Shadow Magic

by Patricia C. Wrede

  “Just what are the charges, my lords?” Bracor asked, making himself heard above the din.

  “You are charged with high treason, to wit, the making of a compact outside of Alkyra, without the consent of the Conclave of the First Lords or of the Regent of Alkyra, for the purpose of enhancing your own power to the detriment of the country of Alkyra,” the Regent said rapidly. “What will you answer?”

  “Why, it is obvious that I cannot be guilty, my lord,” Bracor replied.

  “How can you say so?” one of the First Lords shouted. “Your allies sit right next to you; how can you deny them?”

  “? do not deny that the Wyrds, the Shee, and the Neira offered me an alliance, which I accepted,” Bracor said calmly. “But when Kirel founded Alkyra, he was made king by an alliance of all four of the races of Lyra, to rule over all. Therefore, I have not made a compact outside of Alkyra, and the charges are void.”

  Several of the lords smiled in appreciation, but First Lord Stethan frowned. “Inside or outside Alkyra, it is all the same to me. What of the charge of enhancing your own might? Can you deny that you command the army that is camped out there in the forest?”

  “But my father does not command the army,” Alethia said softly, before Bracor could reply. “I do.”

  “I am afraid that Lord Bracor cannot escape through such an obvious legal fiction,” Lord Orlin sneered. “Putting his daughter in command of the army is hardly believable.”

  “I do not command as his daughter, but in my own right,” Alethia said.

  “Oh?” Stethan said in tones of polite disbelief. “And what right have you to command such an army without the consent of the Conclave? Perhaps we should charge you with treason as well.”

  Some of the First Lords laughed. Alethia’s eyes narrowed, and she rose. “This is my right,” she said. She brought her hands from beneath her cloak, revealing the Crown of Alkyra.

  A stunned silence fell within the tent. Alethia nodded once, and Murn, Maurin, Jordet, and Larissalama rose and stepped away from the table. With simultaneous movements, they swept the wrapping from the Four Gifts they carried. The silence deepened.

  “I see you recognize these,” Alethia said. “They were given to Kirel to help him rule the four peoples. I have found them and brought them back to Alkyra, and I will use them as he did.”

  “It’s a trick,” someone croaked.

  “It is no trick,” Alethia said gently. Slowly, she raised the Crown and placed it upon her own head. It burst into scintillating fire. Alethia’s eyes swept the First Lords. “You know, as all Alkyra knows, what the Crown is and what it means,” she said. “Only I may wear it and live; if I open the flap of this tent and step outside, every man in your armies will kneel to me, so long as I wear it.”

  “Every man in the army? No!” Heads turned as the Regent rose and stepped forward. No one spoke as he walked around the table toward Alethia; the First Lords were too astonished by the uncharacteristic note of decision in the Regent’s voice, and the others waited for some sign from Alethia. Alethia stood frozen, feeling the cold knowledge of failure. The Regent must be certain indeed of the reaction of the First Lords, or he would not risk being publicly overruled.

  “No,” the Regent of Alkyra continued, “not every man in the army but every man in Alkyra shall kneel to you, and I shall be the first of them.” Tears glittered in his brown eyes. Suddenly he turned to the First Lords. “I have been Regent of this land for twenty years, and my father before me, and his father,” he said in a strong, clear voice. “I was sworn to hold the throne and rule the land until the Wearer of the Crown returned.” He turned back to Alethia and abruptly knelt before her. “Alethia Tel'anh, you wear Kirel’s Crown and you bear his coronation gifts. My oath is fulfilled.”

  A murmur of surprise swept the tent, changing swiftly to consternation as the First Lords realized what had happened. No matter how badly diminished the powers of the Regent had become, he still held the right to give up his authority to the rightful ruler of Alkyra. The few who, in the stress of the sudden reappearance of the Crown, had remembered that authority had expected the Regent to abide by their decision; no one had expected him to voluntarily relinquish his position.

  Slowly, First Lord Thielen stood and came to kneel beside the Regent. One by one, the other First Lords followed. A few, notably the Lords Stethan and Orlin, seemed reluctant, but now that the Regent had acknowledged Alethia and relinquished his authority to her, none of them could deny her without himself committing treason.

  Alethia was aware of Har’s broad, half-disbelieving grin, the relief on the faces of the Shee and Wyrds, and the stunned expressions of the First Lords. Around her the jeweled gifts glittered, filling the tent with pinpoints of prismatic color. Behind her were her inhuman friends—the proud Shee, the earthy Wyrd, the shimmering Neira—who called her queen. And before her knelt the man who, for all the days of her childhood, she had called her ruler. The realization flooded her: Now, indeed, she was truly Queen.

  And the four peoples of Alkyra were united again.

  Epilogue

  THE CORONATION WAS SET for spring. Messengers were sent at once to every part of Alkyra and beyond, to Kith Alunel, to Col Sador, to Ciaron and Rathane, inviting the most important people of Lyra and their emissaries to be present. The ceremony would be held in Friermuth, the city closest to the center of Alkyra, and preparations began almost before the First Lords departed from the fields around Brenn.

  The Queen remained in Brenn. Her most pressing concerns were with the Wyrds and the Shee, and Brenn was much more convenient for both these peoples than Friermuth. A month sped by on wings, and messengers began arriving at Styr Tel conveying variations of polite acceptance of the invitation to the coronation. The Noble House of Brenn began to think seriously about leaving for Friermuth.

  Preparations for the departure were nearly complete when Har came storming into the Queen’s rooms. “Alethia,” he demanded, “what is the matter with Maurin? He insists that he isn’t coming to Friermuth at all. Says he’s going back to Master Goldar’s caravan, if you please.”

  Alethia looked up from a sheaf of papers. “I don’t know,” she said. She looked down at the papers and frowned. Slowly, she pushed them away and turned thoughtfully back to Har. “I don’t know,” she repeated. “I’ve hardly seen him since Coldwell Pass. Everyone has something for me to see to, and…” She gestured at the litter of documents.

  “I know you have bigger problems than a moping Trader, Allie,” Har said, “but I’m worried about Maurin. He’s been in a temper since we returned to Brenn, and he hasn’t come near Styr Tel. I thought if perhaps it was something I’d said or done, he might have told you.”

  “I am not privy to Maurin’s confidences,” Alethia snapped. She pulled her papers back in front of her, but her brother ignored the hint.

  “Look, Allie, you could at least talk to him—”

  “I don’t see what good that would do,” Alethia said. “Besides, Maurin has made no attempt to see me, either after the battle or here in Brenn. I hardly think he’d be interested in anything I could say to him.”

  “Oh, is that why you’re so cross?” Har sat down on the edge of the table and looked into his sister’s eyes. “But you are a queen now, Allie.”

  “I can hardly forget,” Alethia said dryly.

  “Well, I had problems enough getting Maurin to visit Styr Tel when we were just an ordinary Noble Family, because he was worried about the way it would look. Now that you’re Queen of Alkyra, he’s probably—”

  Alethia’s eyes narrowed suddenly into green diagonal slits. “Har, tell Maurin to go out to the back of the stables, at noon. Don’t tell him why but make sure he goes.”

  Har looked at his sister as if she’d taken leave of her senses, then shrugged and went to find his friend. Alethia was buried back in her papers before he’d left the room, but her attention was not on them.

  Maurin crossed the courtyard of Styr Tel and walked
toward the old stables. He had no idea why Har wanted to meet him there, but Har had been insistent and he suspected that it had to do with his decision to leave Brenn with the caravan. Har had already tried to talk him out of it once; he probably wanted a second try, but his objections would make no difference in the end.

  He turned the corner and stopped short. Har was nowhere in sight, but Alethia was standing with her arm raised, poised to throw the dagger she held at the battered san-seri target on the courtyard wall. Her hair was braided and wound in a crown around her head, and it shone in the sunlight. Maurin drew a deep breath and started to back away.

  “Maurin, don’t you dare leave without even talking to me,” Alethia said without turning. Her arm came down and the dagger flew fair and true to the top of the target, completing the diamond pattern she had been forming. She retrieved her knives, then turned and walked over to him.

  “I promised you a rematch,” she said, and handed him the rack of green-handled daggers. Not knowing what else to do, Maurin took his place in silence. They tossed a coin for first throw, and Alethia won.

  For the first few throws, neither spoke. Alethia broke the silence. “I understand you are planning to return to the caravans.”

  “High Lady, it is what I am trained for,” Maurin replied, keeping his eyes on the target.

  “Don’t ‘High Lady’ me!” Alethia said. “Why are you going?”

  “It is what I am trained for,” Maurin repeated. His next throw went badly astray.

  “Nonsense,” Alethia said flatly. She turned to face him. “When Har told me, I thought maybe you really wanted to go back to the Traders, but now I can see that you don’t. Going back makes you miserable, and staying makes you miserable. Why?”

  “Alethia, I can’t stay,” Maurin said, abandoning his pretense of calm. “Don’t ask me why. Please.”

  “I thought so,” Alethia said, glaring at him. “Maurin Atuval, it is your fault that I am in this mess, and if you think you can just walk away because of some misguided idea of what is proper, you are dead wrong.”

  “My fault? My fault! Did I make you Queen of Alkyra?” Maurin asked bitterly.

  “Yes!” Alethia retorted. “If I hadn’t seen that soldier trying to chop you in half I never would have put the Crown on, and they never could have insisted that I have to keep wearing it! How can you be so blind!”

  “The Queen of Alkyra can’t consort with a caravan guard,” Maurin said, goaded beyond caution. “What good does it do me to stay?”

  “You aren’t a caravan guard, you’re a Journeyman Trader, and the Queen of Alkyra can consort with whoever the Black she pleases!” Alethia said, still scowling ferociously. “And if she wants her husband to come to her coronation, who’s going to stop her?”

  Maurin’s jaw dropped. “Alethia,” he said uncertainly, “you don’t mean it?”

  “Am I going to have to kidnap you to convince you?” Alethia said, exasperated. “I have had firsthand experience, you know. I’m sure I could persuade Har and Jordet to help. And Tamsin is a minstrel, so he could marry us—unless you don’t want to?”

  “Want to!” Maurin swallowed. “But what will the Nobles say?”

  “I don’t care!” Alethia said angrily. “I’m doing what they want. They can just live with a little bit of what I want.”

  A slow smile spread across Maurin’s face. “Then what can I do but obey the dictates of my Queen?”

  “I knew you would see it my way,” Alethia said sweetly, and Maurin laughed and gathered her into his arms.

  The wedding was a quiet one, and took place at midwinter. The guests were few, but among them were the most prominent members of the four races, including the heroes of Coldwell Pass. Tamsin Lerrol performed the ceremony, and at the wedding feast he sang a new ballad about the finding of the Crown. Alethia smiled as he sang, but when the lay described the Shadow-born, she clutched Maurin’s hand beneath the table.

  Two weeks later, Alethia and her family left for Friermuth. The notables of Alkyra had been gathering for some time. The nine First Nobles and the former Regent were already present, preparing for the formal recognition ceremony. Lesser nobles arrived in a steady stream throughout the rest of the winter, and the non-humans also began reaching the city in increasing numbers. The citizens of Friermuth became accustomed to the exotic shapes of Wyrds, Shee, and Neira passing along their streets, but even the most complacent were shaken by the arrival of Queen Iniscara and her escort. Iniscara was robed in silver and rode a horse of jet black; her guards, in their black and silver, sat astride horses white as ice. With their uniformly white hair and green eyes they presented a striking picture indeed as they rode slowly through the town to their quarters.

  With the onset of spring came the foreign ambassadors. Blythe Kyel-Semrud, head of one of Kith Alunel’s most ancient and noble families, was the first to arrive. He was followed closely by Aralyne Dohstid of Rathane, cousin to the ruler of the city and one of its most influential citizens. Prince Staryl Dundevic came from Col Sador, bringing with him the Knights of the Sword to reaffirm their long friendship with Alkyra.

  It soon became apparent that there was no building in Friermuth large enough to contain the throng of people who expected to attend the coronation. A few days before the ceremony, one of the First Lords brought Alethia a list of people from which to pick and choose those who would be allowed to attend. Alethia refused to even look at it.

  “I am going to be Queen of all Alkyra,” she told the astonished First Lord, “and I am not going to start by annoying three-quarters of the people who have come to see me.”

  “Someone will have to choose,” the man replied, a trifle disgruntled. “I told you, there is no building large enough to hold all the common folk. A few representatives, perhaps, but no more.”

  “Then make some of the nobles stand in the street as well,” Alethia said calmly.

  The First Lord stared. Obviously, he thought, her new position had gone to the girl’s head. Patiently, he began to repeat the objections and recommendations he had brought with him, but Alethia cut him short.

  “I am not going to allow anyone who has traveled all the way to Friermuth just to see the coronation to be turned away,” she said. “Either find a place where everyone will fit, or move the nobles.”

  “But there is no such place!” the harassed lord said. “And you can’t deny the nobles; you’ll make enemies!”

  Alethia smiled. “What about Starmorning Field?”

  “It’s certainly large enough,” the First Lord said, considering. “But you can’t be crowned out in the middle of a field!”

  “Why not?” Alethia asked. “But of course, you can always move the nobles.”

  In the end, Alethia had her way. The coronation was held in the middle of Starmorning Field, just outside Friermuth, before the largest crowd of lords, nobles, ambassadors, and common people ever assembled in one place in Alkyran history.

  The procession that escorted Alethia from Friermuth to Starmorning Field was an impressive one. The guild representatives came first, each displaying the banner of his guild and the banner of the lord who sponsored them. Next came the soldiers who had fought at Brenn and Coldwell. Ranks of Alkyran foot soldiers were followed by Wyrd bowmen and Shee cavalry, with the Neiran healers at the rear of the army.

  The lesser nobles of Alkyra were next, each with an escort displaying his banner and the midnight blue and gold colors of Alkyra. They seemed to keep coming forever; every lord of every city in Alkyra was determined to take some part, however small, in the coronation of the country’s first ruler in three hundred years, and Alethia had not allowed anyone to be left out.

  The Alkyran nobles were followed by the Lords of the Shee and the Arkons of the Wyrd Glens, excepting Murn. Next were the Nine Families of Alkyra, the descendants of those who had supported Kirel when he founded the country and destroyed the last of the Wyrms in the Snake Mountains. The First Lords, the heads of the Nine Families, rode in the m
iddle of their respective households.

  As the Veldatha wizards rode into sight behind the Nine Families, the crowds that lined the road hushed. For many, this was the closest they had ever come to magic, and already legends were springing up around the battle at Coldwell Pass. The Veldatha were certainly impressive with their white hair and blue robes and the Crown of the Veldatha upon every head.

  The visiting lords and princes and ambassadors were next, just before the rulers of the four peoples. Iniscara, Murn, Merissallan, and Regent Mikral rode abreast, each carrying one of Kirel’s four coronation Gifts. Behind them was Reuel, the Grand Master of the Minstrels himself, with the Crown of Alkyra, and then, at last, came Alethia and Maurin in the midnight blue and gold of Alkyran royalty.

  Even with all of Starmorning Field to hold them, it seemed that the people who lined the roads would never be able to fit around the raised platform where the ceremony would take place, but when the procession reached its end there was room for everyone. Alethia and Maurin mounted the steps together. Behind them came Reuel, carrying the Crown, and the crowd quieted.

  The Grand Master of the Minstrels raised the Crown above his head, and it flashed in the sunlight. In a clear voice that carried to the edge of Starmorning Field, Reuel told again the story of Kirel the Founder and the Alliance of Wyrds, Shee, Neira, and Men which became the Land of Alkyra. He ended with Kirel’s Promise, sometimes called Kirel’s Oath, and Alethia repeated it after him.

  “By the power of the Sword will I win justice for this land; by the power of the Shield will I guard it wisely; by the power of the Cup will I hold it in mercy; by the power of the Staff will I rule it in peace. This I promise to all the people in the light of the Crown before you.”

  Alethia knelt down and Reuel stood motionless for a long moment with the Crown upheld. Then he lowered the Crown onto Alethia’s head. Light exploded outward, and the field rang with cheers.

  “Congratulations, Your Majesty,” Maurin whispered to Alethia as she rose.