The Copper Crown

by Patricia Kennealy-Morrison

  She swung up into the saddle, saying over her shoulder, "I name to accompany me: Gwydion Prince of Don; Slaine Countess of Ralland; Lord Wolf Graham; Sabia ni Dalaigh; David Drummond, who will bear my Standard; and Sorcha ni Reille."

  With a shock O'Reilly realized that the last-named personage was herself; she had not yet grown accustomed to hearing her name in the Gaeloch. But had Aeron really meant her? She caught Sabia's eye questioningly, and Aeron's friend nodded, smiling. O'Reilly hurried to mount.

  "In the absence of the Ard-rian and the First Lord of War," Aeron was saying, "Niall Duke of Tir-connell is Chief here, and Tanwen of Marsco is War Leader." She looked approvingly over the little party, all now horsed, then turned her attention back to the waiting Garallaz.

  Wheeling her horse in a half-rearing circle, she pointed to a small rise in the land crowned by a cluster of goldenbirch, more or less equidistant

  "We will meet your lord by the knoll of birches. Tell him so. Nor do I think we shall cumber ourselves with hostages, not in the midst of this. So I shall set my royal word against his own that no treachery is toward. You may tell him that, also." She touched one green leather boot-heel to the black mare's flank, and the others followed.

  A hundred yards from the little stand of birches she drew rein, and her companions did likewise. Garallaz and his escort swept past at a gallop, and a very few minutes after they reached the Imperial camp, another knot of riders detached itself from the main host and headed at an easy canter for the little hill.

  When they were perhaps thirty feet from the Kelts, they halted. Aeron contemplated them for a moment--Bres was among them, and her mouth went down at one corner--then raised a gloved hand. David Drummond, who was nearest, leaned forward in his saddle.

  "Ard-rian?"

  "Behind Jaun Akhera--what man is that who rides the bay?"

  He followed her glance. "That is Elathan, Crown Prince of Fomor."

  Aeron felt a small unpleasant shock. It seemed hardly right for the son of Fomor, an ancient enemy to her blood, to look so: a face of almost impossible beauty, dark blond hair and eyes as brown as bracken. It was as if he was aware of her shock, and the cause of it too, for he met her gaze and smiled, and his smile was a friendly one.

  With an effort she looked away, moving her horse forward, as at the same instant Jaun Akhera did also, for the terms of parley had called for the two of them to speak alone, though still within earshot of their companies.

  Bronach danced sideways under the pressure of Aeron's leg, and Jaun Akhera, when he came up to join her, turned his own mount likewise, so that the faces of the two leaders might be visible to both entourages. It was the first time they had ever seen each other in the flesh, and they faced each other with almost as much curiosity as antagonism.

  Jaun Akhera was resplendent in white and gold, with a heavy gold coronet set upon his brow. She studied him openly. He seemed taller as he stood forth from his companions; in his battle armor, confident and assured and expectant of victory. Her frank stare did not appear to discomfit him. He was tall and lithe of build, though not so tall nor yet so lean of line as most Keltic men, and his frame beneath the gilded breastplate seemed well-muscled enough for any warrior. His hair was black, his eyes gold, and there was a gold-dusted look to his tanned skin. Strangely attractive, though it annoyed her to think it, and his eyes possessed a power of compulsion like to a snake's fascination of glance over a bird.

  Well, she thought, let him try to charm a hawk...

  By comparison, Aeron looked almost austere. She wore no crown, the only outward mark of her rank the cloak of heavy purple silk that fell over her horse's quarters--and the hue of which, she was amused to see, plainly irritated her royal opposite. But her mail glittered like water in the sun, and against the deep purple, color of emperors, her hair blazed with the fire of a meteor.

  He reined his horse back, and bowed deeply to her from the saddle. Aeron inclined her head, as one sovereign to another, but spoke first, as a sovereign to a subject.

  "Hail, Prince of Alphor."

  "Hail Keltia," he answered at once, smiling, and his voice was light and pleasant.

  "We have each suffered much loss, lord; many of my folk are dead, many more of your own. Allow me to save you words and time. This war is to the death only, and though I may well lose, you shall take my City only over my blood upon its stones."

  "That may be, Aeron," he said. "Though now I have seen you, I say in all truth I could wish for a less costly victory. I take it you will not consider any--accommodation?"

  Aeron smiled. "Who has been advising you, Emperor's Heir? You have been listening to ignorant counselors; have they told you nothing of me at all? Even my onetime foster-sister knows me far better than that... But no, Jaun Akhera, I will consider no 'accommodation' save that of your immediate and total withdrawal from every foot of Keltic earth and every parsec of Keltic space. There shall be left within the Bawn of Keltia not one Coranian or Fomori or spawn of any other race you may have among you--except in death if that is the way you choose. Further, you will take the most solemn of oaths never again to come against us in arms. Or perhaps the Coranians do not have quite so vivid a memory as do the Fomori--of Bellator?"

  Taken aback, he recovered himself with a little laugh. "Ah, Aeron, you do not disappoint me. They told me that the tongue was as sharp as the face was lovely, and on both counts they were right. I fear I cannot meet your conditions, memories or no. But I say this to you: After the battle, if I have won, and if both of us live to speak again, I shall ask you to consider a different offer."

  "And that?" she asked, off her guard for an instant.

  "A throne beside me. My grandfather is old, as you know, and has not many more years left to him. If you would wed me, join your Crown to mine, you could rule with me over Kelts and Coranians alike, and we could together bring this ancient strife to peace at last. Both our peoples would bless you for it."

  The Wolf Gate itself could not have closed more completely against the invaders than Aeron's face shut now against the words of Jaun Akhera. Of those who watched and listened with fascinated horror, those who knew her only by reputation thought the beautiful pale face expressionless. Those closest to her beheld an anger such as they had never before seen upon any human countenance.

  That is the look that destroyed Bellator, thought O'Reilly, numbed by it.--that destroyed Atland of old, thought Gwydion, even as he fought to retain his own composure.

  Nearly half a minute passed before Aeron trusted herself to speak; only to speak, and not to strike, though even then she still felt fury at her back. Even Jaun Akhera felt it, and he shifted in his saddle.

  "I think neither your folk nor my own would set their seal to that duergar's bargain," she said at last. "Any road, the throne beside me already has one to fill it--Gwydion Prince of Gwynedd."

  "You would be an empress, Aeron," said Jaun Akhera, concealing his astonishment at the news she had just given him, and wondering even as he spoke what lunacy made him persist. Surely she could not hold such anger in check very much longer?

  But her words came now with coldness. "By the grace of Arthur of old, Marbh-draoi, I am already an empress. And that would I prove upon your own body, should you care to take this quarrel to the sword between us two alone?"

  His smile was twisted. "Nay, Majesty, that is one challenge I must decline, interesting though it might prove."

  "So I thought. Very well then, Strephon's heir, there shall be rather fewer of you to carry my words home to your aging grandfather." She saluted him contemptuously, spun her horse on its haunches and spurred back to her waiting escort.

  Jaun Akhera watched her go, then turned his own horse's head to the Imperial camp. Hathor of the Horns, he thought, that is a most worthy opponent.

  Chapter Nineteen

  By the time Haruko returned from his tour of the camp, in the company of Denzil Cameron and the Princess Rioghnach, it had gone full dark. Except that it was seldom full d
ark on this planet, thought Haruko, looking up at the Criosanna. That sight never failed to fill him with wonder, and tonight it was more than usually brilliant, for the aurora was streaming down out of the north, a cloak of light, rippling like silk in the solar wind.

  "It is what we call a white night," said Denzil, "though it is every color but white."

  Haruko agreed absently, but his mind was elsewhere, running over the events of earlier that day. O'Reilly had told him all the details of the encounter between Aeron and Jaun Akhera, and he had been alternately outraged and proud. He was only half-hearing the idle conversation that followed, until a word of Rioghnach's jarred him sharply into full attention.

  "You mean--" Both Kelts turned courteously to him, and he mastered his surprise. "You just said, Princess, I think, that the cavalry and the chariots are the heaviest force we have?"

  Rioghnach nodded. "That is so, Theo; what of it?"

  He couldn't believe it. "Highness, the Imperials will have hoverplanes, low-level bombers..."

  "And they will find within ten seconds of launch, if not before, that their aircraft are totally useless," said Denzil.

  "But why? How?"

  For answer, Rioghnach took his arm and turned him to face the Hollow Mountains, plain in the ghostly aurora-light, a low black frieze many miles away to the northeast.

  "There, see you those? They are solid lachna; I do not know the word for it in your tongue, or even if you know its properties. But it has a very strange and very certain effect on any kind of flight motor. Why have you never seen anything bigger than an aircar or small personal ship in atmosphere on this planet?"

  "I hadn't really noticed," admitted Haruko. "I suppose I must have thought they were simply prohibited?"

  "And for good reason! The field of force those mountains put out knocks them out of the sky all over Tara. Though some of us believe it is not the lachna, but the power of the Shining Ones, whose home is in those hills--" Her eyes sparkled. "The invaders will learn the harsh way. Oh, they may well capture a few of our aircars, maybe even some of our troop transports, which are powered differently and so come not under the ban. And we will shoot them down. And then they shall see what Keltic cavalry and war-chariots can do."

  "And if they capture horses and chariots as well, or bring their own? Suppose they have mechanized armor?"

  Denzil smiled. "As to your first question, I could wish them luck of it and not rue the wishing. Fighting from the back of a war horse is chancier than it looks, and the Coranians are not accustomed to it--though I hear more and more out-Wall folk are taking to our style of warfare. And driving a chariot is harder still. They will not be able to use mechanical chariots because the land is too broken even for tortoises--what you call tanks. I do not think the cavalry commanders--myself included--are over-fretted about that side of it."

  "Is Aeron?"

  Before Aeron's sister could answer, a page came up to her, spoke quietly, and was as quietly gone.

  "Well, the Dancers of the North may hear a merry measure," said Rioghnach, casting a last longing glance upward at the trembling veils of color, "but I fear there is little tunefulness within. My sister and her commanders are just now having a small disagreement over means, and we have been ordered to join them at once. So, my lords--"

  They heard the council of war long before they reached the hall in which it was being held. At least four or five voices were raised in acrimonious dispute, judged Haruko uneasily, but none of them was Aeron's. At least, not yet...

  Almost no notice was taken of their entrance, all those present being too taken up with their debate. At the moment, the action appeared centered on the violent disagreement of Desmond, the cavalry commanders Fedelma and Maravaun, and a tall, pleasant-looking man Haruko had never seen before.

  "That is Rhain," whispered Rioghnach, noting the direction of his glance. "Melangell's eldest brother. He is a Druid scientist on loan to the Fianna, and his duties concern the maintenance of the Curtain Wall. If he is here now, it is at Aeron's order, and there must be some problem with the Wall. Perhaps--" She listened intently for a moment. "Yes, it is as I thought: Rhain says it is impossible for the Wall to be repaired at the present time and in the present straits. The undamaged sectors remain intact, but the gap Arianeira created remains also. We are still open to the outside, and various courses have been urged upon Aeron."

  Haruko tried to follow the debate, but his Gaeloch, though improved a thousandfold in the past months, could not handle the swift colloquial broadsides blasting back and forth across the room, and he had a feeling that telepathy was coming into it as well.

  "They want Aeron to use more sweeping strategies, and more immediately, against Jaun Akhera," said Denzil, leaning over and speaking into Haruko's ear. "She will not commit further troops to the first battles, and I think she is right to hold back--for the moment."

  In a sudden lull came unexpected advice from an unexpected quarter.

  "If you won't use logic, Aeron, then use magic!"

  The speaker was Morwen, who ought to have known better, and Aeron grew very still.

  "Is this all your best counsel?" she asked, raking her glance over the room that had suddenly gone deathly quiet. "All of you?--Yes, I can see that it is. Well then, in your wisdom, what do you suggest may be my best and surest course? The Faery Fire? Nay, for too many of our own folk would take hurt from it. The sea-magic, perhaps? Shall I raise a wave like to the one that drowned Atland? Or shall I rather call upon the earth itself to shake our enemy off, as a horse twitches a fly from its shoulder?" She stood up, waving them angrily back into their seats. "Counselors you are called--by my grace! Come to me again when you have somewhat worthier counsel to give me." She strode from the room, and no one dared to follow.

  No one, that is, save Haruko. If he had stopped to think he would not have dared, any more than the others, and so he just went. Outside, he lost sight of her for a moment, then saw her, two levels above him and moving upward, and he dashed up the tower stairs after her. Why does she always have to walk so damned fast ... In his haste to catch her, he lunged up the remaining few steps, and, too out of breath for the moment to speak, gave an unmannerly tug to her cloak. Aeron swung round on him with a swart oath, and before the look on her face Haruko flinched in terror.

  Her expression changed at once. "Theo! You! Why didn't you say?" But she was still very angry, even if not at him, and he watched from a wary distance as she paced the turret walk.

  Far below, in the mouth of the glen, a siege crew was still at work, setting in place the last redoubts against the morning's battle. They sang as they worked, and their song floated, faint but very clear, up to Haruko's ears. Heavily accented, melodic, rhythmic, it was obviously a work song--one voice sang the verse, all voices together on the refrain--yet it held a primitive solemn something that made Haruko's skin crawl, as if a chill finger had just brushed his cheek. It was beautiful, and its counterpoint was menace. It rang against the valley walls like the hollow boom of a battering-ram.

  "Long time since last we sang that song in this glen." Aeron, calmer now, had come up quietly while the song had held him rapt, and now she leaned beside him, her elbows propped on the crenelations. She did not look at him, but far down the plain, at the small bright smudges that were the quartz-fires of the invading army.

  "There are a hundred legions, Gwydion says," he remarked after a while. "Jaun Akhera called in all his markers for this one."

  "All his what?" she asked, half-laughing. "I do not know your idiom, Theo, but I take your meaning plain... Are you sorry, then?"

  "Sorry?"

  "Now that your life too is tied into the sword-knot." Her voice was uncharacteristically bitter.

  Much moved, and greatly daring, Haruko laid a hand upon her arm. "I chose for myself, Aeron. So did O'Reilly. So did the others. They left--or fled. We stayed. We wouldn't be here--violating, I might add, all the best rules of diplomatic practice--if we didn't dearly want to be."

>   As he had hoped, she smiled. "That's as well, then. They'd probably never have given you another embassy."

  "Yes, well, landing in the middle of an interstellar grudge match isn't exactly good diplomacy either."

  "Oh, but that is hardly your fault. Kelts hate Fomori, Fomori hate Kelts--that is a feud of but two generations' standing. Kelts hate Coranians, Coranians hate Kelts--and that is a feud of a thousand generations' standing. Besides, war is the final argument of kings. No diplomacy ever practiced has ever altered that."

  Haruko voiced the fear of many hearts. "But if the City should fall?"

  "It falls! But Caerdroia is not Keltia... Its fall, though very evil, would not be the worst fate to come upon us." She fell silent, staring upward as he had done earlier at the glory of the aurora. "We do not love war, Theo. Even in self-defense and unassailable righteousness of cause, it is a low form of possession, to be avoided or averted whenever possible."

  "But surely to prevent a greater conflict--"

  "I see nothing but conflict." She turned her back on Jaun Akhera's campfires. "Suppose we succeed in smashing the Imperial armies, and their Fomori friends too," she offered. "The rest of the Phalanx overlords even now watch and wait, and will, very like, fall upon us in force just when we are least able to turn them aside. We are alone, Theo. Earth cannot send to help us in time even if they would, and we have no right even to ask. For all we know, Earth too could be under attack... I look for our only real aid from the Protectorates, if my cousin Kerensa came there in time, or, indeed, at all; but even so they cannot send much for they cannot spare much to send. In this, then, we stand alone, and perhaps that is best after all."

  Haruko took a deep breath to face the royal wrath sure to come. "I am sorry to ask this, Lady, having heard you in council just now and knowing how you feel--though not why you feel so--but what of magic, and why not?"

  But Aeron did not explode as he had expected. Instead, she was silent for long moments, then sighed and spoke with gentle patience.