“Good riddance,” said Ki, as they strode on to the Old Palace.
The corridors and chambers of their former home echoed with the wails of the wounded—cries for help, for water, for death. Tobin and the others had to pick their way carefully so as not to step on them, they lay so thick on the floors. Some rested on mattresses or pallets made of clothing or faded tapestries. Others lay on the bare floor.
An elderly drysian in stained robes knelt before Tobin. “You’re the one the Lightbearer’s priests promised, aren’t you?”
“Yes, old mother, I am,” Tobin replied. The woman’s hands were as bloodstained as her own, she saw, but from healing rather than killing. Suddenly Tobin wanted very much to wash. “The fires may spread. All those who can be moved would be better off outside the city. I’ll have wagons sent.”
“Bless you, Majesty!” the woman said, and hurried off.
“You can’t escape the title,” Ki noted.
“No, but Korin’s already claimed it.”
As they entered the Companions’ wing someone among the wounded called her name. She followed the weak voice and found Nikides lying on a filthy pallet near the messroom door. He’d been stripped to his trousers and his left side was bound with stained rags. His face was white, and his breath came in short, painful gasps.
“Tobin … Is it really you?”
“Nik! I thought we’d lost you.” Tobin knelt and held her water bottle to his cracked lips. “Yes, it’s me. Ki’s here, too, and Lynx.”
Nikides peered up at her for a moment, then closed his eyes. “By the Light, it’s true. We thought old Fox Beard was lying for sure, but look at you! I’d never have guessed …”
She set the bottle aside and clasped his cold hand between hers. “I’m less changed than you think. But how are you? When were you hurt?”
“Korin ordered us …” He paused, gasping. “I was with them as far as the gate, but then we ran into a great …” He broke off again, then whispered, “I never was much of a warrior, was I?”
“You’re alive. That’s all that matters,” Ki said, kneeling to cradle his friend’s head. “Where are Lutha and the others?”
“He and Barieus brought me … I haven’t seen them since. Went with Korin, I expect. He’s gone.”
“We heard,” Tobin told him.
Nikides scowled. “That was Niryn’s doing. Kept at him …” He drew another shuddering breath and grimaced. “Grandfather’s dead. Caught in the New Palace when it burned.” His grip on her hand tightened. “I’m sorry he didn’t live to see … Are you really a girl?” Spots of color rose in his white cheeks. “Really, I mean?”
“Near as I can tell. Now what about you. Can you be moved?”
Nik nodded. “I took an arrow, but it went through clean. The drysians claim I’ll heal.”
“Of course you will. Ki, help me move him to our old room for now.”
The sheets and hangings were gone, but the bed was still usable. They put Nikides on it, and Tharin went for water.
“Prince Tobin?” a soft voice quavered from the shadows of the old dressing room. Baldus peered fearfully around the doorframe, then ran to her and threw himself into her arms, sobbing.
She ran her hands over him but found no sign of a wound. “It’s all right now,” she said, patting him awkwardly. “It’s over. We won.”
Baldus caught a hitching breath and turned his tear-stained face up to her. “Molay—he told me to hide. We let the hawks free and hid your jewels, and then he put me in the big clothes chest and told me not to come out until he came back for me. But he didn’t. No one came. And then I heard you … Where can Molay be?”
“He must have gone to help fight. But it’s over now, so he’ll be back soon,” she said, though she didn’t have much hope of that. “Here, have a drink from my bottle. Good, take it all. You must be thirsty after hiding for so long. You can go look for Molay among the wounded, if you like. As soon as you find him or anyone else we know, come and tell me.”
Baldus wiped his face and squared his shoulders. “Yes, my prince. I’m so glad you’re back safe!”
Ki shook his head as the boy ran off. “He didn’t even notice.”
The sound of a familiar voice woke Iya.
“Iya? Iya, can you hear me?”
Opening her eyes, she saw Arkoniel kneeling over her. It was daylight. She ached all over and was chilled to the bone, but it seemed she was still alive.
With his help she sat up and found herself by the side of the road not far from where they’d stormed the gates the night before. Someone had pulled her from the ditch and wrapped her in cloaks. Saruel and Dylias sat beside her, and she could see more wizards nearby, smiling at her in obvious relief.
“Good morning,” Arkoniel said, but his smile was forced.
“What happened?” There was no sign of the enemy; Skalan soldiers guarded the gate, and people seemed to be coming and going unchallenged.
“What happened?” Saruel laughed. “Well, we were successful, but nearly killed you in the process.”
You shall not enter.
Why did Brother’s words come back to haunt her now? She’d survived. “Tobin? Is she—?”
“Jorvai was by earlier and said she came through with a whole skin again. He’s convinced she’s divinely protected, and from the sound of it, he must be right.”
Iya stood up gingerly. She was sore, but seemed to be whole, otherwise.
A mounted herald came through the gate and galloped down the road, shouting, “Go to the Old Palace throne room. All Skalans are summoned to the Old Palace throne room.”
Dylias took her arm, smiling broadly. “Come, my dear. Your young queen summons us!”
“Never were sweeter words spoken.” She laughed, and all her aches and pains seemed to fall away. “Come, my battered Third Orëska. Let us present ourselves.”
Saruel caught Iya by the arm just then. “Look! There in the harbor!”
A small ship was skimming across the water toward the ruined quays. Its square sail was an unmistakable shade of dark red, and it bore the emblem of a large white eye over a supine crescent moon.
Iya touched her heart and eyelids in salute. “The Lightbearer has a new message for us, it seems, and an urgent one, if the Oracle herself comes to deliver it.”
“But how? How did she know?” gasped Arkoniel.
Iya patted his arm. “Come now, dear boy. What sort of Oracle would she be if she didn’t see this?”
At the throne room the lead seals had been cut and the golden doors thrown wide. Entering with her guard, Tobin found the great chamber beyond already crowded. Soldiers and citizens made way for her in near silence, and Tobin felt all those hundreds of eyes fixed on her. The silence was different than it had been in Atyion. It seemed filled with doubt and skepticism, and the hint of threat. Tobin had ordered that her guards keep their weapons sheathed and Tharin had agreed, but he and Ki looked wary as they walked beside her.
Some of the shutters had been pulled down and slanting afternoon light streamed in through the tall dusty windows. Open braziers on either side of the high stone throne cast a red glow over the white marble stairs. A knot of priests awaited her there. She recognized those who’d come from Atyion among them, Kaliya foremost among them, maskless There was still no sign of the wizards. Someone had cleaned the birds’ nests from the stone seat and lined it with dusty velvet cushions, as it must have been in the time of her grandmothers. Tobin was too nervous to sit yet.
She stood tongue-tied for a moment, recalling the suspicion she’d seen in General Skonis’ eyes. But there was no turning back now.
“Ki, help me,” she said at last, and began unbuckling her sword belt. With his help, she pulled off her surcoat and the hauberk and padded shirt underneath. Untying her hair, she shook it out around her face, then summoned the priests of Ero up to join her.
“Look at me, all of you. Touch me, so that you can attest to these people that I am a woman.”
A priest of Dalna
ran his hands over her shoulders and chest, then pressed his palm to her heart. Tobin felt a sensation like a warm moist summer breeze rise through her.
“She is a woman, and of the true blood of the royal house,” he announced.
“So you say!” someone in the crowd called out, and others echoed it.
“So says the Oracle of Afra!” a deep voice boomed from the back of the chamber. Iya and Arkoniel stood at the doors, flanking a man in a stained traveling cloak.
The crowd parted as they strode to the foot of the dais. Iya bowed deeply, and Tobin saw that she was smiling.
The man threw off his cloak. Underneath he wore a dark red robe. He took a silver priest’s mask from its folds and fixed it over his face. “I am Imonus, high priest of Afra and emissary of the Oracle,” he announced.
The priests of Illior covered their own faces with their hands and fell to their knees.
“You have the mark and the scar?” he asked Tobin.
“Yes.” Tobin pushed back her shirtsleeve. He climbed the stairs and examined her arm and chin.
“This is Tamír, the Lightbearer’s queen, who was foretold to this wizard,” he proclaimed.
Iya joined them and he rested a hand on her shoulder. “I was there the day the Oracle revealed this wizard’s road. It was I who wrote down her vision in the sacred scrolls, and I am sent now with a gift for our new queen. Majesty, we have kept this for you, all these years.”
He raised his hand and two more red-robed priests entered, bearing something on a long litter. A handful of dirty, bedraggled-looking people followed. “The Wizards of Ero,” Iya told her.
The litter bearers brought their burden to the foot of the throne and set it down. Something large and flat as a tabletop lay on it, swathed in dark red cloth embroidered with a silver eye.
Imonus descended to fold back the wrappings. Polished gold caught the light of the braziers, and those standing closest gasped as a golden tablet as tall as a man and several inches thick was revealed. Words were engraved across it in square, old-fashioned script like a scroll, the letters tall enough to be read halfway across the great chamber as the litter bearers stood the tablet on its end for all to see.
So long as a daughter of Thelatimos’ line defends and rules, Skala shall never be subjugated.
Tobin touched her heart and sword hilt reverently. “Ghërilain’s tablet!”
The high priest nodded. “Erius ordered this destroyed, just as he destroyed the steles that once stood in every marketplace,” he proclaimed in that same deep, carrying voice. “The priests of the Ero temple saved it and brought it in secret to Afra, where it was hidden until a true queen came to Ero again.
“Hear me, people of Ero, as you stand in the ruins of your city. This tablet is nothing. The words it bears are the very voice of Illior, set there by Illior’s first queen. This prophecy was fulfilled, and lived on in the hearts of the faithful, who have failed in their duty for a time.
“Here me, people of Ero, as you look on the face of Tamír, daughter of Ariani and all the queens who came before her, even to Ghërilain herself. The Oracle does not sleep, or see falsely. She would not send this sign to a pretender. She foresaw this queen before she was conceived, before Erius usurped his sister’s place, before their mother was lost to the darkness. Doubt my words, doubt this sign, and you doubt the Lightbearer, your protector. You have slept, people of Ero. Awake now and see clearly. The true queen has delivered you, and stands here now to reveal her true face and her true name.”
Tobin felt the hair on her arms slowly rise as the misty figure of a woman took shape beside her on the dais. As it grew more solid, she saw that it was a girl about her own age, dressed in a long blue gown. Over it she wore a cuirass of gilded leather emblazoned with the ancient crescent moon and flame emblem of Skala. The Sword of Ghërilain, which she held upright before her face, looked newly forged. Her flowing hair was black, her eyes a dark, familiar blue.
“Ghërilain?” Tobin whispered.
The ghostly girl aged before Tobin’s eyes to a woman with iron-grey hair and lines of care etched deep around her mouth and eyes.
Daughter.
The sword was notched and bloody now, but shone more brightly than before. She offered it to Tobin, just as Tamír’s ghost had, and her eyes seemed to hold a challenge: This is yours. Claim it.
As Tobin reached to take it, the ghost disappeared and she found herself looking instead out through one of the tall windows. From here, she could see past the burned gardens to the smoking ruin of the city and the wreckage-strewn harbor beyond.
So long as a daughter of Thelátimos—
“Tob?” Ki’s worried whisper jolted her back to the present.
Her friends were watching her with concern. The Afran priest’s face was still masked, but she saw Ghërilain’s challenge mirrored in his dark eyes.
“Tobin, are you all right?” Ki asked again.
Her own sword felt too light in her hand as she raised it to salute the crowd, and cried out, “By this tablet, and by the Sword that is not here, I pledge myself to Skala. I am Tamír!”
Chapter 60
The sound of her chamber door being thrown open startled Nalia out of her dreams. The room was still lost in darkness, except for the thin bar of star-flecked sky visible at the tower’s two narrow windows.
“My lady, wake up. They’ve all gone mad!” It was her page, and the child sounded terrified. She felt his fear as keenly as the ever-present damp that permeated every room of this lonely fortress they’d been exiled to.
Her nurse rolled over in the bed with an angry grunt. “Gone mad? Who’s gone mad? If this is another of your night terrors, Alin, I’ll skin you!”
“No, Vena, listen.” Nalia ran to the window that overlooked the bailey and pushed the leaded pane open. Far below she could see torches moving, and hear the clash of steel. “What’s happening, Alin?”
“The grey guard has turned on the Cirna garrison. They’re slaughtering them!”
“We must bar the door!” Vena lit a candle from the banked coals, then helped Alin set the heavy beam across the iron brackets. Leaving him at the door, she brought Nalia a shawl and stood listening to the inexplicable chaos below.
It died away at last and Nalia clung trembling to her nurse, fearful of what the quiet might mean. Outside there was nothing but the distant sigh of the waves against the cliffs.
“My lady, look there!” Alin pointed to the other window, the one that faced south over the isthmus road. A long line of torches was approaching quickly along it. As they drew closer, Nalia could make out the riders who carried them, and hear the jangle of harness and mail.
“It’s an attack!” she whispered.
“The Plenimarans have come,” Vena wailed. “O Maker, save us!”
“But why would the grey guard attack the others inside the walls? What can it mean?”
Nearly an hour passed before they heard footsteps on the tower stairs. Vena and Alin pushed Nalia into the far corner, shielding her with their bodies.
The latch rattled. “Nalia, my dear, it’s only me. You’re quite safe. Open the door.”
“Niryn!” Nalia ran to the door and struggled to heave the bar aside. “That was you on the road? Oh, you gave us such a fright!” The bar clattered to the floor. She flung the door open and fell into her lover’s arms, feeling safe again.
Two Harrier guardsmen stood just behind him. “What’s happening?” she asked, fearful again. Niryn never allowed any other men in her tower; the red hawks on the front of their tunics looked black as ravens in the dim light. “Alin said the men were fighting each other.”
Niryn’s beard tickled her bare shoulder as he gently pushed her away. “Mutiny and treason, my dear, but it’s over now and you have nothing to fear. In fact, I bring you wonderful news. Tell your servants to leave us.”
Blushing but delighted, Nalia nodded at Vena and Alin and they hurried out as they always did. The guardsmen made way for them, but rem
ained. “My lord, I’ve missed you so—”
She tried to embrace him again, but he held her at arm’s length. As she gazed up at that beloved face, some trick of the candle made his eyes look hard. She took a step back, pulling the shawl closer around her. “Something is wrong. Tell me, please.”
He smiled again, and the same ungenerous light stretched it into a leer. “This is a great day, Nalia. A very great day.”
“What—what do you mean, my lord?”
“I have someone I want you to meet.” He nodded to the guards and they stepped aside to let another man pass. Shocked, Nalia tugged, at her shawl again.
This one was young and very handsome, but he was dirty and unshaven, too, and smelled appalling. Nonetheless, she recognized the arms on his filthy surcoat and sank to her knees before him. “Prince Korin?”
“King Korin,” Niryn corrected gently. “I present Lady Nalia.”
“This? This is the one?” The young king’s look of disgust chilled her more than the night air.
“Her blood is true, I assure you,” Niryn said, going to the door.
Nalia watched in growing alarm as he stepped from the room and began to slowly close it after him. “Nalia, allow me to present your new husband.”
About the Author
LYNN FLEWELLING’S first novel, Luck in the Shadows, was chosen by Locus as a Recommended First Novel and was a finalist for the Compton Crook Award. Traitor’s Moon, the third book in what has become the Nightrunner Series, was a finalist for the 2000 Spectrum Award. The Night-runner books have achieved worldwide popularity and are currently published in eight countries, including Russia and the Czech Republic.
Flewelling currently resides with her family in East Aurora, New York. Her website address is www.sff.net/people/Lynn.Flewelling.
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