Warautumn
Page 42
“It’s still your army,” Merryn retorted. “Until Sundeath.”
“Until Sundeath,” Avall conceded. “And that is going to be passing strange, let me tell you: to crown someone else King without rancor or remorse.”
“It won’t be the last strange thing you do in your life,” Rann chuckled, helping himself to a drink of his own. “In fact, if I guess correctly, the strange things in your life are only beginning.”
“Our life,” Avall corrected. “Or so I assume.” A troubled pause. “You are still coming, aren’t you?”
Rann nodded. “West? Of course. The only question is whether I go now or in the spring. I’ve a few things I need to tie up here.”
“Div may come here and tie you up and drag you back,” Avall countered.
Rann regarded him seriously. “Do you really think we can do it? Build a new hold in the ring lake without the rest of the Kingdom knowing? Run our lives by our rules, without reference to useless rite and ritual?”
“We can if we’re careful,” Avall assured him. “If we choose the right people. We have a solid core now, but there will have to be others. There will have to be children, and Div can’t give you any. And Myx and Riff and Bingg and Lykkon: All of them deserve mates, and they certainly won’t get them in the Wild. Sure, the first two are betrothed, but that doesn’t mean their consorts will follow them, their vows to that effect notwithstanding—or that we can trust those women not to reveal our secret, for that matter, which means we might ultimately lose two very good prospects. As for Lyk and Bingg: They deserve better than someone they’ve courted in haste.”
“No one will have to stay,” Rann reminded him. “That’s what you said.”
“Not unless they want to, and we’ll have to make certain they do. And we’ll … we’ll have to stress that living there is not only an adventure but a privilege and a responsibility. Did I tell you that Mother may want to come?”
Rann raised a brow.
Avall smirked. “Actually, I think it’s because we plan to take Averryn, and she doesn’t want to be parted from him.”
“At least she can get all the solitude she wants,” Merryn snorted. “Not that I’m complaining, mind you. And, to be honest, there’s very little remaining here for her.”
Avall shifted in his seat. “There’s another one who might want to go, though I’m not certain we dare take him.”
“And who might that be?” Rann drawled after another lengthy draught.
“Ahfinn. And before you both come down on me, let me remind you that the man is an excellent administrator. More to the point, he knows more about the gems than anyone else who isn’t one of us, so I’d be happier if he was where we could watch him.”
“What about his trial?” Merryn demanded.
“We could give him a choice of death or exile—but that exile wouldn’t be alone, and would have a very specific destination.”
“Like a certain lake?”
“I’d rather have him where we can watch him,” Avall repeated.
“I’d rather have him dead,” Merryn snapped.
“At some point one needs to replace justice with mercy,” Avall replied. “Besides, he may choose death anyway.”
Rann stared at his goblet, which seemed to be absorbing the dying light. “The question is: Do we dare trust him around the regalia? Might we not be raising up another Zeff?”
“We won’t have the regalia—nor the gems, except one to use for jumping.”
Merryn froze in place and looked at him sharply. “You’ve decided, then?”
Avall nodded. “Vorinn and I talked about it all night before I jumped back here, and believe it or not, he agrees with me. We have to take all the gems and everything that bears one, regardless of who made it and when, away from Eron. Away from temptation, I should say. He thinks the threat of them will be enough to forestall further rebellion.”
“So we’re hiding them again?”
“You are—if you’re willing. And a generation from now, they’ll be legends—to most of the world.”
“So shall we be,” Rann sighed. “I wonder what that will be like?”
“Whatever it is,” Avall replied with conviction, rising to face the glorious sky to the west, “it’s bound to be exciting.”
for
the past, present, and future members of the
Delta Gamma Drama Society
at
Young Harris College
Proof that one old dog can learn new tricks
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Phil Albert
Sharon Albert
Anne Lesley Groell
Linda Jean Jeffery
Tom Jeffery
Betty Marchinton
Buck Marchinton
Larry Marchinton
Deena McKinney
Howard Morhaim
Lindsay Sagnette
Juliet Ulman
and especially John Butler and T. J. Cochran,
who just ambled in and made themselves at home
ALSO BY TOM DEITZ
Bloodwinter
Springwar
Summerblood
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Tom Deitz grew up in Young Harris, Georgia, a tiny college town in the north Georgia mountains that—by heritage or landscape—have inspired the setting for the majority of his novels. He holds BA and MA degrees in English from the University of Georgia, where he also worked as a library assistant in the Hargrett Rare Books and Manuscript Library until quitting in 1988 to become a full-time writer. His interest in medieval literature, castles, and Celtic art led him to co-found the Athens, Georgia, chapter of the Society for Creative Anachronism, of which he is still a member. A fair-to-middlin’ artist, Tom is also a frustrated architect and an automobile enthusiast (he has two non-running ’62 Lincolns, every Road & Track since 1959 but two, and over 900 unbuilt model cars). He also hunts every now and then, dabbles in theater at the local junior college, and plays toli (a Southeastern Indian game related to lacrosse) when his pain threshold is especially high.
After twenty-five years in Athens, he has recently moved back to his hometown, the wisdom of which move remains to be seen. Warautumn is his nineteenth novel.