Springwar

by Tom Deitz

  At least it was the light of day. Eddyn wondered when he’d ever see the real thing again.

  It was not quite noon, based on the quality of light, when Eddyn heard a commotion without: the stomp of booted feet, the rustle of mail, and, mostly masked by them, the softer tread of house-boots. No voices.

  The sounds halted outside his cell. Keys jingled, locks clicked, and the door slid sideways, to reveal four guards in royal livery surrounding the slim, fit, black-haired figure of Gynn syn Argen-el, High King of all Eron.

  The King wore the Crown of Oak and a tabard in the colors of his Cloak of State. He also carried a sword—unsheathed, as were those of his escort.

  Eddyn rose automatically, for all he and Gynn were of the same clan. The crown meant he was there in official capacity. The movement raised Eddyn’s head above the King’s, which he doubted was advisable, given the circumstances, and so he fell forward to his knees, bowing slightly. “Majesty,” he murmured, letting silence play into his hands. Impulsive he might be; he knew when he was outmanned.

  The King leaned against the wall, dismissing all but one young blond guardsman with a wave of his hand. A deep breath, and the King spoke.

  “Eddyn, Eddyn, Eddyn,” he began, almost a sigh. “What am I going to do with you?”

  Eddyn didn’t reply.

  “It wasn’t a rhetorical question, Eddyn. You make things very difficult for me. You commit such acts that I am forced to come to you in your cell, lest word reach the wrong ears that you have returned.”

  “With what am I charged, Majesty?” Eddyn replied boldly.

  “With destruction of a masterwork.”

  Eddyn felt his blood go cold, but was determined to brazen it out. “Which masterwork would that be, Majesty?”

  “A helm I commissioned be made for the royal regalia by your cousin, my kinsman, Avall syn Argen-a.”

  “Avall and this helm should both be in Gem-Hold,” Eddyn replied. “How is it that I am accused of their destruction?”

  The King snorted. “You’re testing me to see what I know of certain matters, which isn’t wise. You have been accused.”

  “I have the right to face my accusers.”

  A brief pause, then: “Strynn san Ferr and Rann syn Eemon.”

  “They told you this?”

  “In a manner of speaking.”

  “A manner …”

  “A manner,” the King repeated for emphasis.

  “So you’ve no proof?”

  “Not … conventional proof.”

  “Which implies that you’re aware of a certain larger issue of which this, if true, is but an aspect.”

  Another sigh. “Eddyn, you were never a good liar. And I tell you frankly, you don’t act like a man who’s been caught off guard.”

  “I don’t act like most men, anyway.”

  “True,” the King conceded, “both for good or ill. But the fact is, I know why you’re here.”

  Eddyn didn’t reply, though his brain was working as fast as it ever had. The King knew about the gem, which implied that Avall had somehow made it here, impossible though that seemed. But the report of the desecration had to have come from Gem-Hold, from both Strynn and Rann. Which proved that Rann had returned to the hold. And Strynn and he had managed to get word to the King—word that had convinced him. Word he did not want widely known, even in Argen, else the King would not be here.

  “How do you know it was me who committed the desecration?” Eddyn asked, finally. “What were the particulars?”

  “I could find out the former under the influence of imphor, as I’m sure you know. I’d prefer not to have to do that. I have a story. If yours matches …”

  Eddyn shook his head. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty, but I don’t think it would be wise for me to say more. Not until I’ve faced my accusers.”

  “Which won’t be until Sunbirth,” the King spat. “Very well. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy your own company.”

  Eddyn raised his head. “Two questions, Majesty, if I may.”

  The King turned at the door. “Yes?”

  “Rrath of Priest-Clan, and … Tyrill.”

  “What of them?”

  “That is what I would ask.”

  A long pause. “I haven’t told Tyrill you’ve returned, nor will I until I have more information to hand. Nor will I permit her to speak to you without myself and Lord Law present.”

  “And Rrath?”

  The King sighed. “Sometimes, Eddyn, I truly do think you are two people. The Priest lives, and you did right not to move him, but the circumstances … are suspicious. Tell me,” the King went on, conversationally. “Was he conscious when you left him?”

  “He was breathing, but not conscious. I was afraid to move him for fear of broken ribs. We were riding double and he fell off the horse. It reared and came down on him. Simple as that.”

  “And possible, if not believable.”

  “Ask him yourself. He’d have heard me swear.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “And his condition?”

  “That,” the King replied coldly, “is for me to know and you to find out when I choose.”

  And with that he departed. Eddyn remained where he was, kneeling, not even looking up when he heard the door slam shut.

  Eellon met the King in the small waiting room at the top of the dungeon stairs. He’d been drinking strong cauf and worrying about how much longer they could put off Tyrill, who had to know something mysterious was up. The King did not look happy as he flung himself into the seat next to Eellon’s. “Something tells me,” he said, “that I would save us all a great deal of trouble by arranging an accident for our young kinsmen in there. A winter fever, perhaps. Or an incurable flux …”

  “Except that you’d have Tyrill on you like sun on ice, and I’m afraid even you couldn’t survive that one.”

  “Sometimes,” the King repeated, “I wish I were king of Ixti. I understand he has no such compunctions.”

  “Of the two, I’ll take you,” Eellon chuckled.

  “How’s Avall today?”

  “Tired. Kind of sad and listless—which has me a little concerned. It’s like he wants to be doing something, but doesn’t know what that is. Beyond that … at some point you and I have to decide who else needs to know about this—besides those who know already.”

  The King stared at the sword still in his hands. “Ferr, because it’s potentially a matter of defense, and one of their own is involved.”

  “By which logic you should also include Eemon, because of Rann—and Common Clan, for Div.”

  “Let’s not—yet.”

  “Fine with me,” Eellon agreed. “Of those already involved, then, there’s also Priest—and whatever that group is that attacked our boys. Do you have any idea who that could be?”

  “No group that exists officially, though one hears rumors. But one hears rumors about every clan. I know you’ve heard the one that I’m really my identical twin sister, and they only drag out my male persona when I have to stand naked.”

  “Which is just stupid—and also an aside. War. Priest—I guess. Who else? Oh, of course: Gem. This was found on their turf, even if in our vein and on our time.”

  “It also raises the question whether they might not have some secret group that already knows of and uses such things.”

  “It does, but it doesn’t seem likely, based on the personalities involved: Crim’s as honest as they come.”

  “Unless she doesn’t know.”

  Eellon sighed expressively, then rose and started pacing. “I guess that leaves Lore, since they rule communications.”

  Gynn rolled his eyes. “That’s a quarter of the Council right there, if you count Stone and Common. Something tells me I may have to call a conclave.”

  “With half the chiefs at other gorges?”

  “I have to appear honest in this, Eellon. Eight, man, I am honest—as much as I can be. But there’s so much I don’t know.”

  “Such as
how much Merryn knows, or has figured out, and who she might’ve told?”

  “Has Avall—?”

  “Not yet. He hopes to try again tomorrow, when he’s stronger. Probably with Lykkon and Bingg to bolster him.”

  “Well,” said the King, sheathing his sword and starting for the door, “I guess that gives me some excuse to wait.”

  “I wouldn’t wait too long, Majesty,” Eellon cautioned. “Things like this have a way of creating their own momentum.”

  “Yes,” Gynn agreed sadly. “They do.”

  INTERLUDE I:

  DECISION

  (GEM-HOLD-WINTER-DEEP WINTER: DAY XLVI-NOON)

  Strynn shot the bolt behind her, and paused only long enough to determine that both Rann and Kylin were present in her common room before she took a deep breath and spoke. “We’re going.”

  Kylin’s fingers stilled upon the harp strings, and Rann looked up, briefly puzzled—which feeling was replaced with a kind of awe at the image Strynn presented: arms folded above her bulging belly, effectively blocking the door, as though by that gesture she likewise blocked any thought of opposition.

  “Going where?” Kylin replied mildly: the second figure in a verbal dance whose results they already knew.

  Strynn strode forward to join them, seating herself neatly between the two men. Rann could almost feel the heat of her determination—or perhaps it was his gem picking up feelings sent forth by hers. In any event, her pronouncement didn’t surprise him, though hearing it gave him a chill, because it made days of suppositions real.

  “Into the Wild,” Strynn sighed, taking a sip of Rann’s cooling wine. “To Div’s hold, if she’ll have us. I’ve looked out the route, and—”

  “We’d be insane to do that,” Kylin protested. “You’ve reached the point where your child could be born early and still live. Rann only thinks he’s recovered, and I—Well, that’s obvious.”

  “Which is why we have to leave now,” Strynn retorted. “The longer I wait, the more I risk both myself and my child. Rann and I have gems which ought, in theory, to look after us. And you. Between us, I think we can manage. We’d have to go slowly, but we’d need to leave at night anyway, when we’d have little advantage over you.”

  Rann gnawed his lip. “You may be right, much as I hate to say it. Think, Kylin,” he went on, as though trying to convince himself as much as the harper. “We can spend every moment between now and the Thaws worrying about being asked questions, or dodging questions, depending; and sneaking food enough for three into a room where only two officially live; and starting every time there’s a knock on the door, with me having to dive for cover whenever there’s a visitor who can’t be put off. Unfortunately, sooner or later Strynn will have to leave here with the spring trek, and that pretty much means I’ll have to reveal myself and go along. And that means another two eighths of questions we won’t be able to dodge.”

  “And I don’t want to leave you here,” Strynn finished.

  “And instead of this,” Kylin gave back, “you offer—what?”

  Strynn reached to her side-scrip, fumbled inside it a moment, then produced a square of yellowed vellum. Unfolded on the low table before them, it proved to be a map of the area within five days’ trek of Gem-Hold. Strynn grinned fiendishly. “I’ve been thinking,” she began. “There’s a hold less than a day’s trek away, in good weather—which we’re supposed to have for the next four days. But look here”—she pointed to the lower right corner. “This is the last map of this area made before the plague, showing all the way stations and private holds, and this hold here almost has to be Div’s, based on what you told us. You said it took you five days to get from there to here, staying in birkit dens, right?”

  Rann nodded.

  Strynn nodded back. “But look. There’s a way station less than a day away from here. And between it and Div’s hold—on a road nobody uses anymore—there’s another private hold indicated. According to this, it’s made of stone, and there’s a spring, so it should still be functional, but it’s not on newer maps, so it’s almost certainly not used.”

  Kylin’s face brightened beneath his sylk eye-mask. “So you’re saying …”

  “What I’m saying,” Strynn took up again, “is that we could hole up there, halfway to Div’s hold, raid whatever supplies might survive, then push on to Div’s when it looks best.”

  Rann shook his head uncertainly. “Dangerous, because it depends on too many variables. But that’s not to say it’s unworkable.”

  Strynn’s brow furrowed. “I’m willing to consider alternatives.”

  Rann tapped the map with a finger. “How about this? Once we reach this halfway hold, you and Kylin stay there, and I’ll go on to Div’s, and bring her back. We’re much more likely to survive if she’s around, and I can make better time in the Wild alone than with you two.”

  Kylin looked troubled. “But we’d have to wait five days. We’d be missed from the hold by then. That’s plenty of time for a search to find us.”

  “But they won’t know where to look, and logic would have them scour the main road first, and we won’t be on the main road after the first night. We can probably hide any signs of staying at the station.”

  Strynn puffed her cheeks. “I don’t like it, but I like the idea of spending another day here under all this scrutiny even less. At this point, I just want to be doing something, not waiting for things to happen.” She paused, looked at Kylin. “What about you, Kyl? You’d suffer most out there, and you’ve least investment in it. You’ve no obligation to us, save by your choice. I’m asking you out of love for you: I think you’d ultimately be better off with us than with anyone here—besides which, you’d be asked even more questions once word of our departure became known. But it would be unethical to force you. I feel bad about even this much intimidation.”

  “And once we’re at Div’s, what then?” Kylin replied.

  “We wait out the winter, if we’re wise. If the weather looks promising, we try to make our way to Tir-Eron in fits and starts. There’s that birkit cave Rann spoke of—”

  “And then days and days of the Wild before Grinding-Hold.”

  “In any case,” Rann noted, “we’d be moving toward something we desire, instead of worrying about things we don’t.”

  Strynn smiled like spring sunrise. “Good,” she laughed. “Next thing, I guess, is to start a packing list.”

  “I’ll wear the helm,” Kylin chuckled back. “I won’t be able to see anyway, so I might as well.”

  “That,” Strynn replied, “actually makes more sense than you think.”

  “If any of this makes sense,” Rann muttered. But he was already searching for paper.

  CHAPTER XII:

  SUDDEN FLIGHT

  ERON: TIR-ERON-DEEP WINTER: DAY XLVI-NIGHT

  Three days of being pampered in bed was long enough, Avall decided—not that he objected in principle. He was still camping with Lykkon, to minimize knowledge of his presence in Argen-Hall, and certainly had no complaint about the quarters—which were always warm, and less drafty than his own. Nor with the company—Lykkon was his closest male friend after Rann, if kinsmen could also be friends. Nor the food, nor the clothes they’d spirited to him from his suite, nor … a lot of things.

  But the fact was, he’d grown accustomed to taking an active part in his life, to making decisions without the knowledge, never mind approval, of anyone besides Rann and Strynn. And to having important things to consume his time—like working in the mines or on the High King’s helm; like studying the gem; and like cementing his friendships with Rann, Strynn, and maybe Kylin. Two of these were no longer active options, and he was still debating whether to try to re-create the helm Eddyn had presumably ruined, or attempt to repair the remnants when Strynn returned it in the spring. The High King said either was fine, but he’d also said it in a distracted way that made Avall think he had more important things on his mind.

  Which he probably did, now that Eddyn had retur
ned. Avall didn’t know what to think about that, frankly. It was bad form to wish anyone dead, never mind a kinsman, but it would certainly have simplified several people’s lives if Weather had chosen to claim his cousin as a sacrifice, perhaps in exchange for the power of the gem.

  As for that, he’d decided not to try distance contact again for at least another day, for a number of reasons—paramount among them that he wasn’t yet strong enough to do it himself, and Eellon didn’t want knowledge of the thing to spread wider than it already had. Which left Lykkon and Bingg as the main sources of energy to tap—which both would’ve eagerly provided had Eellon not warned them against it.

  Lykkon had protested, but Eellon had been firm—except that he’d written the Chief of Lore to inform him that he would need Lykkon’s services on royal business the next half eighth. Which was irregular, and would raise some brows, but not unheard of. What that business would entail was unclear—besides keeping Avall fed and entertained, and taking exhaustive notes while Avall tried various experiments with the gem. Lykkon was also surreptitiously scouring the Lore halls in Argen-Hall, Smith-Hold, Lore-Hold, and Gem-Hold for information on aberrant gems of any kind. So far he’d turned up nothing. Not even a reference to another strange red gem with properties of attraction Rann had heard about at Gem-Hold-Winter. Which had apparently gone south to Ixti, in any case.

  Lykkon was nothing if not conscientious. The piles of parchment on his cousin’s desk proved that, one labeled “history,” one “temporal anomalies/concentration,” one “communication: human,” one “communication: beasts,” one “physical aberrations/healing,” one “power manifestations,” one “priming-activation,” and one “place-jumping.” Set out that way, it looked like a lot—and was. The problem was that almost every bit of it was also a mystery. And since Eellon and Gynn were keeping quiet about it for the nonce, even those experts outside the clan who might know something weren’t available for consultation.

  At the moment, Lykkon was trying to determine precisely how Eddyn had become involved, and what that involvement entailed. As a function of that, they’d decided that Avall would answer all pertinent questions with the gem in his hand. Not primed—he barely needed that these days, as best he could tell—but so that any response it might have independent of him could be more easily noted. It did like and dislike certain people; that was a fact. But that seemed to be tied to how that person related to Avall.