Fire and Sword (14 page)

“The short sword,” Ager said, and the Chetts heard something like reverence in his voice.

“This is heavier than any saber I’ve ever used,” Orlma said, hefting the dummy weapon.

“And by the time I’ve finished training all of you, your own sabers will feel as light as a feather. Attack me.”

The Chett grinned. “I will not make the same mistake that Katan made, Captain Crookback.”

“Glad to hear it. Now attack me.”

Orlma moved forward cautiously, his saber held slightly above waist level, its tip raised slightly. He expected his opponent to retreat before his longer reach, but instead Ager waited with what seemed like boredom. ‘“Get on with it, will you?”

The Chett scowled and raised the saber above his head to slash down, but before he could do anything more he felt the hard tip of Ager’s weapon punch him in the chest and he fell back on his rump. He could not believe the one-eyed crook-back, who usually moved with evident difficulty and lack of grace, could move so fast.

“Again!” Ager ordered. The Chett scrambled to his feet, held out his saber again, and waited to see if Ager would advance. He did. Seeing his chance, Orlma turned his wrist and swept the saber inward, aiming for the crookback’s stomach. Ager retreated half a step, letting the saber whistle past, then lunged, catching his opponent on the chest again.

“I will figure out how you do that,” Orlma said, picking himself off the ground for a second time.

“No need,” Ager told him. “I’ll tell you. Stand as you were before.”

The Chett did so. Ager stood within striking distance of him. “Could either of us miss at this distance?” he asked the other Chetts. They all shook their head. “Slowly, start your attack,” he told his opponent. Orlma swung his arm back, and Ager simply jabbed forward so the point of the short sword rested over the Chett’s heart.

“My enemy has to make two moves with his saber to strike me,” Ager told his audience. “I only have to make one. This is the advantage of a stabbing weapon over a slashing weapon.”

“But when you beat Katan, you were using a saber,” one of the Chetts pointed out.

“That’s because I know how to fight on foot, and Katan doesn’t. If you only have a saber or cutlass, keep your movements as small as possible. It’s not necessary to cut off your enemy’s head to kill him. Severing an artery will do the job as well, and almost as quickly. More importantly, it isn’t necessary to kill your enemies to win a battle; you can put them out of action and kill them later. Draw your sabers.” Ager inspected three of the swords. “Just as I thought. You whet them on the same plane.”

“It is the only way to make them properly sharp,” Orlma said.

Ager drew his own saber and invited Orlma to feel its edge.

“It is rough.”

Ager pulled a short branch from his sack and laid it over two rocks. “Cut it with your saber,” he told Orlma.

The Chett swung as high as possible and slashed down. His blade sank deep into the branch. He tugged and pulled at the weapon to free it, then held up the branch to show the others how deep he had cut. “If that was an enemy’s body, it would have sliced through his kidneys!” he boasted.

Ager grinned. “How true. Put it back.”

Ager now slashed down with his own saber. The blade did not cut nearly as deep, but it came out of the wood without effort and the cut it left behind was wide and jagged. He held up the branch. “If this had been an enemy’s body, it would have destroyed more than his kidneys. A wound like this cannot be repaired, and my saber comes out easily.”

There was an astonished murmur from his audience.

“I want you to go now and make a wooden saber and a wooden short sword for yourselves. Have them done by tomorrow, and we’ll start your training.”

After the evening meal Lynan stepped back from the campfire and his circle of friends. He found himself more at peace when alone, something which confused him. He had grown up alone, Kumul’s careful guardianship a light and sometimes forbiddingly remote presence, but during their flight from Kendra to the Oceans of Grass he had learned to rely on the steady companionship and protection of Kumul and Ager, Jenrosa and Gudon. He still cared for them all dearly, but increasingly felt the need to set himself apart, to keep some distance between his new life and his old.

The firelight reflected off his hard, pale skin, and he traced a blue vein on one arm with a finger. He felt a pulse and ridiculously felt relief. He knew he was no vampire, but he also knew instinctively that he was no longer entirely human. He wondered how much of his new-found confidence—his changed nature—was due to Silona’s blood. He wanted to be a creature of his own making, based on his own experiences and learning, but could not shake the thought that something of Silona’s single-mindedness and grim need for isolation had been transferred to him.

He watched his companions, crouching for warmth around the fire. Gudon was smiling, head bowed next to Ager’s. The two had become firm friends, and Lynan could see some similarity in their spirits, a combination of cynicism about and acceptance of the way the world was ordered. Next to Ager was Korigan, someone Lynan felt was as torn as he between two natures. Not much older than he, she was already wise in the ways of a monarch. In her was a fierce determination that frightened him a little, but was also something he now recognized in himself. Then there was Jenrosa, who still seemed beautiful to him despite her familiarity. She never snapped at him anymore, nor made fun of him in front of the others. When she looked at him, he saw sadness in her eyes, and guilt at what her actions in saving his life had made him become. He did not know how to tell her that she had done right, and it occurred to him that he did not yet know himself whether in fact she had done right. And beside Jenrosa was Kumul, father-not-father, guardian and bully, adviser and old war horse. There was a tension between them now, and it saddened Lynan.

As Lynan watched, he saw Kumul and Jenrosa hold hands. The contact was brief, but sudden awareness hit him like a blow to the stomach. He stopped breathing.

No. It isn’t possible.

The two quickly glanced at each other, a joining as brief and intimate as their holding hands.

Lynan turned from the fire and walked into the night.

“We have some of the new swords you asked to be made,” Gudon told Ager. “Only a handful so far.”

“Already?” Ager was surprised. The forges had only been working for three days.

“We would have had them yesterday, but the first mold cracked.”

“Can I see them?”

“Of course. We must go to the village.”

The two made their excuses and left. Ager gathered his poncho around him as the warmth of the fire receded. He looked with envy at Gudon, striding along as if it was a balmy summer afternoon. He did not think the cold was something he would ever get used to. His breath frosted in the night air and he had to hurry to keep up with the Chett. Their feet crunching on brittle grass was the only sound except for the distant lowing of the cattle.

They passed between arrow trees, catching glimpses of other campfires. Ager could not see anyone else, but could somehow feel the weight of the thousands of Chetts that surrounded them.

There must be as many people here as there are in the cities of Sparro or Daavis,
he thought,
but they may as well be ghosts.

As he drew closer to the village, he could hear the sound of the furnace and hammer, of fiery steel hissing as it was poured into molds. Mechanical sounds, and out of place here on the Oceans of Grass. Up ahead he saw the yellow glimmer of molten metal and the angry red of hot coals.

Gudon directed him to a hut before they reached the furnaces. New weapons were stacked neatly against wooden frames. He saw his short swords and eagerly picked up one by its tang.

“When will they be finished?”

“Soon. We are using bone for the hilt, and leather and sinew to finish the grip. What do you think?”

“Hard to tell before the grip’s finished, but the weight feels right.” Ager took it out of the hut and held it up so he could study it under moonlight. The blade was unpolished, and seemed flat and dull. “They need some work, but I think they’ll be fine.”

“If we’d had more time, we would have forged them, but to get the numbers you want we had to use molds.”

Ager grunted. Still holding the tang, he placed the sword point on a large rock and stepped on the blade. The point skidded across the rock, sending sparks into the air. “It’s strong.” He whacked the edge of the blade against the rock and heard a satisfying
thwang.
“The blade is not brittle at all. This is good work.” He replaced the unfinished sword in the hut.

“Let’s get back to the fire. I’m freezing.”

Gudon grinned at him. “You will have time to get used to it.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“I hope not.”

They were halfway back when Gudon stopped. He frowned and cocked his head as if listening for something.

“What’s wrong?” Ager asked.

“Something is not right.”

“What exactly?”

“I don’t—”

Before he could finish, three dark shapes rose from the darkness around them. Ager saw moonlight glimmer off steel. Without shout or cry, their attackers were upon them. Ager had time to draw his saber, but it was knocked out of his hand before he could raise it. He threw himself forward against the legs of his closest assailant and they went down together. Ager clawed for his enemy’s face, found something soft, and gouged as hard as he could. A woman screamed. He rolled off the body and felt on the ground for his sword. He heard a blade whistling through the air and rolled again, heard it bite into the ground where his head had just been. He lashed out with his foot and kicked the sword away, then scrambled to his feet. A fist whacked into his ear. He shouted in pain, ducked, and charged forward, but his attacker had moved and he stumbled back to the ground. He turned onto his back in time to see a dark silhouette looming above him, a sword raised high. Then the figure jerked and fell, and Ager saw Gudon whirl away to meet the surviving attackers.

Cursing, Ager got to his feet for the second time, retrieved the fallen enemy’s sword, and joined Gudon. The pair split apart, forcing the attackers in different directions. The moon swung behind Ager and he gasped in surprised.

“Katan!” he hissed. The Chett tried to retreat, but Ager was furious and redoubled his efforts. Their blades struck sparks into the night. Ager lunged, lunged again, trying to use the point, but Katan was too quick and had learned something from their first bout in front of the two circles. Ager parried a swipe at his neck, crossed his right leg over his left and swung a full circle. He hard Katan’s sword swish past his ear. The edge of his saber sank into the Chett’s flank and shuddered when it hit the rib cage. Katan moaned, his eyes looked up in surprise, and he fell in a heap.

Ager spun around and saw Gudon wiping his blade on the poncho of the dead woman at his feet.

“It was Katan,” Ager said, pointing at the chief’s corpse.

“Katan’s wife,” Gudon said. Together they went to the first enemy Gudon had slain.

“Katan’s son?” Ager asked.

Gudon nodded. “Neither father nor son were that good with the saber. The woman was very good. Better than me.”

“How did you beat her?”

Gudon grunted. “She was bleeding from one eye.”

“Ah.” Ager threw down his borrowed saber and found his own. “Who do you think they were after? You for supporting Korigan, or me for humiliating Katan in front of the two circles?”

“Or was Katan working to whittle away some of Korigan and Lynan’s support?”

“On his own initiative?”

Gudon shrugged. “No way to tell. Were you hurt?”

“My ear’s numb and I hear bells inside my head.”

“At least you’re not hearing air whistle through a cut throat.”

Other Chetts appeared, carrying torches. In a short time they were surrounded by a small crowd.

“We should move on in case others from the Ocean clan make an appearance and decide to take their revenge,” Gudon said in a low voice.

They soon left the crowd behind. “If Katan was after us to weaken Lynan’s position,” Ager said, “and Katan was only one among however many disgruntled chiefs, then they could try and kill Lynan himself.”

“Truth.”

“He needs a bodyguard.”

“Truth.”

“And a bodyguard needs a captain. Someone who knows how Chetts think. Someone who will choose only the most loyal warriors.”

Gudon considered the suggestion. “Do you have an ideas?”

“I’m sure something will come to you,” Ager said, and then: “I don’t think you’ll have to look far.”

Areava was cold in her bedchamber. There was a fire blazing in the hearth and the morning sun shone through the east window, but still she was cold. Her handmaids busied themselves with her hair and then dressed her. She could not look at them. When her gown was finished, the handmaids put on her rings and her simple gold tiara, and then a wreath of white star flowers, the only ones that bloomed in winter. Finally, they carefully draped the Key of the Scepter—star-shaped with a vertically placed scepter in its center—and the Key of the Sword—square-shaped with two crossed swords pierced by a spear—around her neck, their heavy gold chains a symbol of their burden as well as their power.

Someone knocked on the door and it opened slowly. Har-nan Beresard’s old face appeared. “Your Majesty?”

“You can come in, Harnan. I am finished dressing.”

He took a few steps, then stopped and gawked at her. “Your Majesty! You are...” His mouth worked, but he could not make the word come out.

Areava turned to face her secretary. Her gown, layers of white wool with individual threads of gold through it, swished on the wooden floor. Its tight-fitting bodice revealed her slender form to best effect, and the full skirt seemed to flow from her waist. Harnan shook his head in wonder. He thought if winter could be personified, it would look like his queen. Tall and pale, severe, achingly beautiful. All but the eyes, which seemed lost.

“What is wrong?” he asked.

Areava nodded to her handmaids and they quickly scurried from the room. “Am I doing the right thing?” she asked.

Harnan blinked. He had never expected to hear the queen voice that question. “Your Majesty?”

“Marrying Sendarus. Is it the right thing to do?”

Harnan spread his hands helplessly. “All Grenda Lear rejoices. They are happy for you. Overjoyed.”

Areava looked disappointed, but nodded. Harnan blushed, knowing he had said the wrong thing but not knowing what would have been the right thing.

“What did you want?”

“To let you know that King Marin has arrived.”

“Oh. Good.”

“He wanted to know if you wanted to see him right away.”

She shook her head. “Let him greet his son first. They have not seen each other for several months. I will have many opportunities after the wedding to talk with the king ... with my father-in-law.” She swallowed.

“As you wish.” Harnan bowed and moved to leave, but hesitated. He could not help feeling she should not be left alone.

“Is there something else?” Areava asked tonelessly.

“No, your Majesty.” He bowed again and went to the door. It opened before he got there and Olio entered. Harnan breathed a silent sigh of relief.

“Good m-m-morning, sister,” Olio said brightly.

“Am I doing the right thing?” she asked him immediately.

Olio threw a glance at Harnan; the secretary raised his eyebrows but said nothing, then left.

“About what?”

“Don’t be obtuse,” she snapped, then closed her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Do you love Sendarus?” Olio asked carefully.

“With all my heart.”

“Then you are concerned for the kingdom.”

Areava nodded. “I am its queen.”

“You are also a woman. No kingdom demands its ruler stay celibate.” He smiled immediately at his own choice of words, knowing that celibacy was not the problem. “Or indeed, unwed.”

“But outside of the Twenty Houses.”

“Our m-m-mother wed outside of the Twe—” Olio’s mouth snapped shut, and he cursed himself.

“And produced Lynan.”

“You are not m-m-marrying a commoner,” Olio said. “You are m-m-marrying a p-p-prince.”

“And I am marrying an alliance.”

“You cannot m-m-make an alliance with a subject p-p-province.”

“By marrying Sendarus I raise Aman from its knees. It need no longer genuflect before Kendra.”

“M-m-maybe not a bad thing.”

Areava looked at him with something like desperation. “Do you mean that?”

“Yes, if Grenda Lear is to b—b-be m-m—more than Kendra.”

“I want to believe that, but wonder if I am making excuses for my love for Sendarus.”

“The p-p-power of the Twenty Houses m-must be diminished. Introducing new royal b-b-blood will help to do that.” Areava did not seem convinced. He went to her and took her hands in his own; they were surprisingly cold to the touch. “Although I do not think you have your equal anywhere in Theare, I suspect Sendarus comes closest. Your union will strengthen the kingdom, of that I am sure.”

Areava leaned over and kissed her brother’s cheek.

He grinned bashfully and stood back, spreading her arms so he could look at her properly. “You are m-m-magnificent.”

“I feel like ice,” she said dimly.

Olio glanced at her with concern, but she would not meet his gaze. “You will warm up when Sendarus is by your side,” he said, and hoped it was true.

The palace clerk Harnan assigned to guide Marin to his son waited patiently for the Amanite king at the entrance to the guests’ wing. Marin was still looking over the city from the vantage point of the palace, his aides and several of his guards by his side. The clerk could tell from the expression on the king’s face that he was amazed at what he saw. He was not far from the truth, but what was going through the king’s mind at that point was a more complex rush of emotions.

Look at the size of this place. I knew it was huge, but had no idea what that meant.
His own capital, Pila, was counted among the largest cities on the continent, but Kendra was on a different scale altogether.
And my son will be wed to its mistress.

He shook his head and smiled ruefully to himself. Kendra had so impressed him that he easily mistook Kendra for the whole kingdom, and for the first time understood how Kendra’s citizens could fall into arrogance.
Their pride is not misplaced.

He heard the clerk clear his throat. He turned from the view and followed the clerk into the wing, then stopped again. Stone walls rose on either side of him like the sides of mountains. The ceiling seemed so far away it could almost have been sky. He noticed his companions were equally awestruck.
We must seem like nothing more than country bumpkins to this scribbler,
Marin thought. “Well, maybe we are.”

“Your Majesty?” the clerk asked.
He looks like his brother the chancellor,
he thought,
only shorter and grayer.
He was not sure he relished the idea of two such large and stern-looking Amanites being in the palace at the same time.
If only they could shave their beards...

Marin shook his head. “Where is my son?”

“The prince’s quarters are not far from here; if you would follow me ...”

They passed rooms with tapestries that covered whole walls, and murals and frescos as colorful as a summer meadow. Clerks and courtiers and the occasional noble passed them, their heads nodding a silent greeting. They came across a section of wall made up of nothing but glass, and for a breathtaking moment the visitors could see Kestrel Bay and the lands beyond, and great Kendra sweeping out from the foreground, framed like a living painting.

Eventually the clerk stopped at a hall bisecting the corridor at right angles, turned left, and stopped again before two large double doors. He knocked and opened them, then stood aside for Marin and his party to enter.

Sendarus was surrounded by servants helping him dress; he looked like a fruit tree being attacked by a flock of birds. The prince’s back was to the door. Orkid stood at the other end of the room, gazing fixedly out a window

“Who is it?” Sendarus asked.

None of the servants recognized Marin, but quickly guessed who he must have been. They stood away from the prince so he could turn and see for himself. His face broke into a wide smile when he saw his father, but Marin put a finger to his lips, and Sendarus, puzzled, said nothing. Marin walked over to stand behind Orkid and looked over his shoulder. In the far distance he could see the highest mountains in Aman, dim and dark against the horizon.

“You miss your home?” Marin said.

Orkid nodded. “More and more.” Orkid frowned. The voice had sounded like Sendarus‘, but was deeper, richer. He looked over his shoulder and saw Marin. His jaw dropped.

“Hello, brother,” Marin said and held out his arms.

Orkid gave a cry of joy and embraced his brother, pounding him on the back. “Lord of the Mountain!” he cried. “Lord of the Mountain! I knew you would make it!”

Marin hugged back as fiercely. They separated, but still stood holding each other’s arms. “Our ship docked less than an hour ago. A storm slowed us four days out of Kendra.”

“I thought we were going to drown,” said a voice from Marin’s party.

“Amemun!” Sendarus and Orkid cried together.

The old Amanite bowed to them, sweeping back his mane of silver-white hair as he straightened. “In the flesh, no thanks to the gods of the sea.”

“Amemun exaggerates,” Marin said. “The storm was over in a day.”

“Two days,” Amemun retorted. “And I was not exaggerating.”

The two brothers still held on to each other, almost as if they were afraid if they let go they would not see each other again for another twenty years. Sendarus joined them and put a hand on his father’s shoulder.

“Well, you are safely here now.”

“Not even the gods of the sea would keep me away from your wedding,” Marin told him. Orkid let him go so he could embrace his son. “So what is she like?”

“Areava?”

“Who else, boy! Amemun has been giving me these glowing reports about her. I don’t believe any of them, of course.”

“She is glorious, father. She is the most beautiful woman in Theare. She is—”

“Enough!” Marin cried, holding up a hand. “Now you are sounding like Amemun, and one of those is quite enough, thank you.”

“This is the respect I get after decades of toiling in your father’s service,” Amemun said to the prince.

“Amemun and Sendarus speak the truth about Areava,” Orkid said. “She is exceptional.”

Marin nodded. “You, I believe,” he said. “You are so somber and level about everything that if you say this Kendran queen is exceptional, then indeed she must be someone unique.”

“You will see for yourself at the wedding this afternoon,” Sendarus said.

Marin nodded. “It will be a great culmination.”

Sendarus looked at him quizzically. “Culmination?”

“Of the love between you and Areava,” Orkid said quickly.

Marin coughed behind his hand. “Yes.”

“Where are we lodged?” Amemun asked to change the subject.

“Right here!” Sendarus said brightly. “I’ll not need these chambers after the wedding, after all. What do you think of the palace?”

“It is very spacious,” Marin said carefully.

“It is overwhelming,” Sendarus said. “I am still not used to living here.”

“Do you miss the mountains?” Marin asked.

“Yes. And the forests.” He fell quiet for a moment and then added: “The Lord of the Mountain seems very far away.”

“He is still in Aman, and still hears your prayers,” Amemun said kindly.

“He has certainly smiled on me,” Sendarus agreed, his eyes looking far away. Marin smiled with sudden pride for his son. He was slender for an Amanite, especially an Aman-ite from the royal Gravespear family, but he was young and keen and handsome and bright.

The prince shook his head impatiently. “You must want to refresh yourself after your long journey.” He turned to one of his servants and asked for hot water and perfume. The servant beetled off. “I have a large tub in the room next to this one. Where are your bags?”

“Not far behind us,” Amemun said.

“I will see they are sent in.”

Marin laughed. He turned to Orkid. “Are we being dismissed?”

“The groom has much to do before the wedding,” Orkid replied diplomatically.

Sendarus kissed his father on the cheek. “I can never dismiss you, father. You are always in my thoughts.”

Marin patted Sendarus’ cheek. “Not tonight, I think. But thank you.” He turned to his entourage. “Well, come on. We must stink like great bears before a rutting.”

Another servant led the visitors to the next room, leaving Sendarus and Orkid behind. The two men beamed at each other for a moment.

“I did not realize how much I missed him,” Orkid said.

“I know he missed you as well,” Sendarus said kindly. “You were never far from his thoughts.”

Nor the plan,
Orkid thought.
And now at last we both have done what we can for Aman. All else is fate.

Areava, still cold, sat on her throne wishing she was somewhere else. She felt Olio’s hand rest on her shoulder, and she turned her head to look up into his eyes. She saw they were filled with love for her and her heart lightened. She glanced to her right, where Orkid stood, and was surprised to see his face less than stern. A
first for him,
she thought. Did she detect a hint of a smile on the chancellor’s lips? If so, she would never tell him; he would be horrified to learn he could be as human as the rest of the court.

Before her the throne room was filled with people, most of them commoners, and as she looked at them, she could not help feeling proud to be their queen.
These are my people. I serve them as they serve me. They understand.
Then she glanced at the representatives of the Twenty Houses, between the throne and the throng, and could see through their forced smiles. Oh, how they wished the people did not understand.
They cannot break our bond, no matter what they do.

The great doors at the end of the room reverberated with a deep boom; the sound echoed through the high space. Some of the people jumped. There was another boom, a pause, and then a third. Two guards opened the doors, and there stood Dejanus, Constable of the Royal Guard, a great oak spear in one hand. Behind him stood another ten of the Royal Guard and then the groom’s party; ten more Royal Guards brought up the rear. With a slow and measured step, Dejanus led the procession into the throne room. All eyes watched Sendarus as he came in; even his enemies admired the figure he cut in his wedding finery of dyed linen pants and a coat made from the tanned hide of a great bear. Except for a fine gold coronet inlaid with small rubies, the prince was bare-headed. As the line approached the throne itself, the guards peeled away to form a line on either side of the causeway. Dejanus stood before the queen, with Sendarus and his followers still behind.