Before she could add the “but,” Darris spoke thoughtfully. “Depends whether the law defines who you can marry or who you can’t.” He ended, somewhat cryptically, there. Further explanation would require song. “I’ll have to check.”
Matrinka suspected Darris knew much more than he had revealed. Though he had never mentioned doing so, he had surely sought a loophole for them. She also realized Griff should know. “What have you found out so far?”
The king’s massive shoulders rose and fell. “Nothing much yet. We spent most of our time looking for the original wording and later mentions. I was just starting to look things over and . . . well . . .” A touch of color entered his cheeks. “This might not be the best thing for a king to admit.” He glanced around the hallway to assure their privacy. “I don’t read all that well.”
Matrinka doubted that confession would surprise anyone. Through the centuries, the staff-test had chosen simple kings. Her history books claimed Sterrane, himself, had never mastered grammar.
“My parents were first cousins, like us, but close from infancy. Shared cribs, toys, baths. Everyone talked about how they’d certainly marry, so it only seemed natural . . .” Griff’s blush deepened. “Anyway, they were only about thirteen when my brother was born and my father banished for it.”
Matrinka knew the story. She and her friends had obtained it before charging off to find Griff, but she let him speak. It might embarrass the king to discover that others had learned of his parents’ humiliation. He loved his mother and stepfather fiercely.
“My mother went with him; they couldn’t stop her, though they tried.” Griff looked ahead as they traversed the corridors. “More worried about staying alive, they didn’t concern themselves with teaching us to read. Farmers don’t much need to, and young teens aren’t usually known for liking their studies. After the accident, when Mama didn’t let me do any heavy work, I think she realized I’d need to know something. So she finally started working with me on Trading and Béarnese.” He lowered his head. “I didn’t pay as much attention as I should have.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “I’m a bit slow.”
As Matrinka and Darris mouthed the appropriate reassurances about Griff’s intellectual function, it finally occurred to her that she had discovered the reason Griff preferred that Darris sire their offspring. He worried that the closeness of his parents’ blood had resulted in a dull intellect for him, and a second generation of cousin-spawned offspring might emerge with worse. Yet, though his sluggish speech, guileless conclusions, and childlike manner often made Griff seem dim-witted, she had repeatedly watched him make brilliant decisions and handle impossible logistics with a deftness that made her feel clumsy. Griff was not stupid. He only manifested his intelligence in an unusual manner.
Once the proper, gentle denials had been spoken, Darris pressed the matter beyond the necessary. “Sire, you found a way for Matrinka and me to be together, and I’ll always owe you my happiness. I’ll find a way for you as well. I promise.”
Matrinka hoped her beloved had not just committed himself to the impossible.
Griff’s manner changed in an instant. His steps lightened, and a smile touched his features. He trusted his bard implicitly.
Matrinka gave Darris a warning glance. He might have set up more than himself for a fall. If he did not deliver on his promise, he might devastate Griff.
Darris returned a look equally intense. Failure was not an option. “Not only do I have access to the law, but I have information only the bards have gathered. That gives me an advantage even over the sage.”
Matrinka wondered whether Darris tried to assure Griff, her, or himself. She had little time to wonder, however, as they reached the conference room. A servant bowed to the king, then the queen, before opening the door for their entrance.
A tumult met Matrinka’s ears momentarily, cutting to sudden silence as the door opened, then to the hurried screech and scrape of chair legs against the floor. Those gathered rose and bowed or curtsied with irregular grandeur and timing. Matrinka glanced at their two ranks assembled around the long, rectangular table. Davian had sacrificed his usual place at the far end for Captain. The elf’s amber eyes held a glaze of water, and his red-brown hair lay knotted at the nape of his neck. Sunbaked skin, wrinkled into a pattern of smiling, revealed few of his thousands of years of life. Lowset ears and a broad mouth completed the familiar picture. The usual signs that distinguished human males from females and defined age were absent, as with all elves. Nevertheless, Matrinka somehow always knew their gender, and Captain radiated an indefinable aura of ancientness.
To Captain’s right, Prime Minister Davian finished his bow and waited. Beside him, the minister of internal affairs, Aerean, completed a deep curtsy. A past leader of the renegades, like Davian, she tended to irritate the staid, old nobility with a boundless energy and enthusiasm that Matrinka appreciated. Across from her stood her diametric opposite, Saxanar, the minister of courtroom procedure and affairs. Descended from an endless line of titled gentry, he followed rules with the fanaticism of a Knight of Erythane and groused over changes to his carefully measured schedules. Beside him, Minister of Household Affairs Franstaine touched his neatly trimmed beard, expression grim. Only a brightness to his dark brown eyes betrayed his famous patience and strange sense of humor. He was also an in-law uncle of Helana, Griff’s mother. Across from Franstaine and beside Aerean stood Zaysharn, who oversaw the caretakers of Béarn’s livestock, gardens, and food. Also honorarily titled, he tended toward quiet attentiveness at the meetings, bowing to the superior experiences of the blooded nobility and the renegade leaders. When he did speak, he usually said something of great import.
Matrinka discovered Tae beside Zaysharn, clearly trying and, as usual, succeeding at disappearing into the crowd. She should have noticed a close companion first and immediately. She gave him a deliberate smile, particularly to validate his right, as a foreign diplomat, to attend the council. Despite months in Stalmize’s castle, he still seemed uncomfortable and awkward with royal formality. This came, she knew, of his father’s relaxed and irregular procedures. Weile Kahn demanded loyalty at the penalty of death, but the toughness of his followers made hierarchies and titles all but impossible. Some called him “Sir,” some “Sire,” and others chose to avoid any label at all.
Minister of Foreign Affairs Richar rightfully took the position beside Tae, young features glowing with the excitement of a long-term diplomatic charge important enough to attend the council. Usually, he handled visiting Western merchants and disputants in claims too volatile or difficult for local kingdoms. Across from those, tiny Chaveeshia, titled minister of local affairs, tended the relations between Béarn and her close neighbors. Her regular charges were poised at either hand: the Renshai warrior, Thialnir, to her right and Knight-Captain Kedrin nearer the king and queen. The idea of her handling these warriors should problems arise seemed ludicrous. She stood barely to either’s chin, and she could wear Thialnir’s torque as a girdle. Yet she had a commanding manner for one so small and a sharp-tongued, no-nonsense attitude that gained their respect as well as their trust.
The captain of the Knights of Erythane dragged out his elegant flourish long after the others had already finished. His features closely resembled Ra-khir’s, and he sported the same red-blond hair. Age added a mature attractiveness that his son had not yet attained. Every measured movement of the knight seemed as impeccable as his uniform. Only the eyes looked wholly different, blue to Ra-khir’s green and so pale they approached white. Rare and captivating, they added an exotic touch to features otherwise classically handsome. The guards’ own captain, Seiryn, took the position as close to the open seats as Kedrin, leaving spaces only for Griff, Matrinka, and Darris together. Every member of the council had come . . . and also Tae. The page who had scurried past them in the tower now waited quietly in a far corner.
“Good morning, all,” King Griff said mildly, taking his seat at the head of the table. Once he
did so, the others also sat, including Matrinka and Darris.
Matrinka could not wait to know about the twins, taking over proceedings properly belonging to Griff or Davian. “Welcome, Tae.”
Every eye turned toward the Easterner, which distressed him into wide-eyed fidgeting.
“Do the twins have names now?”
Tae glanced toward Thialnir, whose stony silence threw the question back to him. “Saviar Rakhirsson and Subikahn Taesson, Your Ladyship. Both Renshai.”
Matrinka smiled.
*You were right.* Mior clambered from Matrinka’s shoulders to the table, yawning and pulling into a long stretch.
*Of course, I was right. I have faith in him.*
*You might be the only one.* Mior casually ambled past warriors and ministers. *And that includes him.*
*Obviously not,* Matrinka returned with Mior’s usual smugness. *The Renshai believed in him, too.*
Griff waited patiently for Matrinka to finish. She nodded once, and he spoke next. “Captain, I understand you have news for us.” He executed the arcane gesture that indicated the elf had the floor. Though the formality seemed unnecessary, skipping it would bother the knight and stuffy Saxanar.
Unelflike, Captain went straight to the point. “Your Majesty, we’ve finally discovered the method for lifting the svartalf’s sterility spell.”
Excitement thrilled through Matrinka and shone in the eyes of everyone gathered there. Her heart rate seemed to double in an instant.
Captain’s words disappeared into a silence even the king seemed too stunned to break, so the elf continued. “It’s complicated, and I’ll need to describe history that some of you already know. Please bear with me.”
Nods circumnavigated the room. Accustomed to human impatience, Captain could not know that understanding the solution would hold the tensest of them for days. Without it, all of humanity faced extinction.
“Millennia ago, after Odin banished the primordial chaos, he created a system to keep the forces in balance. It hinged on four mortals, called the Cardinal Wizards, who became near-immortals once they passed the proper sequence of tests. I say “near” because, although they could not die of disease or starvation and no object of law could harm them, each would choose his or her apprentice and time of passage. Then, in a grand, magical ceremony, the elder would pass all his memories, and those of his predecessors, to this successor. The body he once occupied was utterly destroyed.”
Captain glanced around the room, and Matrinka watched the reactions. Most looked back at the elf without judgment, though the stronger-opinioned returned frowns or bobbed their heads thoughtfully. Most considered the tales of humans wielding magic nothing more substantial than mythology, intended to explain the gaps in logical history. Matrinka, however, accepted Captain’s words without question. She had always believed in wizardry, even when others dismissed her confidence as silly.
The elf continued, “The Cardinal Wizards lived on Midgard.” He made a broad gesture to indicate all of the human lands. “Their job was to keep the world’s great forces balanced. The Northern Wizard championed goodness, her charges Northmen and the elves, even when we dwelt on Alfheim.”
A snort rumbled through the room, though Matrinka missed the source.
Captain raised a hand for temperance. “Bear with me. Times have changed greatly since then.”
A few stern glances silenced the rudeness, though Matrinka still could not place its origin.
Captain lowered his hand to the table, beside the other. “The Southern Wizard represented evil, his charge those humans who lived in the Eastlands.”
Several gazes shifted naturally to Tae, who made a show of ignoring them, although his fingers twined in his lap and he slipped further into obscurity in his chair.
“The Eastern and Western Wizards embodied neutrality, speaking for the peoples of the Westlands, such as your own.” Captain clarified, “Most of you.” He pressed onward, “It turned out that Odin eventually intended for the Eastern and Western Wizards to champion chaos and law, once they gained enough power through the centuries to handle their charges. Eventually, they did, but it proved the downfall of the Wizards and the Cardinal system. Since then, no human has wielded so much as a modicum of magic.”
Richar filled Captain’s pause with a question. “How long ago did humans lose all magic?”
“If they ever had any,” Saxanar could not help adding. He did not believe.
“First,” Captain clarified, “not all of the Cardinal Wizards were human.” His features became pensive, especially for an elf. “Well, that’s not quite true either. To my knowledge, all of the Cardinal Wizards did start as humans. But Dh’arlo’mé, the leader of the svartalf, was the apprentice of the last Northern Sorceress. Had she survived, and had the system continued, he would probably continue to champion goodness to this day.”
Chaveeshia made a sound between a laugh and a grunt, a strong noise for one so small. As eyes shifted to her, she explained her lapse. “I just can’t fathom Dh’arlo’mé advocating goodness.”
Kedrin made a subtle gesture, requesting recognition. Tuned to the knight-captain’s value, Griff acknowledged him swiftly. “As Captain said, times change. Those alive at the time . . .” he emphasized, reminding the ministers and warriors that the elves had a definite advantage when it came to remembering the past, “. . . understand better than we can. It appears that Colbey shifted the tide of the gods’ war, whether you call it the Ragnarok or the Great Fire.” He tiptoed around the seeds of religious strife. Most believed the enormous fire that had gouged the central areas of the Westlands three centuries past represented a tragic accident. Only the Renshai believed the massive war between the gods, the Ragnarok or Great Destruction, had occurred. They explained that the Renshai hero, Colbey Calistinsson, had rescued them all, extinguishing the fire and sacrificing his life to the battle.
With Captain’s assistance, and Colbey’s, Matrinka now knew both stories were wrong. The Ragnarok had occurred, stealing the lives of most of the gods. Colbey’s interference had changed the course of events, as Renshai had maintained for centuries. Odin had plotted to coerce Colbey into assisting in his own battle, thereby allowing him to survive. But Colbey had thwarted that plan, instead helping Frey fight the fire giant destined to destroy all the worlds with his conflagration. Against the gods’ prophecies, Frey had lived; but the giant had managed to kindle the worlds before he died. Colbey had vanquished the flames from Midgard, as Renshai legend stated, but lived on to become the Keeper of the Balance, replacing the system of the Cardinal Wizards.
Kedrin reminded, “Whatever your proclivities, you have to understand that the Great Fire did destroy the elves’ world. Colbey, a human, had a hand in that. Warranted or not, you must understand the elves’ . . .” He corrected swiftly, so as not to insult the lysalf, “. . . the svartalf’s bitterness.”
Matrinka cringed at the memory of Captain’s previous story. Trapped in flame with no apparent escape, the elves had banded together and directed their magic as never before. They had created a gate to Midgard but not before the vast majority died horribly. The survivors suffered the agony of burns, inside and out, even their magic taking decades or centuries to undo the scarring. Captain had managed to avoid the tragedy, already on Midgard when the Ragnarok occurred. Because of that, most of the elves had dismissed his pleas for peace between their kind and humans.
Captain waited only until Kedrin signaled that he had finished before cutting in. “I’m not defending Dh’arlo’mé’s actions, only stating facts. I’d like to return to the foreign minister’s question, if I may, because it leads into an important detail of lifting the svartalf’s spell.” He glanced around the room, clearly awaiting more interruptions, which this time did not come. “Nearly anyone could become a Cardinal Wizard, but they chose their successors with caution. Like the heirs to Béarn, the apprentices had to pass a god-mediated test which consisted of seven parts. Failure at any one spelled death. Also, the
Cardinal Wizards remained in a constant struggle, each seeking dominance for his or her own charge. To choose a weak successor not only assured rivals’ scorn, death at the tasks, and wasted time; but, if he or she somehow managed to survive, an erosion of their own power. It could, ultimately, mean the destruction of their cause or, worse, of the balance and the world itself.”
Matrinka did not yet see where Captain’s words related to Richar’s question about humans losing magic.
As if to answer Matrinka’s curiosity, Captain said, “For nearly all of my time here, the Cardinal Four were the only humans capable of magic. Apparently, the mages of Myrcidë lived long before them, and some of the strongest Cardinal Wizards originated from there. Historically, when the Renshai battled their way through the Westlands, they found the Myrcidians an irresistible challenge and massacred the entire line.”
Now Thialnir weathered a few hostile stares, but the massive warrior seemed not to notice.
“In the time of the Cardinal Wizards, elfin magic was petty. Carefree and disorganized, we used it only for entertainment. Any Wizard held more mastery in his most meager spell, yet that, in itself, made their use of magic rare. The more powerful the creature, the farther the radiations of its slightest action. That’s why the gods do not interfere with our affairs; to do so would cause effects far beyond their intentions. Most times, the Wizards used only tiny fractions of their magic, except when facing one another. And Odin’s laws constrained them mightily when it came to casting spells or harming their peers.”
Captain shifted forward with tangible excitement. He neared the significant portion of his presentation. Those gathered reacted to his body language with similar motions of their own.
“Magic involves bending chaos to the will and service of law, always dangerous. Elfin structure and nature contains far more natural chaos than mankind’s, so our spells rarely backfire. But the Cardinal Wizards often found unintended side effects resulted, especially from the most powerful sorcery. The worst trouble followed the creation of permanent magic.”
The Children of Wrath Page 7