Fires of Nuala

by Katharine Eliska Kimbriel

“Then welcome, all of you. The food is not the best — although I suspect one among you will take care of that — and the quarters tend toward drafts when the wind is from the northeast. But it will not be for long.”

  Bright pink with pleasure, Harald’s wife stepped forward and made a beautiful curtsy. “We have brought Serae Avis a present, Atare.” Turning, she gestured to one of several forms wrapped in a poncho. It stepped forward, disentangling itself from several scarves, and revealed itself to be —

  “Stephen!” Darame tightened as she realized she was interrupting procedure, but the young man turned eagerly toward her.

  “Yer r’ here! Stephanie said yer werd be. Where is Avis?” His dark, handsome face held a trace of anxiety, his Caesarean marred by more Garrison accent than usual. “Has she had the baby yet?”

  “Not in the last few minutes,” Sheel said, perfectly straight-faced. “Darame, perhaps you should escort Stephen to Avis? I would not have her tripping in her haste to get back up here.”

  “A pleasure,” she said, laughing, and rose to her feet. “Let me grab my cloak and we’ll be on our way.” It was Frost who materialized behind her, clutching her fur cloak. “One of my children,” she had called him, and treated him as such. Still, Sheel occasionally eyed Frost with that certain look he sometimes gave people.…

  “You must have had quite a journey,” Darame told Stephen as she led the way out of the cavern.

  “Very circular, and the nights were cold,” he agreed, loosening another scarf. “Things have tightened up in Atr’ — questioning abert Avis’s whereaberts, herse sr’ches for signs of the heir — it’s not a good place to be right now. So Ting and Stephanie decided to move me. We went to her family’s summer home up nr’ Portland oh, a half-moon back, and Hr’ald took over from there.”

  “Well, catch your breath and stop worrying, you sound like a woodsman today,” she told him, chuckling. “House searches, eh? Sounds like some odd things going on in Atare.” How much he knew she had no idea, so she chose not to volunteer information.

  “Very odd. I have heard a few things that — well, I hope The Atare will explain as much as he can while I am here,” Stephen finished carefully, in control of his ‘burr’ and his thoughts once more.

  “I am certain he will.” Avis would surely tell him.… Then again, maybe she would not tell him about the assassin. “There is your destination,” Darame said quickly, stopping and pointing into the grove. “Say the right words, child, the lady is despondent!”

  Darame waited while he dashed off, expecting Camelle momentarily. Sure enough, the woman rose and started out almost immediately, covering her smile as Darame heard Avis cry: “You cannot even hug me I am so big!”

  “Sure I can, we’ll just — ” Immediately realizing this error, Stephen’s voice continued with: “But this way I can hug both of you!”

  “Overall, his arrival will be a success,” Camelle said easily in Nualan as the two women started back up the trail. “Who came with him?” Darame’s reply intrigued her; an abstracted expression crept across Camelle’s face. “Someone was watching Portland, you may be sure, or Harald would have been here long since.” A tiny sigh escaped as the Nualan glanced Darame’s way. “I… begin to doubt this can be solved without bloodshed.”

  “Of course not,” Darame said steadily, not answering Camelle’s curious look. “With all that is at stake? And it will happen again, if Sheel does not take steps to prevent it.”

  “I think he is trying to deal with that.” It was all Camelle said, an invitation if Darame chose, but the off-worlder pointedly ignored the hint.

  Oh, yes, Camelle. He paces nightly, after the others retire and he hopes I am sleeping. To take power to avoid someone else taking power is not a solution Sheel would choose. Something curious flitted briefly across Darame’s mind, leaving scarcely a trace. Can you train your heirs to accept, but dislike the rule? What an interesting thought.… A day of new information. How would Sheel react to Stephen’s news?

  Darame did not have time to question him, for by the time they were alone together, dusk was falling… and riders were approaching from the desert.

  VESPERS

  Every guaard in the place lined the narrow, winding trail leading up from the floor of the Ciedär. It was a hard path, too rocky for beasts, so the leader of the caravan dismounted from his champagne-pale hazelle and walked up even as Harald and his people had walked. His companions were not guaard, however.

  Sheel knew what was coming from Mailan’s careful description. Warriors, enforcers and guardians, protecting the purity of their line — outkin of Dielaan clan. Dielaan, by all that is holy! What has Dielaan to do with this place? And if they seek me, how did they know — “Increase the guaard on Avis and Stephen, immediately,” Sheel heard himself saying. “And get that crock of stew out of here. Leave some saffra, bread and cheese.”

  Smoothing a hand down the fine wool tunic Stephen had brought for him, Sheel paced slowly in the enclosure. For the first time he wished for the chain of office. Still hidden in the temple, if I have any luck at all. Still, it would be nice to have it while facing down an emissary of the Ciedär clan. He glanced over at Darame, who appeared from the niche wearing a long skirt of dark red velvet, an over-tunic of black silk thrown over it and belted with dyed tazellehide. The trine necklace glinted like a strand of her hair.

  “Have a seat. This could be interesting,” Sheel suggested, turning and walking back toward the kitchen stove.

  Gracefully seating herself on the couch by the firepit, reaching to grip the hand of Harald’s wife in passing, Darame said: “Mailan said they come from Dielaan. How far is that?”

  “Far. The other side of the Ciedär, next to the great inland sea. That is a lovely skirt, I do not remember seeing it,” he added, studying the graceful folds covering her delicate feet.

  “That is because Merme brought us a few things,” Darame said with a smile, releasing the old woman’s hand. Holding pale fingers next to the deep velvet pile, she continued in her low voice: “I look like a vampire. You, on the other hand, look quite elegant.”

  “I thought you were not a court flatterer,” Sheel reminded her, moving over next to the couch.

  “Truth is not flattery,” was the answer as her hand reached to touch his soft red tunic.

  “How do you make truth sound so seductive?” he asked softly, bending to inhale of the spice that clung to her.

  “Ha. I will explain later — in detail.” She glanced past him to Harald’s wife, but old Merme merely smiled and started for the inner caverns, a sack of grain under each arm. A faint Darame smile, releasing his clothing…

  “Now to work,” he murmured in her ear, straightening and strolling around the couch to the far side of the firepit. Even as he spoke a half-dozen guaard entered the cave, arranging themselves on either side of the high-backed chair. Mailan and Crow were openly wearing the mag guns with their ceremonial knives. Choosing to stand in hope that his height would make up for his gauntness, Sheel lifted his gaze from the fire to Darame, waiting until the brightness faded from his sight. A tilt of the head brought the Dielaan representative into his range of vision.

  “So one of you survived,” whispered a harsh voice. Sheel studied the speaker. Dusty of complexion, his hair and eyes black, the man was of average height and weight, but the fire in his eyes was reflected in the brilliance of his clothing. Dielaaners dearly loved color, surrounded by Ciedär white, black and red as they were. A loose tunic and wide pants of turquoise silk were belted against his body for warmth; a long, heavy green robe was thrown over them, with some sort of multihued garment much like a northern poncho on top of that. Even wearing one of the hats they preferred, intricate and vivid, a thick slice from a ball, with a brim to shield from Kee’s glare on sand. The gauzy, colorful veils were tossed back, exposing his face. Interesting, that total exposure. The heavy trine ring on his finger denoted rank, and there was nothing respectful in his posture.

  Typic
al Dielaan ambassador, Sheel decided, and nodded once without smiling. “So it seems. Shall we play courtiers for a bit, or would you like to get to the heart of your visit?”

  Laughter like sandpaper on wood… Not a whisper, it was his normal voice. “Good, Atare. No game between you and I. Too much rides on this visit. We have a complaint to offer, first of your clan. It is your negligence that brings us here, and you who must repair the damage.”

  “Indeed?” Sheel moved away from the firepit. “Bring a chair for the ambassador.” A low, backless chair appeared from the crowd of guaard as if by magic. Ayers placed it close to the firepit, but left the flames between the two men.

  “You are first of your clan?” the Dielaaner went on, perching on the edge of the seat.

  Lowering himself easily into the remaining chair, Sheel leaned casually on one armrest and said: “Yes, I speak for Atare.” He did not offer his name, nor expect it of the Dielaaner: sometimes a Dielaan representative would be in Atare for years before anyone learned his name. And what other title was needed than “Atare”?

  “The curse of the eyes does not mean you hold the reins of power.”

  My, we are blunt. “I fear we are at an impasse, then, since I hid the chain of office before I left Atare. Would you care for saffra?” Glancing over at the guaard on his far left, Sheel indicated his own desire to be served.

  “There are other proofs. We heard of Ironhand’s death, and that many of his heirs died as well. Only the pretty one and the healer survived. Which are you?” The black eyes narrowed slightly, their almond shape reminding Sheel of Crow.

  A trick? If he knew about Cort, surely he knew about Iver. “Pretty” does not quite describe me.… “Does it matter?” Sheel asked, accepting one of the mugs of saffra and tilting his head toward the Dielaaner in inquiry. The man gestured for a mug.

  “It does. We have had… communication problems since Ironhand’s death.” Bending over the offering, the Dielaaner muttered a swift prayer and took a long drink of the steaming fluid.

  “How can I reassure you? Will you believe me if I tell you I am a healer?”

  In response the man purposefully pulled a dagger from his belt. At Sheel’s side Mailan stiffened, but did not move: the Dielaaner’s movements were not immediately threatening. As the group watched, the man shrugged back his poncho and cloak, exposing a tight silk sleeve which was promptly peeled back. A flick of the knife, and a long, shallow stripe of blood wealed from his skin. “I will, if you heal this cut.”

  Sheel raised one eyebrow. The Dielaaner tilted his head back in response, as if weighing Sheel’s controlled movement. Quite interesting.… Uncertain of where this was heading, but willing to be led, Sheel stood and gestured for the man to do the same. One of the guaard walked forward and took the ambassador’s extended arm. Dielaan warriors stirred, but their leader stopped them with a glance. Still stiff — offended by the stranger’s questions, Sheel was certain — the guaard drew the Dielaaner to the edge of the firepit.

  A minor injury, easily healed, although Sheel had been careful about healing since his sojourn in the Ciedär. Pausing by the couch, his gaze flicking over Darame’s impassive countenance, he reached over the edge of the pit, placing his hands on either side of the injury. Glancing up, Sheel let the slightest of smiles escape and said: “This will take longer if the blade was poisoned.” Blood sizzled as it struck blazing logs.

  An impatient movement. “No poison,” the man replied.

  The familiar surge of energy, and it was closed, as if an old injury. The thinnest of lines indicated where the skin had been violated. Examining the scar carefully, the Dielaaner nodded once in satisfaction.

  “Good. You have a reputation for brains.” He backed to his chair and dropped into it. “I am Tsuga reb^Canade Dielaan, of the second tier.” A major concession from a Dielaaner, announcing his name. So, he truly came as a supplicant. Second tier meant a second cousin to the current Dielaan and his sister, called ragäree but only a ruler if The Dielaan was incapacitated or dead.

  Deciding to ignore the dig at his deceased brother’s intellect, Sheel chose to answer the man in kind. “I am Sheel Atare.” His mother’s name was now only for genealogies. “What is your petition?”

  “That is for my cousin to explain.” Standing, he gestured toward the entrance. One of the warriors went to the opening and waved a large green scarf. “This was her idea.” The last was almost muttered, and Sheel made the most of the distraction, returning to his seat.

  “Another chair and mug, Mailan,” Sheel said, catching Mailan’s eye with his own. She knew what that look meant — careful. Everything seemed smooth, but still, the war had ended only three years ago.… His circuitous thoughts ended when he saw who was walking into the room.

  Crimson, violet, and azure threads on green marked the long woolen dress as uniquely high-house Dielaan. Heavy trinium bracelets and necklaces adorned her person, as well as a peaked spear holding a thick twist of flaming red hair in place. Dark lace draped from her head, tumbling over her shoulders like a veil and patterning the white wool cloak which fell to her feet. Despite all this finery, it was her face that commanded Sheel’s attention. Small she might be for a Dielaan woman, but her face was pure throne line, cheekbones high and jutting, eyebrows drawn by a master hand, nose straight and small, and those famous emerald eyes that often cropped up in the distaff line. Her flawless complexion was the color of tea and cream, paler than her cousin’s. Before her walked other warriors of her line, behind her trailed a man whose features marked him as off-world, possibly Gavrielian. But he was of no consequence, if this woman was who Sheel suspected.

  Standing at his seat, Sheel indicated the chair to Seri Tsuga’s left. Lowering herself slightly first in the manner of Dielaan royalty, the woman took the offered place.

  “The Ragäree will speak.” Tsuga obviously expected no protest; scowling, he perched once again on the edge of his chair.

  “I did not come to stare at him, cousin,” the woman said crisply. There was a pause as she studied Sheel, who was gracefully retaking his throne. Angling her head in the manner of one considering a problem, she did not waste time in thought. “I am Livia reb^Palmeri Dielaan, Regent to the Heirs.” When Sheel did not interrupt, she continued: “My brother died at Yule — he was poisoned, along with our two brothers and younger sister. Fortunately we caught the assassin as he fled Dielaan.” A faint smile touched her lips. “We persuaded him to tell us who hired him, and why. It was a Caesarean ambassador, Atare — one stationed not in Dielaan but in Atare. Our own embassy swears ignorance of this deed.”

  “Do you believe their innocence?” Sheel asked.

  “We questioned the entire embassy — I am satisfied with their tale.” She seemed amused by something, but did not add to her story.

  Drugs with the embassy, probably torture with the assassin, thought Sheel, but he did not push the matter. Dielaan had never respected anyone’s sovereignty but their own, and granted no diplomatic immunity. Despite this danger, the wealth of the desert still drew off-worlders like moisture-seeking krwb descending upon a pool of water.

  “You understand Atare grants diplomatic immunity to its embassies?” Sheel reminded her.

  “Even from murder?”

  “Generally we make an exception in that case… but even then, the murderer can request to be judged by his own people. Caesarea does not have the death penalty.”

  Livia’s lovely face pulled into a sneer. “I am aware of their laws. Personally I would prefer death to mind tampering — I find it more merciful.”

  Answering her with a faint smile, Sheel said: “In the three previous cases of murder by a diplomat, all three have preferred Nualan justice. But the choice must be offered. You have proof?”

  Now Tsuga spoke. “We have what is left of the assassin. He can still talk — I have promised him an easy death if we catch his employer,” the Dielaaner added.

  Spoken like a true clansman. Never mind the weapon — fin
d the person who threw it. Aloud Sheel said: “Do you have a name?”

  “He calls himself Brant, this ambassador.” Livia’s voice had no expression. “We have sworn blood feud.”

  Sheel’s smile grew broader. “I think you will stand in line for your chance, Ragäree. Others are before you.”

  This seemed to confirm some private theory of Livia’s, for she nodded at his words. “Your loss as well, Atare?”

  “And Seedar’s, we suspect.”

  Silence. Tsuga glanced at Livia out of the corner of his eye, but her gaze was on Sheel. “Tell me your claim, Atare, and I will tell you if it outweighs mine. I have lost not only brothers and sister. I left my city in flames!”

  Both Sheel’s eyebrows rose. He inclined his head toward Tsuga.

  “There is a problem,” Tsuga admitted, scowling his disapproval at Livia. “Splinter clans at the rim of Dielaan have made a bid for the throne. You knew about the plague — ” Sheel nodded; a virulent plague had decimated the royal family of Dielaan years ago, forcing them into alliance with their outkin. “Since this outrage at Yule, Livia’s two sons are the only clear choice to rule. Therefore we have taken them from the city until order can be re-established. Air cars to Cardeaan, and caravan from there.”

  “In the meantime…” Sheel started.

  “I want his head,” Livia told them. “I will bring it back to Dielaan, to show what happens to those who would kill kings.”

  Glancing at Darame’s impassive face, Sheel said: “I suspect he arranged the deaths of my uncle and my brothers, as well as those wives who were in residence and attendant guaard. He, or his accomplices, attempted to kill me three more times. They tried to kill the future ragäree. They have corrupted one of my house… even the head of my guaard.”

  Livia stirred at his last words. “Bad. I had hoped your guaard would prove useful in this case.”

  “They will… but it is more complicated than it seems. Not all the conspirators have been revealed.” Sheel paused, uncertain what to say next. Livia took this to mean it was her turn to speak.