The blades scratched down one another with a painful shrillness, locking at the crossguards. Colbey allowed Sif to break the maneuver with a sudden thrust that sent him into graceful retreat. She charged him like a hungry predator.
Colbey did not waste his energy on explanation, though she deserved it. His mind barely managed to find meaning in her outburst. His arms felt like lead weights, his legs like pliant twigs. Unable to concentrate, he abandoned his intricate disarming maneuvers for crude offense. As she rushed him, he cut for her legs. She thrust her blade down to block; and he reversed, aiming for her head.
Sif jerked her sword upward, too slow. The flat of Colbey’s blade slapped across her right eye, upper nose, and forehead. The force jerked her head backward, and she tumbled into a heap on the grass. Colbey collapsed with her, a controlled fall that left him kneeling. Afraid he might have killed her, as worried he might not have hit hard enough, he struggled toward her.
*He’s in the zone!* Odin’s mental voice touched the bare edge of Colbey’s perception, clearly not intended for him. It held a force just shy of compulsion. *Drop it now!*
*But Sif’s in there,* came the desperate reply, Frey’s mind-voice equally identifiable. *It’ll kill her, too.*
Colbey struggled toward Sif, his vision disappearing as he battered all remaining energy to his limbs.
*Faster!* the Staff of Chaos beseeched him. *If they destroy us, it’s over.*
Colbey’s only answer was an urgent leap toward Sif.
*Bind! I can give you the strength you need.*
Colbey gritted his teeth, without strength to reply. Blindly he groped, catching Sif’s still legs. He let the staff/sword know he had her, without squandering energy for mental command.
The staff flashed an emotion akin to human panic. *Can’t transport. Encased in law.*
Though mental, Odin’s command felt like a shout. *Do it!*
*I can’t kill Sif.*
*Bind!* the Staff of Chaos shrieked. *Can’t fight it this time. If you don’t bind, we’re dead. You, me, and the worlds!*
Odin lectured Frey, *Sif is dead. And Modi and Magni, Baldur, Honir, Hod, and Sigyn. Would you let him murder us all to rescue a goddess already lost?*
Hod? Sigyn? Realization spiked through Colbey. He’s killing deities and blaming me. Rage lent a second wind that the uneven battle had not. Ignoring the staff/sword’s pleas, he staggered to his feet. *Where’s the barrier?*
*Surely you’re not—*
*You’re wasting precious time! Show me!* Colbey released a trickle of his remaining energy to his senses. Sight returned, revealing the flawless, stagnant colors of Asgard. It occurred to him that the world of gods had changed, veering toward the law that Odin claimed to control. Colbey wondered if the gray god even realized that the force influenced him as well.
Highlighted by the Staff of Chaos, an electric yellow wall sputtered to life, forming a perfect square around Colbey. He vented his anger in a wild attack, sword against obstacle. Chaos steel slammed the barrier. Sparks cascaded from the contact, flickering through a wild spectrum. The wall shook visibly, then a wave of agony crashed against Colbey, from sword and Odin alike. Rejuvenated by this small victory, he raised the sword to strike again.
It fought him. *Have you gone mad? That’s almost pure law! Every bit of it I conquer, I lose the same of myself.*
Odin’s voice: *Do it, Frey! Now. Or, so help me, I’ll slaughter you myself.*
Colbey maintained his position, not daring to struggle. *Stop fighting me. You’re fully lost if Frey drops that spell.*
*If you just bind—*
*I’d let us die before I did that.* Colbey blessed the strangeness of his mind barriers that made their natural position up. Opening, not closing, them proved difficult. Had his functioned like every other he had encountered, chaos would already have him in his weakened state. He swung for Odin’s construct again, and chaos reluctantly allowed it. Again, he smashed the sword against the barrier. For an instant, nothing happened. Then, the wall exploded with a report louder than any thunder. The force hurled Colbey backward, chips of matter slashing through his clothes and flesh. The sword thrummed, vibrating at a painful frequency that sent his arm quivering beyond his control. He flailed for Sif, catching a still leg as the sword triggered a transport.
The tingle of magic became lost in the numbness that followed the discharge. Odin’s scream of rage and anguish was the last thing Colbey heard on Asgard.
* * *
Perched upon Tem’aree’ay’s bed, King Griff deliberately lost himself in the whirling radiance of her dance. No problem seemed too difficult in her presence, no threat a danger. Her delicate, almost fragile-appearing, frame little resembled the Béarnian concept of beauty; yet he could not force his eyes from her. Her golden curls flew like living things. Her oval face, her high cheekbones, her heart-shaped lips no longer seemed the least bit alien. Even the canted eyes that had once appeared more like stones than reflectors of emotion became familiar perfection. Though as far along in her pregnancy as Kevral, it did not show as much. Elfin infants grew more slowly in the womb, and Captain had assured him that the baby seemed normal to his magical sight.
Thoughts of the elfin leader raised other concerns to Griff’s mind. Captain had remained to tend Ra-khir’s wounds. As one week, then two, had passed, he had yielded that responsibility to other elfin and human healers. Once again, Captain expressed his too-long delayed need to confront the svartalf whom Dh’arlo’mé had abandoned. Though Griff worried that he would never see the oldest of the elves again, he had had little choice but to assent. Already, servants equipped a small ship for Captain and his chosen companions, all elves; and the Captain had not left the deck in the two days since preparations began.
Tem’aree’ay fluttered through a sequence that made her body appear bonelessly supple. Her arms drifted on waves, and her feet pranced over the floorboards in patterns as airy as sunlight. Though proud joy filled Griff’s mind, his heart felt squeezed. Darris still had not found a loophole that would allow the king and his elfin lover to marry, to legitimize their child.
Apparently sensing Griff’s discomfort, Tem’aree’ay joined him on the coverlet. Her dainty hand spread only halfway across his scarred and massive fist. “What’s wrong, my love?”
Not wanting to burden Tem’aree’ay, Griff shook his head.
Tem’aree’ay knew Griff too well. “You know it’s you I love, not your kingdom. Father your heirs from Queen Matrinka and your bastards from me.” Tem’aree’ay’s musical accent and tender delivery rendered the birth circumstances equal, if different. “I have no designs on the throne, and I’ll love you with or without an official decree.”
The king clamped his other hand over Tem’aree’ay’s, pinning hers between his own. “I’m not worried for that. Darris will find a way.” He did not allow doubt to enter his voice, more for himself than her. He knew she spoke the truth; she was incapable of bitterness or petty jealousies. “It’s courtroom matters troubling me.”
“How so?”
Griff shook his head again. “Not worth bothering you, my love. Matrinka and I, with the council. We can handle it.”
“You can handle it with them.” Tem’aree’ay added her last hand to the stack. “But with me, you can unburden.”
“I love you,” Griff said, glad for her presence. She would listen without judgment or the distancing deference that made it almost impossible to elicit opinion of his decisions. “It’s about Tae.”
“The answers have come,” Tem’aree’ay guessed correctly.
“The answers have come,” Griff confirmed, wincing at his memory of them. “At nearly the same time, which suggests King Cymion took much longer to consider his reply.” Releasing Tem’aree’ay’s hands, he scooted across the bed to support his back against the wall, though it left his legs sticking straight out in front of him. “Knowing what it says, I’m glad he didn’t consider it lightly, though that also suggests he’s not likely
to change his mind.” Realizing he had become too cryptic for the elf to follow, Griff turned to more comfortable, direct tactics. “King Weile Kahn of Stalmize sent only his greetings and stated he trusts his son to handle the situation. King Cymion of Pudar demanded Tae’s extradition and Kevral’s baby, making it very clear that he would consider withholding either an act of war.”
“War?” Tem’aree’ay shivered, withdrawing into the fine velvet, lace, and silk of her dress. “People killing other people?”
Griff hated seeing his loved one so desperately uncomfortable. He leaned forward, reaching for her. “I’m sorry I told you.”
Tem’aree’ay slid into his arms. “No, I asked to know. It’s just so strange. So uniquely human.”
Griff held her tightly, her dainty form weightless in his grip. He did not bother to remind her that the uniqueness had disappeared when Dh’arlo’mé led the elves against Béarn. Though rarely direct conflict, the svartalf’s mayhem, murders, and even the sterility spell passed for acts of war.
Tem’aree’ay looked up at Griff, her eyes glittering like sapphires in the lamplight. “If not so tragic, it would all seem wonderfully ironic.”
Griff turned the elfin maiden a sidelong glance.
Tem’aree’ay explained her strange statement. “The inexperienced prince has the solid support of his kingdom. The one with a lifetime of royal exposure has the whole matter wrenched from his control, despite the fact that he appears to be the wronged party and has had the most say.”
Tem’aree’ay’s observation demanded thought. “A difference between cultures,” the king explained, though he could not stop his mind from zipping beyond that superficial answer. At seventeen, he had become the king of the West’s highest kingdom. Though he respected mother and stepfather, still uncomfortable commanding others in their presences, the idea of Herwin speaking for him at Tae’s nineteen or Leondis’ twenty-five seemed ludicrous and insulting.
“What are you going to do?” Tem’aree’ay asked the all-important question.
Griff heaved an enormous sigh. “I don’t know.” The council had sat in a deep and lengthy silence following the reading of the messages. “No one wants to go to war.” He amended, “Except the Renshai, Thialnir, of course.”
Tem’aree’ay’s curls tickled Griff’s lips, remarkably soft amid the wiry coarseness of his beard. She relaxed noticeably. At one time, Dh’arlo’mé had all of the elves convinced that humans delighted in slaughter.
Griff kept the details to himself. Bad enough to lose a longtime supporter, but Pudar’s population was quadruple Béarn’s and they tended to share allies. Though all of the West swore its ultimate allegiance to Béarn, a civil war could place them on either side. Pudar held the advantage of supplies and money, the main market for each industrial town, every tiny farming hamlet, even for Béarn’s own stone masons. It would only make sense for the East to assist Béarn, given the nature of the dispute; but the warrior tribes of the North might side with Pudar not only because of trade, but simply to oppose the East. Or the Renshai.
Tem’aree’ay sat up, pulling far enough away to allow an earnest look. “You’ll do whatever you must to avoid a war, won’t you, my love?”
It’s not that simple. Always before, the right answers had come to Griff with little need for consideration. This time, he struggled desperately, enough to make him wonder whether or not he truly would have passed the staff-test. “I’ll do my best to avoid war.” Griff tried to reassure, yet he would not lie. “But not at the cost of allowing any country with an army to dictate policy with threats.” Realizing he had slipped into court talk, he changed his approach. “I’m not going to do as King Cymion demands just because he threatens war if I don’t. That would only encourage him to do it every time he wants something from us.”
Tem’aree’ay found a position beside Griff, her back also pressed to the wall. She loosed a pent-up breath. “So it’s just a threat. He’s not serious.”
“I’m sure he’s serious.” Griff stared at the far wall, painted with a forest mural that he had commissioned. He hoped it made her feel more at home. “Otherwise, he would not have sent the crown prince. Or threatened us with war for the first time in history.”
Tem’aree’ay fidgeted. “People will die if war happens.” She stated the obvious as if it were a great revelation.
“Many people, my love,” Griff admitted. “And at a time we can ill afford it. The sterility spell already plagues our survival as humans.”
“Is it not worth surrendering one man and one baby to prevent that?”
The question had basic merit, and Griff reminded himself that elves had no experience with such situations. “There are other things to consider, Tem’aree’ay. This time, Pudar wants Kevral’s baby and Tae. Next time, they might want Matrinka and Marisole. Or the kingdom itself.” He tried not to contemplate the freedom that would give him. He had never wished to rule Béarn, would love to shed the lead weight of burdens doing so had dumped upon his shoulders. Yet Griff had come to understand the need for the neutral kings sanctioned by the gods. “If King Cymion takes control of Béarn, the future toll in lives might go far beyond those lost in a war. It might destroy the balance . . . and the world.”
Having explained it in a way no one could question, Griff backtracked to ethics. “My people have obligations to the kingdom, but I at least have as many obligations to them as well. Not the least of those is protecting them from injustice, not just as a group but as individuals. I cannot abandon that obligation, even facing the threat of war.”
“Tae,” Tem’aree’ay reminded, “is not a citizen of Béarn. And neither is the baby.”
Griff lowered his head. He had spent hours explaining many human conventions, and she had done the same for elfin ways. Always before, she had displayed the innocence of an infant; it hurt to have her suggest that he abandon his morals, even for so great a threat as war. “But they are under my protection.”
Tem’aree’ay studied her lover, easily reading his discomfort. “Griff, I’m not giving advice, only trying to think out this problem from all directions, even those that seem disagreeable. And helping you to do the same.”
The king nodded, understanding. “It’s not as simple as I’m making it sound.”
“I know,” Tem’aree’ay said softly. “You’re not withholding an innocent Béarnian citizen demanded by an unreasoning king. And the baby—”
“—belongs in Pudar,” Griff could not resist finishing. “That part, at least, is clear. Pudar has a right to demand that child, and I have no right to deny them. I will order Kevral to turn over the baby, but she is Renshai. She’ll do as she pleases and suffer the consequences gladly.”
“So you can meet at least one of Pudar’s demands without doing it because they threatened.”
Griff returned his lover’s stare. “Prime Minister Davian said the exact same thing at the council.”
Tem’aree’ay smiled. “Obviously a great mind.”
“Exactly why I chose him.” Griff ran his fingers along Tem’aree’ay’s. “And you.” He shrugged, thick, black locks slipping from his right shoulder. “He’s working on the wording for that in the reply now. But there’s still the matter of Tae.”
“Sire.” Tem’aree’ay caught herself, grinning briefly. “My love, he saved your life.”
Griff flinched. He could not forget the sacrifices Tae had made, leaping from a boat, wounded and in the dead of night, to slip past the elves’ defenses. Even locating Griff had proven an effort that cost Tae his dignity, more scars, and nearly his life. He had fallen through a roof poorly designed by elves copying the appearance, but not the structure, of mankind’s buildings. The elves had captured and tortured him before he managed to obtain the key to release himself, Griff, and Rantire. “He risked everything for me. He deserves better than to suffer Cymion’s vengeance. And yet . . .” Griff lowered his head, hating to continue. He often deliberately broke his thoughts at this same place.
&n
bsp; Tem’aree’ay pressed. “And yet, what?”
“Prince Leondis describes an assassination attempt that Tae does not deny. And the evidence cannot be argued.”
“If someone who had not saved your life had committed such a crime, would you deliver him to King Cymion?”
Griff did not hesitate, “Probably. But it’s not just the rescue that has me baffled. He’s a visiting prince, exempt from our law by our law.” He raised his hand, anticipating the argument Saxanar had spoken. “Admittedly, there’s that other law that gives us leeway, the one that states the kingdoms should have a say in all this. But there’s more here. King Weile placed Tae’s fate in his own hands, and Tae placed it into mine. That gives me the legal right to extradite him.” He shook his head, frowning. “But not the ethical right. My heart tells me that I should reward Stalmize’s trust, not Pudar’s threats. And that there’s more to this incident than the obvious.” Griff did not bother to mention that he was not alone in his suspicions. Knight-Captain Kedrin had confessed his support for Tae at a time when impartiality seemed essential, though the knight would obey Griff’s decision, no matter how unfair he believed it. Matrinka, too, had asserted Tae’s innocence.
Tem’aree’ay stared at the woodland mural, as if losing herself among the trees. “My love, I’ve heard many humans proclaim it best in affairs of state to follow one’s head and never one’s heart.” She tapped a long, delicate finger on Griff’s chest. “I have the bias of knowing that, when elves switched from play to logic, we nearly destroyed ourselves.”
Griff nodded, wishing he could commiserate. If not for the change in elfin character, he would never have found Tem’aree’ay.
The Children of Wrath Page 47