewhere once or twice before. He couldn’t remember where that might have been and drew breath to call out. Gereth began to step forward, but Tiro caught his arm and pulled him back, because if this were some strange attack by an agent of the Irekaïn Power, he trusted Raëhemaiëth would protect him.

  But the man stopped. He said in a calm, uninflected voice, “Tirovay Elin Raëhema. I wasn’t seeking you, but it’s a fortunate meeting. Perhaps the Gods set us both here at this moment. Do you know me?”

  Tiro tried to pick the man’s face out of the shadows, but it was too dark. There were no lanterns on the tower balcony, because men on duty here at night were supposed to be careful of their night vision. He said, “Tell me your name,” and was pleased at the firm, fearless tone in which that came out.

  “I am called Quòn,” the man told him.

  After a moment Tiro remembered that name. “Quòn. Yes, I remember you. My father sent you to take care of Kehera.” His voice tightened. “A job you don’t seem to have managed very well.”

  The man shrugged. He said without a trace of either offense or apology in his voice, “Kehera Elin Raëhema is in the hands of the Gods and does very well there. She sent me here.”

  “Kehera sent you to me?” Tiro realized he’d taken a step forward, and made himself stand still.

  “Not to you, but to Gereth Murrel,” Quòn corrected, his tone perfectly unconcerned. “But she gave me a token for you, young king.” He held it out: a finger-length tiahel rod, carved with the symbols of the Four Kingdoms.

  Tiro drew a slow breath. He had to force himself not to snatch the rod out of the man’s hand. He took it gently, turned it over in his fingers, and said, with no doubt at all, “Kehera gave this to you.” And then, “But she didn’t send you to me?”

  “You do well enough as you are, young king. As she does well enough where she is. It is Gereth Murrel who is out of his place. It was impossible to come earlier, but fortunately it was also impossible to come later. At the hinge of the night, with the favor of the Gods, one may sometimes step across the miles.”

  He turned to Gereth, who now stood very still at Tiro’s right hand. “I think you would do well to come. Innisth terè Maèr Eänetaì has need of you.”

  “Innisth sent you for me?” Gereth said disbelievingly.

  “Not he,” Quòn said patiently. “Kehera Elin Raëhema, for Eäneté’s sake and for the sake of the world. I think it’s very possible chance and fortune will pivot around Eäneté this midwinter. You will come.”

  This last did not sound at all like a suggestion. Tiro said sharply, “If you were my father’s man then you’re mine now—”

  “I was never any man’s servant, though it suited me to serve Torrolay Elin Raëhema for a time,” Quòn said. “I am a servant of the Fortunate Gods. You must not balk me. I warn you, there’s little time. The hinge of the night does not stay for the hopes of men.”

  Tiro called on Raëhemaiëth. His Immanent stirred, but it did not rise, evidently finding no threat here. Tiro let out a breath, nodded, and laid a hand on Gereth Murrel’s arm. “I don’t know this man. But Kehera wouldn’t mislead us. And besides . . . if Eäneté doesn’t hold . . .”

  “Yes,” said Gereth, but his tone was distracted, and Tiro was fairly certain he hadn’t heard anything after this strange servant of the Gods had said that the Eänetén duke hadn’t been the one to send for him. His expression was hard to read in the dark-streaked moonlight. But he said in a low voice, “I’ll come, of course.” And he held out his hand, stepped forward, and allowed Quòn to take his hand and grip his arm and draw him forward into the shadows.

  “Good fortune go with you!” Tiro called in a low voice.

  “It will,” Quòn answered. “If the Gods of the living earth win out over the Gods that summon the deathly winds. Or else we will all of us fail and fall. Trust Raëhemaiëth. Your line has taught it to be trustworthy, and i
t has long cared for its little ephemeral creatures. When the moment comes, trust Raëhemaiëth.”

  “What moment?” Tiro asked, baffled. “Trust it to do what?”

  But both of the other men were gone before Quòn could answer, if he meant to.

  Then the night turned, and though it would not be dawn for hours yet, the world entered the last day of the year.

  Tiro took a breath and let it out. He ran his thumb along the symbols carved into the tiahel rod and then cast it down on the floor of the balcony. It tumbled with a quiet clatter, teetered for an instant with the Red Falcon of Harivir facing upward . . . and then tipped over and came to rest with the Winter Dragon of Pohorir above the rest.

  Tiro had never truly believed in tiahel divination. Nevertheless, a chill went down his spine. It was cold on the tower balcony, of course. Even so, he turned the King Rod so the Falcon was faceup before he tucked it away in his pocket.

  Then he went inside, back into the warmth, leaving the moonlit night.

  28

  Hours after sundown on the twenty-ninth night of the Iron Hinge Month, the grim night before the uncounted days of the Iron Hinge began, Kehera admitted to herself that she was not going to be able to sleep and got out of her bed. She wanted to take out her tiahel set but couldn’t quite stand to see the King Rod missing. She wondered where it was now, how far along the road between Viär and Raëh.

  Wrapped in a warm robe and surrounded by relit candles, she found thread and needles. There was no spare cloth lying about, however. She thoughtfully embroidered a tiny yellow butterfly on the hem of her robe.

  Kehera had not set a single stitch in cloth since helping get her wedding dress in order. She had been so grieved, and then so busy, and always afraid. She was surprised now to find how much she had missed the quiet activity. Sweeping up all the thread, she resettled herself among the blankets and leaned back against the pillows, frowning at her robe. It was dark blue, lined with soft thick wool and then with smooth creamy linen.

  The work soothed her, even though the thoughts that wandered through her mind were not particularly soothing. A scattering of other butterflies joined the first, fluttering over delicate sprays of flowers along the hem of her robe.

  The movement of air through the room made the candle flames flicker. She noticed that a good long moment before its import dawned on her, and she looked up.

  Tageiny leaned in the doorway. “I heard you moving around and saw the light under your door,” he said softly. “But I don’t want to disturb you.”

  “Go on back to bed,” she said, smiling at him. “I couldn’t sleep, but that’s no reason you shouldn’t.”

  “I’m on watch. You never know.”

  “Words to live by,” commented a dry voice, much too near.

  Tageiny, who had been stepping back, came all the way through the door instead, his sword whispering into his hand. Kehera had not even realized he was armed. But he had hardly drawn his weapon before he was lowering it again, looking disgusted. “How do you get in here?” he demanded.

  Quòn, edging out of the shadows, half-smiled: a quick expression gone almost as soon as it appeared. “Natural talent. And the favor of the Fortunate Gods.”

  Kehera found herself bitterly disappointed. She had prayed he would be nearly to Raëh by this time. And here he was, back here instead. A whole day wasted. “You couldn’t even get out of Viär?” she demanded. “You need something from me—a letter to the men at the gate, a word from His Grace?”

  Luad, hearing unfamiliar voices, appeared at Tageiny’s back, but his senior waved him down. “It’s all right, I think, boy.”

  “It’s more than all right,” Quòn said, an edge of irony in his voice. “I assure Your Highness, I seldom require anyone’s assistance to come and go. The Fortunate Gods open all paths for their servant.” He stepped aside to make way for another, far more familiar, man.

  “Gereth!” Kehera exclaimed, and flung back the blankets, going to take the old man’s hands with real enthusiasm. “How are you? How is Tiro? How is Raëh?”

  Gereth looked tired, and older. When she had first met him, he had seemed strong and very confident, certain of his place in the world. What she saw now in his face was an echo of the uncertainty he had suffered since the duke had dismissed him in Roh Pass.

  But he gripped her hands firmly and smiled. “I’ve been very well. Very well, indeed. Your brother is growing into a true king. He has become quite creative with Raëhemaiëth and allied Immanences. I believe he’s written you about it.”

  “Yes, he has. I’m so glad! I mean, for Tiro, but I’m so glad to see you, too! I got his letter, but I’m not sure I understood everything. Trust Tiro to come up with something no one’s ever done before, or would dare do now! I want to hear all about it. But look, you’re wet. You must be half-frozen.” She pulled a chair around for him and took his cloak, looking around for a place to put it. Tageiny took it away from her and tossed it over the back of another chair, waving to Luad to start a fire in the hearth. “I’d offer wine, or soup, but I’d rather not wake the whole household. They aren’t awake now, are they?”

  “No,” Quòn said. He was leaning, arms folded, against the wall, watching her with an expression of mild curiosity. “Although I suggest quiet, if you’d rather they stayed abed.”

  “Quieter than you’ve been,” Morain Lochan said, coming in and gently closing the door that connected the women’s room from Kehera’s. “Or you’ll wake Eöté. Shall I stay, my lady?”

  By which she meant to imply how unsuitable it would be for a lady to be left unchaperoned with all these men. Though Kehera doubted the woman would be shocked at anything a lady might choose to do.

  “Yes, that’s fine,” Kehera said. “In fact, if you could lay out a dress for me, I think I’ll be wanting it.”

  “Fine and showy? Strict and formal? Practical, for climbing out windows?”

  “Plain,” Kehera decided, “but nice. Nothing to catch the eye or draw attention.”

  The older woman inclined her head and tapped Tageiny on the shoulder, moving him out of the way so she could get into the wardrobe.

  “Quòn,” Kehera said, “Thank you. I don’t understand how you could have gone to Raëh and back so quickly—you must mean the Fortunate Gods literally opened a path for you?” She remembered how Nomoris had stepped through the air, stepped across miles; the Irekaïn Power had done that, opened a way for its servant. For the first time it seemed not just possible, but certain that Quòn really meant that he served the Fortunate Gods. This made her uneasy. But it also, under the circumstances, seemed like a very good thing.

  Despite their low voices, Eöté opened the door to the women’s room and stood blinking in the light. The girl was wearing only a sleeping shift and a light robe, but she didn’t seem aware of that. Her eyes, wide and unblinking, had gone straight to Quòn.

  Kehera looked from one of them to the other. She said hesitantly, “You must be cold, too, Quòn. I’m sure Eöté would bring you a robe or hot tea.”

  Quòn shook his head, although beads of moisture gleamed in his dark hair. “I need nothing. Or nothing a robe or tea could provide.”

  “As stoic and mysterious as he is insistent,” Gereth commented.

  Forgetting Eöté, Kehera had to smile at his tone. “Don’t tell me he dragged you out of Raëh without even letting you grab a cloak.”

  “Very nearly. But the journey was, as you’ve gathered, one of quite astonishing brevity.” Gereth hesitated, and then went on more soberly, “Allow me to offer my most sincere condolences for your loss. I hardly knew your father, but he was kind to me. All the world knows he was a good man and a fine king. I will always be grateful for the hospitality I met in your father’s house.”

  Kehera nodded, unable, at that moment, to answer.

  Perhaps seeing this, Gereth went on much more briskly. “Quòn told me you sent for me most urgently, but not why. Has Innisth . . . ?”

  Kehera saw hi
s anxiety and said quickly, “No, he’s well—mostly well. But he uses his strength prodigiously shoring up our borders, until I fear it will be used up. He still thinks he must resist Irekay all by himself—or he did. What Tiro’s done, he’s done that too, or something like it, with Coär first and then Viär and now Loftè and Risaèn as well.”

  “Good!” Gereth said. “Very good. Has Innisth thought—I don’t suppose he has considered—of course he probably will not consider yielding a tie of this new kind to your brother?” This, from his resigned tone, was not actually a question.

  Kehera lifted her hands in a helpless gesture. “I haven’t been able to persuade him. Caèr won’t take my side, though I think he thinks I’m right. But you—”

  “You think I might persuade him? I’m not confident. Although Innisth must surely be having qualms about his hope to break free of Irekay by now. No matter how strong his position seems here. Nor am I confident that . . . he will tolerate my presence here at all.” Gereth bowed his head slightly, looking at his hands, where they lay in his lap.

  Other than herself, Gereth was the only person Kehera knew who ever used the Wolf Duke’s first name. He’d been doing so, no doubt, for more years than Kehera had been alive. She said, more certain than ever, “I have no such doubts. Not about that. He may not take your advice, Gereth. But he’ll be glad you’ve come, and he’ll listen to you.”

  He opened his hands, uncertain but hopeful.

  Morain Lochan laid out a dark green dress with silver trim.

  “All of you go away,” Kehera said to the roomful of men. “Be discreet. Quòn . . .” She was fairly certain now that she didn’t have the authority or the nerve to try to give him orders.

  The dark man tilted his head consideringly to the side. “As always, if I see a task that seems good to do, I will set my hand to it. If I see a useful chance, I will take it. But as I am here now, I imagine this is the place I am meant to be. If you need me, I will probably be here.”

  “Good!” Kehera said gratefully, though this was not a very reassuring . . . reassurance. Nor was there time to think about it just at the moment. She said, “Gereth, take a moment to rest, but after I’m dressed I want to talk to you about what I have in mind. Stage management, so to speak.”