Empire's Legacy- The Complete Trilogy

by Marian L Thorpe

  He looked at Clio. “She’s a nice little mare.”

  “She is,” I agreed. “Her name is Clio, and she was bred at Han, in the north of my country.” I began the task of easing out the undercoat. As I worked, sparrows flew out from under the eaves of the stable and began to pick up bits of hair for nest-building. After a few minutes, I glanced at Sorley. He sat on an upended bucket, watching.

  “Tell me how things work here. What are the days like, and who decides what we do?” I thought he might give me a more balanced view than Jordis; he was older, exuding calm and competency.

  “The Comiádh and the Lady Dagney decide what we do, if you mean with whom we study. What we study depends on our own interests, for a large part, although there are some common subjects, such as how to write well, and how to take care of books and scrolls. Did the Comiádh say who your tutor would be?”

  “I am to work with him.”

  He looked mildly surprised. “Then it is history, and politics, that interest you?”

  I considered. “I suppose. History, anyway. What does the Lady Dagney teach, then?”

  “Languages, and music, and the danta.”

  “What are danta?”

  “Long poems set to music,” he explained, “that tell stories about past kings, or battles, or other things; our history, in a way, but with a lot of other things—magic, and giants, and winged horses—mixed in. Sometimes they are fairly horrible, like the song about Ingjol, who killed his enemies by burning down the hall they slept in, and sometimes they are more like stories for children.”

  I moved to Clio’s other flank. “And are there other teachers?”

  I saw the negative movement of his head. “No. Although sometimes a student who has been here for some years, like me, will work with newcomers, if we are asked.”

  “I see,” I said. “How long have you been here, Sorley?”

  “Five years. It will be time for me to leave, soon.”

  “To do what?” I wondered if my question was an intrusion.

  “I will go back home,” he said. “Help my father, instruct my brothers and in the school a bit, learn be the Harr…I do not know how to say that, in your language. Leader? Of the family, and the village?”

  “I don’t know, either,” I said. “In our village, we had headwomen, but they were elected by the council, and the title was council leader. But I think I understand.”

  Clio flinched as I tugged on a mat of hair, and I realized I had not been paying attention to the task. I soothed her with voice and hands, giving my attention to detangling the knot.

  “How do you learn, then? You do not have places like the Ti’acha?”

  “No,” I said. “In my village, in Tirvan, girls go to school from the time we are seven, until we are twelve. We learn to read and write, and do sums, and some history. We learn the rules that were set down at Partition, both for the Empire’s men and women, and for the villages. In our last year, we choose an apprenticeship, and after that we learn as we work, practical skills.”

  “And if a girl truly wanted to learn more, from books, I mean? Is it against the rules?”

  “I don’t know,” I said slowly. “It has never happened, as far as I know. Although my mother—she is the midwife and healer, as I said—sometimes said she wished she knew more, or had more books.” Would she have gone beyond the village to learn, if the chance had been there?

  “If we can find peace, beyond this truce, I mean,” Sorley said, “then she could go to the Ti’ach na Iorlath, where healing is taught, for a season, if she would be allowed to.”

  “But she is more than twice my age,” I said.

  He shrugged. “Age does not matter,” he said. “The Teannasach himself comes here when he can, to discuss and debate matters with Perras, and the Lady Dagney, and to read more books, which leads to more discussion and debate.” I heard the bucket scrape as he stood. “The lesson will be nearly done. Do you want to turn your mare loose again, or stable her?”

  “Turn her loose. She has spent too long picketed, or in stalls.” I untied the lead rein to walk Clio back down the stable block to the paddock, stopping briefly at the tack room to put away the currycomb. She looked a lot better, I thought, as I watched her trot away across the field. I turned to Sorley.

  “She will need shoeing before too long. Who does that, here?”

  “There’s a smithy a few miles north of here,” he answered. “But will she need shoes? You won’t be going anywhere; couldn’t you just take her shoes off for now?”

  Anger spurted through me. Who was Sorley, to tell me what I could or couldn’t do? I bit back a sharp retort. He was right, of course. Although…

  “Do you not ride to hunt? I am skilled, both with the hunting bow and with a knife. I would like to help with that, if I could.”

  He looked down at me, raising one eyebrow lazily. “Women don’t hunt here,” he said, “except for hawking. Can you fly a kestrel, or a sparrowhawk?”

  “No,” I said coldly. “But I can take down a deer with one arrow, and I have killed both game and men with my knife.” I looked up at him. “Your women may not hunt, Sorley, but I am from the Empire, and the Empire’s women hunt.”

  He flicked his eyes away from mine. “The decision will be Perras’s,” he said. “My understanding of a hostage is that you live by our rules, while you are with us. But I may be wrong.”

  Casyn had told me much the same. “You are probably right,” I admitted. “I am not accustomed, yet, to this role of hostage.”

  “Nor do we really know how to treat you.” We walked a few steps back toward the house in silence. “Have you really killed a man?” he asked, suddenly.

  “Yes,” I said. “Two, actually. But I would rather that was not common knowledge. I don’t like talking about it.” I no longer had nightmares, but the memories were not good ones.

  We rounded the corner of the outbuildings that held the bathhouse and laundry, and there was Jordis. “Lena! I was looking for you.”

  “I was at the stable, seeing to my horse.”

  “I can show you around now,” she continued. “Sorley, the Lady Dagney is waiting for you.”

  “Then I better go. I will see you later, Lena.” He walked off in the direction of the hall.

  “Where do we start?” I asked.

  I spent the best part of an hour with Jordis, first touring the rest of the outbuildings—fuel-store, toolshed, cidery—there was an orchard somewhere—and the chicken coop, where the hens that provided eggs for the Ti’ach were housed at night, against weasels and foxes. Then we went inside, and I was shown the kitchen, and the stillroom, and Lady Dagney’s teaching rooms and the adjoining music room, where Niav was practicing a stringed instrument. We did not go to the third floor—the male pupil’s rooms, Jordis explained, and off-limits to the girls and women of the Ti’ach. That part, at least, reminded me of the inns of the Empire, where men’s rooms were also separate, and often—as here—with a separate staircase for access.

  Finally, the tour was done. We had returned to the kitchen; at about this hour every day the household gathered for tea, Jordis explained. Two trays were waiting in the kitchen: one with a large pot of tea and mugs, one with a plate of buttered bread and another of oatcakes. We each took a tray, carrying them through to the hall. Jordis went back to the kitchen to return with a third tray, this one with small plates. She distributed them around the table: I counted nine.

  “Nine?” I said to Jordis. “I haven’t met everyone, then?”

  “Oh,” she said. “It’s only Cillian, from the Ti’ach. He is a pupil of the Comiádh, like you, but he is older. I don’t know who the other two plates are for—perhaps some of your escort?”

  My question was answered as the household began to gather. Ardan and Gregor came in from outside; Sorley, Niav and Lady Dagney from her rooms. At a look from Dagney, Sorley walked over to Perras’s door, knocking before opening it. “Tea, Comiádh,” I heard him say.

  We took ou
r seats. Dagney looked around. “Where is Cillian?” she asked.

  “He rode over to the smithy,” Sorley said, “several hours ago.”

  “We won’t wait,” Dagney decided. She poured mugs of tea and we passed them around the table, followed by the plates of bread and oatcakes. Following the lead of others, I took one piece of each. My stomach had been rumbling for a little while. I wondered if I had missed the mid-day meal, or if morning and afternoon tea replaced that meal here.

  “What have you done this afternoon, Lena?” Dagney asked me. I gathered my thoughts.

  “After I met with the Comiádh, my lady,” I answered, “I went to see my horse; I like to do so in a new place. She needed grooming, so I did that, and talked with Sorley, who was also at the stables. And then Jordis found me, and showed me around, until just a few minutes ago.”

  “And what do you think of our Ti'ach?” she asked. I wondered what the question really meant. I doubted she wanted a polite, meaningless answer.

  “It seems very peaceful,” I said, “and organized so that there is time for both learning and work in and out of the house. The way the building is designed reminds me of some of the inns which I have stayed in, on the road, except for the stables being more distant than would be usual. Beyond that,” I shrugged slightly, “it is only my first afternoon, but those are my impressions.”

  “I am glad you find it peaceful,” Dagney said, smiling. “We do strive for that. It will be a change for you, will it not?”

  “It will, my lady.”

  “Lena is to study with me,” Perras said to the room. He looked around. “But it appears you all knew that—except, perhaps, you, Niav?” She nodded. “It will be good for me to have a second pupil, and one who brings a different knowledge than most. But, Lena, you should also spend a few hours a week with the Lady Dagney—I am thinking of languages—you speak only one, and it would be useful if you had at least a basic understanding of our language, and that of Varsland.”

  “If you wish.” A thought struck me. “Am I making you all speak my tongue, because I do not understand yours?”

  Dagney smiled. “Not entirely. When a student leaves here, it is our hope that he or she will be comfortable in speaking three languages: our own; that of the Marai, the people of Varsland, and yours. So, in conversation at mealtimes, and in lessons, we may speak any of the three. We will speak your language for a week or two, both for your benefit, and for Niav’s, as she has had no chance to converse with a native speaker.” I glanced at Niav, who coloured slightly.

  “Also,” Perras added, “many of our books are written in your language, or a version of it, so it is important that students learn to read it, as well.”

  I wondered how many of our soldiers could speak or read these other two languages, or at least the language of Linrathe. Turlo, perhaps, and borders scouts, and those with long service on the Wall? It could not be wise to deal with an enemy who could communicate in your language, without learning theirs, too.

  “I will be off in the morning, with your leave,” Ardan suddenly announced. I looked his way, but he was addressing Perras. “Gregor will stay, as the Teannasach directed. I see no reason to leave two men.”

  “Nor do I,” answered Perras. I frowned. Why was Gregor staying? But then I realized: he was my guard, to ensure I did not leave. I opened my mouth to protest, and then closed it. As the Teannasach directed, Ardan had said. Ardan could not change the order, even if he had wanted to. Darel would be guarded too, and, I reflected, so would Kebhan and Ruar, on our side of the Wall.

  The room was darkening, and I heard rain against the window. Niav brought candles from the sideboard and lit them. I glanced toward the window. “Comiádh, sir?” I said. “May I go to stable my horse? I would prefer her not to be out all night in the rain, as there is a stable for her.”

  “We’ll go,” Ardan said, before Perras could answer me. “No point in us all getting wet.”

  “Thank you, Ardan, Gregor,” Perras said, but even as the men stood the hall door opened. A tall man stepped in, his dark hair dripping rain onto a heavy sheepskin jacket.

  “Cillian,” Dagney said. “You are late. Is all well?”

  “Yes, my lady,” Cillian replied, his voice soft. He walked into the low candlelight, and for a moment I thought he was someone I had seen before—but where? “Just that the rain has come from the north, and so I rode back from the smithy at a walk as the path was slippy, and then I took the time to stable the horses that were in the paddock, and ensure they had a bite of hay. But a hot mug of tea would be welcome.”

  Niav had gone to the kitchen at Dagney’s words. Ardan and Gregor hesitated, and then sat again. “That was kind of you,” Perras said. “You have saved these two soldiers a wet trip.” The two men murmured words of thanks, but Cillian shrugged them off. “No matter,” he said, shedding his wet coat and hanging it on the back of an empty chair. No, I decided, I did not know him.

  Niav returned with hot water to fill the teapot. She brought Cillian a mug, and the last of the bread and oatcakes. He smiled at her. The room was silent.

  After a mouthful of tea, he looked up. “I am being rude,” he said. “We have visitors.”

  “Ardan and Gregor you will remember,” Perras said, “as soldiers of the Teannasach’s guard.” Cillian nodded. “And this is Lena, Guardswoman of the Empire, one of the two hostages exchanged in surety for the truce. The Teannasach has sent her here, and she will be studying with me, so you have interests in common.”

  I saw the flash of surprise in his eyes, followed by a cold, evaluative look. “Another student of history, and a woman of the Southern Empire at that,” he said. “You will be busy, Comiádh.” He spoke no word to me.

  “Now, Lena,” Dagney said. “The hours between our afternoon tea together and supper are not scheduled; this is time for all of us to use as we please: in study or practice, conversation, or solitude. There is a rota for the duties of the house each day, but you will not start on those until tomorrow. You are not bound to the house; you may, in this time, exercise your horse or see to her other needs, if you wish, but the Teannasach has asked Gregor to accompany you if you ride out by yourself or with others of the Ti’ach. We are glad you are with us, but scholars and teachers of the Ti’ach cannot be responsible for your safety; that is Gregor’s job. I hope this will not distress you?”

  “No, my lady,” I answered, glad I had realized Gregor’s role earlier. I might have been less calm, otherwise. I had had little to do with Gregor on the ride here, but he had always been polite. I judged him to be about thirty, a lean man of middling height with a relaxed air to him. I wondered how he would find life at the Ti'ach, guarding one woman in a school. Ardan—or the Teannasach—must have had reasons to choose him, I thought.

  Niav and Jordis rose to gather the plates and mugs. Sorley stretched, speaking to Dagney. “My lady, will I disturb you if I practice the ladhar for an hour? I can take the instrument to my room, if it will.”

  “It will not,” she said. “And the practice room will be warmer.”

  I stood too, uncertain of how to take my leave. “Thank you,” I said finally, “my lady, Comiádh, for such a welcome to the Ti’ach na Perras. I am looking forward to my time here.”

  Dagney looked surprised. “Your presence here graces us,” she said. “We will learn together, for you have things to teach us, too.”

  “I am eager to start tomorrow,” Perras said.

  I smiled. “Thank you,” I said again. I smiled, too, at Cillian, making the overture.

  Then I walked up the stairs to my room, pulled off my boots, and collapsed on the bed.

  I drifted into a light, dreamless sleep for a while, but the room was cool and I had not pulled the blanket over me. I woke to cold hands and feet. No fire had been laid in the hearth. I remembered Dagney’s words to Sorley about the practice room being warmer, and guessed that fires in our rooms were reserved for the coldest months alone. Fires had been a luxury in the barra
cks, too. I was used to the cold. I lit the candle on the table.

  I pulled my journal out of my pack; pen and ink stood in a stand on the table, beside the candle. But I was not ready yet to write down my feelings and impressions. I turned my pack out onto the bed, putting my few possessions away in the wardrobe and chest. Then I sat at the table, opening my journal.

  But still I did not write. I stared out into the darkening world, past the candle’s reflection, letting the thoughts and impressions of the last week swirl through my mind. Casyn’s request that I stand as hostage in his daughter’s stead; the room at the White Fort, with its floor of pictures; the rituals that invoked an Eastern Empire; the map on Perras’s wall. A world turned upside down.

  Chapter Four

  In the end, I wrote only a factual account of the past few days. I could not marshal my thoughts to do more. I had not had a chance to write since Turlo had come to the servery looking for Darel and me, and so even the facts took a long time. My hand ached as I reached the end.

  I glanced over what I had written, and picked up the pen again. Why have I never heard of the Varslanders, when they are closer than Leste? I wrote. Why do they not trade with us? What peace treaty exists between them and the Northmen—the people of Linrathe? All questions I could ask Perras.

  There was one more thing. Ask Perras about the Eastern Empire. Not yet: for some reason, I felt it was not something I could broach with him, until I knew him better. But the ritual at the White Fort haunted and frustrated me. I felt like a child again, kept from grown-up mysteries.

  From downstairs, a deep ringing ‘boom’ sounded. I guessed it was the signal for supper. I lifted the candlestick and in its flickering light made my way down to the hall.

  Supper was mutton stew and barley bread, and more oatcakes served with cooked apples. A thin beer accompanied the food. Perras and Dagney led the conversation, directing questions at the other students about recent lessons, and what conclusions they had drawn from what they had learned. I guessed this was the usual pattern at the evening meal.