Nstasius managed to look relieved, sly, and eager all at once. Elise rattled off a rapid translation of what had passed. When she had finished, Firekeeper rose and stretched.
"I go see if Blind Seer find anyone else," she suggested, sheathing her Fang.
"I'll walk you out," Wendee said, clearly determined that neither Firekeeper nor Blind Seer be given excuse to rough up other visitors, "and see if there's enough warm water for tea. We could be talking for a while."
Elise appreciated Wendee's simple practicalityùand the insight to the more complicated problem that it demonstrated.
They had been several hours on the road that morning, spent much of the day unpacking, and every bone in her body longed for bed, but this Nstasius wouldn't have come so soon after their arrival or so secretly if he didn't think that his business was urgent.
Prime Nstasius, too, would probably have preferred a meeting where they would have been more awake, more alert. Or would he?
Her own head spinning with possibilities, Elise prompted, "You were about to tell us what Consolor Melina has done to make herself such an influence in the nine moonspans in which she has dwelt in New Kelvin. We are especially curious how a foreigner could have so deeply involved herself in a land that so values tradition."
"Consolor Melina has deeply embraced New Kelvinese manners and customs," Nstasius began slowly. "Indeed there are those who say she shames those of us who desire change. Consolor Melina soaks up information about our past as a towel does water. There is no legend so obscure that she will not listen to it, no dance or ritual so arcane that she will not observe it. For those of us who had hoped to see such nonprofitable rites take a background to forward-minded production and trade, this is disquieting."
Derian leaned forward and asked in his awkward but serviceable New Kelvinese, "Do you and your associates then hope to become another Waterland?"
Nstasius looked appalled, almost angry, then thoughtful.
"I can see how a foreigner might so perceive it. No, we do not. We would simply see some resources allocated in directions other than those that are chosen by Apheros and his cronies."
Derian nodded and sat back, but Elise was certain that heùlike herùsuspected that Nstasius was not telling them everything. Therefore, she felt quite comfortable being less than complete in her report on Melina.
Elise spoke at some length about the woman: her late husband, her children, her family estate. She mentioned the importance of House Gyrfalcon, into which Melina had been born, and explained in greater detail than she would have thought necessary about inherited positions.
However, neither Elise nor any of her companions said anything about Melina's singular hold over her children or how Sapphire had broken that hold. To do so would cast doubt on the crown princess, and this foreigner had not proven himself trustworthy.
By then the hour was so advanced that Elise must smother yawn after yawn behind her palm. At last, Nstasius apologized:
"I fear I have been untactful and unkind, but I wished to make this contact before your arrival was widely known. May we meet again?"
Elise considered.
"Perhaps it would be better if arrangements were made through the Hawk Haven ambassador. Lord Kestrel and I are meeting with her tomorrow."
Nstasius neither agreed nor disagreed with this suggestion, but nodded thoughtfully.
"I shall consider your suggestion," he said.
Firekeeper had not reentered the consulting room after her departure, but she was waiting in the central hall when they exited. Blind Seer was with her and Nstasius poorly concealed his shock.
Firekeeper bared her teeth, and the expression was not quite a smile.
"This was the only one this close," she reported, "but I think some wait for him. We did not frighten them."
Elise nodded.
"Thank you for your visit, Prime Nstasius," she said. "If you have questions more preciseùor perhaps specific actions of your Healed One's Consolor you wish interpretedùplease do not hesitate to contact us."
Nstasius sketched a brief but respectful departure ritual that included them all.
"Thank you," he said.
When he was gone and the door secured Firekeeper said, "Bee Biter will follow him to his nest, just to see if his pack is as he says."
"Good," Elise said.
Firekeeper wasn't done with the matter.
"Now," she said, her posture indicating that she, at least, was willing to sit up all night until the matter was resolved to her satisfaction, "was this a thief or a bandit?"
Elise considered.
"Neither," she replied, remembering how literal Firekeeper could be. "Prime Nstasius was a spyùand perhaps a future ally."
Firekeeper frowned.
"I don't understand 'spy,'" she admitted.
Derian cut in, shoving Firekeeper toward the kitchen.
"We can worry about fine tuning later," he said, winning Elise's gratitude. "Not all of us slept throughout the afternoon while others worked."
Firekeeper had the grace to look shamefaced, for honestly she had done little of the unpacking, considering such beneath her.
"But I must know," she protested with a touch of a whine.
Grateful Peace turned from where he had been tending the kitchen fire.
"A spy," he said, "is like a scoutùbut a scout for another pack and one who may steal your game from you."
Firekeeper nodded.
"I understand that," she said. "Are spies for killing?"
Peaceùonce spy-master for a kingdomùsmiled, a touch sadly, Elise thought.
"Often," he said, "but never without talking to them first."
The answer might have satisfied the wolf-woman, for Firekeeper gave a brief bow of thanks and slipped out into the night, but Elise found that it unsettled her, chasing through her dreams and tainting her rest so that sleep offered no refreshment.
Chapter XXI
TORIOVICO WAS DANCING. Toriovico was. Toriovico was dancing. Dancing. He was. Toriovico was the Healed One.
Was? Is! Was.
Toriovico was Dancing. Only when dancing was heùToriovico.
Toriovico, the healed one, ruler of New Kelvin, struggled to hold on to a single, elusive thought. His feet were still moving, arms still pumping, working their way almost independently through the series of choreographed motions that made up his part in the Harvest Joy dance.
It was a dance he had first performed as a small boy. He'd been a minor vegetable then, a yellow squash. Now, of course, he danced the Harvest Lord's part. It was only right. He was the Healed One. He was also a fine dancer in his own right.
Flautist and drummer noticed a faltering in Toriovico's steps, faltered themselves, anticipating a command to begin the section over again. Toriovico shook his head at them, the gesture so fiercely contained it was terrifying.
Toriovico was dancing. Toriovico was… Dancing? Was he? Dancing? Who was he?
He felt himself losing the familiar sequence of steps, fumbling, losing with the dance the momentary clarity of thought that had nearly led to revelation. Toriovico sank himself in the simple repetition of the dance, forced himself not to think, and in not thinking Found.
What had he been doing? What had he been thinking? Had he been thinking? Had he?
Maybe just a little. Feet still moving, arms tracking their way through his interpretation of the traditional gestures, Toriovico recalled his recent visit to Columi, this time without the surge of guilt that had accompanied such thoughts before. He had been thinking then.
Dancing. That was the key. It was while he had been immersed in dancing he had first felt angry about Melina's recent disappearances. He had not been actively dancing, but he had gone to find her directly from a practice, the steps he wanted her opinion on still occupying most of his attention.
His anger had carried him through his encounter with Tipi and through his meetings with Columi, though in that latter case guilt had nearly made him abandon his pur
pose. He had hardly comprehended the old Lapidary's warnings, his hints that Melina had become the force behind much of the court's actions.
Anger was not something Toriovico could hold on to, not for long, but dancing… Dancing might just be enough to…
Toriovico struggled again, working his way toward a thought that was there, but so walled behind barriers that he felt as if his thoughts were within the dense threads of a silkworm's cocoon. He grasped the image, worked it into his dance, transforming the rhythmic motions of the Harvest Lord's labors among symbolic fields into the unraveling of silk.
Silk is spun in a single thread. Toriovico made a spindle of one hand, held the cocoon in his other. Unwrapped, unbound, removing the bonds, finding within… Clarity.
The barriers tumbled down. He saw a pair of oddly crystalline blue-grey eyes, heard lips admonishing him to trust, to love, to obey, to forget, to adore, to forget, to obey, and above all to forget.
Toriovico stopped dancing, aware for the first time of the awed murmurs from his musicians, of the expression of mingled astonishment and annoyance on his Choreographer's face.
"What do you think you were doing?" the Choreographer asked, his astonishment robbing him of the usual ritual courtesies. "That wasn't part of the dance!"
The flautist, revered for her art by two sodalities, and therefore intimidated by neither the Choreographer nor the Healed One, interjected:
"But it was magnificent!"
"I was dancing," Toriovico replied woodenly, his tongue numbed by revelation. "Dancing."
WHERE DOES THE HEALED ONE LIVE?" Citrine asked Firekeeper as they wandered the streets of Dragon's Breath.
Ostensibly, the "boy" was serving as Firekeeper's guide and translator, but Firekeeper was the more knowledgeable about the city and with occasional whispered commands she kept Citrine on course.
"You not ask that so loud," Firekeeper chided her, "and not in so good Pellish. You should call Healed One by New Kelvinese name, I think. They do this with many places and people to make us feel small."
Citrine accepted the reprimand gracefully enough, but she didn't forget her question.
"Where is Thendulla Lypella?" she asked. "That's the name of his castle, isn't it?"
In a softer voice Citrine added, "I think I can ask that, Firekeeper. After all, I might be a country boy, right?"
"Not if you guide," Firekeeper reminded her.
"My father is the guide," Citrine answered. "Our story is that this is my first time to this city. I'm just with you to translate, right?"
Firekeeper sighed and shrugged. She had trouble keeping these layers upon layers of deceptions straight. She was also edgy because there were so many strangers around. Had Blind Seer not been at her side, she would have been quite tempted to go hide in Hasamemorri's stable.
Unlike in Eagle's Nest, here in Dragon's Breath the Royal Wolf could walk the streets openly. Indeed sometimes he was not even noticed by the humans amid the panorama of odd costumes and odder vehicles that filled the New Kelvinese city. The animals, however, had no doubt what he was. Beasts of burden sometimes panicked. Dogs barked. Cats snarled.
That didn't bother Firekeeper a bit. The dogs and cats knew to keep their distance. If the occasional horse or ox grew nervous, that wasn't her problem.
Knotting her fingers in Blind Seer's fur, Firekeeper considered Citrine's question.
"Thendulla Lypella," she said, "is over there."
The wolf-woman gestured roughly north with a toss of her head.
"Where those towers is," Firekeeper continued.
"Are," Citrine murmured, but her correction was automatic and she stared at the towers with raw hunger in her eyes. "It's a really big castle, isn't it?"
"Is not so much castle," Firekeeper replied. "Is a city in a city. Is very big and confusing."
Citrine didn't seem convinced. She fidgeted, shifting from foot to foot, and tugging at the long skirt of her New Kelvinese robe.
"Can we take a closer look?"
Firekeeper shrugged. She wasn't quite certain what it was the others expected her to do out here in any case, and humoring Citrine had become habit. The girl had fewer fits these days, but when her eyes shone with that particular feverish light it was not a good time to defy her.
"We go," Firekeeper said.
She led the way to where a large main street dead-ended against a huge wrought-iron gate that they had learned during their previous visit was opened only when some elaborate ceremony demanded it.
Wordlessly, the friends stopped across the street from the gate. For a moment, Firekeeper thought that Citrine might run over and press her face against the cunningly crafted vines and flowers that intertwined into a deceptively solid iron barrier, perhaps try to worm her way inside. The girl held her ground, however, her stillness a marked contrast to the intensity of a few minutes before.
"You're right," Citrine said after a long pause. "It's a city, not a castle."
Then, to Firekeeper's utter confusion, she began to sob uncontrollably.
EWEN BROOKS didn't need the notched stick on which he'd marked the days since Lord Polr had read that thrice-cursed proclamation to know that time was up for New Bardenville.
He'd have known it from the phase of the moon if nothing else, for chance had ordained that the first day of Hummingbird Moon was the day they must decide whether to resist the king's will or to move on.
Some of Ewen's people took the moon as a bad omen. The dog, whose moon had just passed, was a creature who lived side by side with humans, who guarded and protected them, who made one family with them. When Dog Moon shone it had seemed only right to resist the forces that would move them from the settlement. Now, though…
The hummingbird was a fierce creature, one who could never be tamed, who might sup on the nectar of a human garden, but who never offered anything but a flash of brilliant color in return. Some saw the fact that King Tedric's proclamation took effect at the very start of Hummingbird Moon as an omen that they, too, were expected to move on. Others, Ewen foremost among them, saw it as an omen that they were meant to fight.
He told the doubters so on their last meeting come dawn of the dreaded day.
"The hummingbird is small," he said, "possesses neither talons nor cruelly curved beak, yet when it comes to fighting spirit it would combat eagles. So we are called to fight this House of the Eagle and its predator herald. The ancestors will it and have shown their will by the day on which we must decide our fate."
That speech swayed them, though a few, like Garrik Carpenter, murmured that it was wrong to resist the king's will. Not many wanted to listen to him. They'd held their ground when their crops had been eaten, when they'd been made prisoners in their own hard-built fortification. It was almost a relief to have something visible and tangible to fight.
The majority of the settlers also thoughtùand Ewen was foremost among those who held this opinionùthat in the end Lord Polr wouldn't order his men to attack those who honored the same ancestors. Hadn't King Tedric only disowned Prince Barden, not brought any harm to him or to his followers?
Surely the new settlers would be left to struggle as they might rather than risk the spilling of familial blood. Being disowned would be hard, but they would adjust.
New Bardenville's struggle for survival might be very difficult indeed without the promise of fresh supplies from the east and the very land seeming to fight the residents, but Ewen was confident that the settlers would win.
After a few seasons had passed, the settlers might even strike up trade with the soldiers assigned to the new garrison at the gap. That would be nice. And the wild creatures who had been harassing them certainly wouldn't be so fierce and bold with armed men patrolling the forest.
Indeed, by the day that Ewen climbed to the walkway from which one could see over the top of the palisade, some of the settlers were beginning to view the soldiers with a certain fondnessùas a future lifeline, rather than as potential enemies.
Lord
Polr alone, armed and armored, wearing a helmet, his shield slung over his arm, strode to within twenty long paces of New Bardenville's eastern gate.
"The sun has risen on the first day of King Tedric's new law," the lord cried, his voice strong and fierce. "Will you come forth and let us escort you to the gap?"
"No," Ewen called in return, enjoying the steady ring of his own voice. "My friends and I have made a home here. In this home we will stay. Let King Tedric know that in all things but this new proclamation we will remain faithful to him and his descendants, but that wasteland should not remain unused when there are farmers to farm it and crafters to tame it for the use of civilization and the king's own greater glory."
Ewen was proud of his speech. He'd sat up the night before going over it again and again until he could say the words naturally. Lord Polr did not look impressed, but then Ewen had not thought that a few wordsùno matter how well chosenùwould end it. They must debate until Lord Polr saw how determined the settlers were to remain.
Lord Polr made a dismissive gesture with one hand, then called out:
"I ask again. Will you not come forth and obey the wishes of your king? We have observed how pressed you are, how your fields are stripped of all grain, how your livestock has died. We have even found fresh graves in the plot by the forest edge. You have lost many of your number. You will lose more before winter releases her grip. Come and we will escort you to safety."
Ewen was aware of the stirring from below and behind him, where the majority of the settlers stood in a tight cluster, listening intently to the exchange. Even without turning to look he could tell that they were remembering what this new threat had made them almost forgetùthe fear under which they had been living even before Lord Polr arrived.
Without glancing down lest someone catch his eye and gain excuse to interrupt, Ewen shouted his defiance again.
"No! We will not return to the east, to a life as little better than slaves to large landholders such as yourselves. In a realm where you begin to outstrip the generous holdings granted to you by Zorana the Great what room is there for us to grow?"
The Dragon of Despair Page 39