by Ru Emerson
And there was another thing, a thing unexpected. She had known for years she would rule after Brandt; her parents had trained her, this was the task for which she had been prepared, if none of them had foreseen the circumstances of it.
But now that she must fight for her right—if I misjudge Vess, somehow, if he is a capable leader, if I challenge him now, it might destroy the little peace those at Aresada have been able to procure. What if—?
“Ylia?” A tiny whisper broke into black thoughts. She turned. Lisabetha stood there. “If I disturbed you—” the girl began hesitantly. Ylia shook her head, held out a hand.
“No. At least, yes, but I am glad. You push unprofitable thoughts from my mind, that is all. Another moment and I might have been weeping with self-pity.”
Lisabetha shook her head. “You mock me.” But there was an answering smile in her eyes. “You who have so much courage and strength, the training, the AEldra power—how could you ever feel sorry for yourself?”
“Because I am as unsure, as uncertain, in my own way as you are in yours. They say everyone is. Perhaps that is so. I have merely found the place in my inner being that calls down doubt of—well, all that is me.”
“Perhaps.” Lisabetha shook her head. “I certainly have such a place.” She paused. “Brelian has asked my hand,” she went on finally. “And I do not know how to answer him.”
“And you would ask me?” Ylia smiled. “I am flattered. But that, at least, is easy: say him aye, with the blessings of us all.”
“I—I cannot. What I told you of Vess—”
She caught at the girl's shoulders. “Lisabetha, by the Mothers, you do not still hold that against yourself? Do you think Brelian would?”
“No—neither—Vess was like a snake, holding me prey—not even that,” she said flatly. “No. In honesty, I was a fool child, easy game for such a man. Brelian does not hold it against me, for I told him when it became clear he would ask my hand, eventually. It is not that.” Silence. “I—dreamed,” she blurted finally. “He reached Teshmor somehow, not many hours before it fell, re-pledged himself to Father's aid. I have known it for some days now. I could not tell you, could not tell anyone. I knew it.” She turned away to stare across the broad, rock-strewn valley. A bleak, watery moonlight touched the landscape, made it alien. “He lay among the bodies outside the City, near the walls. When there was a chance, late at night, he crawled away. He is at Aresada.”
“I know. Nisana told me.”
Lisabetha turned back, surprised.
'So I did.’ Nisana had come silently up behind them. ‘One would think you prepared for a funeral,’ she added accusingly.
'This is Lisabetha, cat. You know her, she dreams.’
'I know you have the gift, child,’ Nisana's thought was unusually gentle, and slow—what little Lisabetha had of the mind-speech was fading rapidly, had regained some of its strength from contact with Eya's people but was again on the wane. It would likely not reach Aresada with her. ‘But since you know what chances, you can aid us in planning for tomorrow. The three of us—’
“No.” Lisabetha shook her head miserably. “I cannot—I cannot go to Aresada. I cannot face him—he—” Ylia caught at her arms, pulled her around.
“And where will that leave your heartsworn?” she demanded harshly. “Will you cost him all, who still grieves for—for Brendan? Where will that leave me, who needs all those about me to aid?” Lisabetha's eyes dropped. “Believe me, girl,” Ylia went on, “where we are, Vess will not be for long! Or did you think I would willingly endure his presence? He has taken the ruling because he did not know I was alive. By right, he must step down tomorrow and give it to me.”
“But he never will!” Lisabetha burst out. “And knowing Vess as I do—”
“As we both do,” Ylia assured her dryly. “But you also know the laws. I challenge him, he must fight for what he chooses to call his. And,” she added flatly, “I can beat him.” Of that she still had no doubts. “You need only stay out of his sight, ‘Betha. Until he is beyond seeing.”
“Until he is dead,” she whispered. “But he will not fight you,” she added unhappily. “He fears you; you are witch to him. He claims to believe AEldra magic evil, but he truly fears it. He will never fight you.”
'Will and must,’ Nisana assured her. ‘The folk are for Ylia. Do you doubt that? Well then! And Vess would not dare deny challenge! His own men would throw him from Aresada! Also, Vess is proud of his weapons-skill. He will never believe anyone could best him, not even Ylia.’
“Particularly not Ylia,” Ylia put in sourly, “if the men he has sent to kill me in the past are any indication.”
Lisabetha still looked unhappy. “If there is a hole in your logic, Vess will find it.” But she no longer seemed as raggedly frightened as she had. “I—had better return to Brelian, I told him I would not be over-long.” She fetched up a half-smile.
Ylia smiled back. “Tell him what I said. Give him my blessing as well.” The smile slipped, was gone as Lisabetha turned away. She and Nisana watched as the girl ran back to the fire. “There. You see, cat? I am not the only one who—”
'Now, I swear,’ Nisana warned, ‘if I hear one more word of doubt from you, I will send you sleep right here, where you stand! I weary of this!’
Ylia laughed. “I—all right. I concede. No more of Vess tonight!”
“As if you could solve the matter here, before you ever see him,’ she began indignantly. Ylia caught her up, hugged her tight.
“Now you will start and we will have no peace at all! It is late. I should sleep before my share of the watches. And my hands are cold.”
The fires had burned low. All but Marhan and Levren slept. Nisana sought out a place close to Malaeth and stretched out. Ylia stood close to the larger firepit, warming fingers and toes. Her father's Swordmaster and Bowmaster conversed quietly behind her, talking of old friends in the Tower Guard, others in Teshmor—the early years of Brandt's reign when both were younger and the world a simpler place. It was soothing; she stood, listened. At length, Levren rolled in his cloak and left the first watch to Marhan.
The old man was cleaning his nails with his dagger when she moved to his side.
“Well. We did it, didn't we? Whatever chances after. Just as we vowed it.”
“So we did. And with but two losses, all told.” The firelight seamed his face. “D'ye know, boy, there was no way to tell you how proud I was of you so often on this journey. Taking the training I gave you, using it as well as any other I ever taught. But I was, you know.”
She shrugged, smiled. “I—I know that, old man. It is how we are, you and I. Your praise would have embarrassed both of us; mine would do as much. It is—well, it is just the way we are.”
“So it is, boy,” he replied gruffly, but he held out his arms, and she leaned against his chest. His mail was cold against her cheek. After a long, comfortable while, she sat up again.
“Be yet Swordmaster to the House of Ettel,” she said.
Marhan scowled at her. “Did ye think I would quit now, after so long at it?” he demanded. She kissed his bearded cheek, went to find a place to sleep.
Perhaps, if I live long enough, I will learn to think beyond a narrow path that is AEldra: particularly if I continue to live with the Nedao, who resolve their disagreements with weapons of steel and not the Power. I had planned, myself, how the situation might be salvaged, and in the end, nothing I thought of was the least use.
34
It was just before midday when they came to the deep gorge through which the River Aresada flows and crossed the rough-hewn bridge that arches over it. They had walked in silence for most of the morning; even the children were subdued.
Thus, the first words they heard in hours were those of the sentry atop the cliffs as they reached the other end of the bridge: “Halt! Name yourselves and where ye would go!”
Ylia leaned back, shielded her eyes so she could see him against the glare. Northern by his spee
ch, that was easy. But he wore the dark-blue and white of the Duke of Anasela's livery. Her heart rose. Erken, alive and here? That would be a great ally indeed! “We are survivors of the wreck of Koderra, who have journeyed long days through the Foessa to come here. My companions are of the Plain and of the Tower, as you see! With me are Marhan and Levren, of the King's own household. Brelian and Golsat of the King's Tower Guard. Many of the Chosen have come with us. Lisabetha, daughter to Lord Corlin is also of our company, as is Malaeth, chief serving dame to the Queen!”
“And you—name yourself!” The guard shouted back.
“Ylia I, daughter to Brandt!”
“The Lady Princess! The Lady Ylia comes to Aresada!” Even at that distance the guard's joy and surprise were clear. He turned and cried in an echoing voice: “The Lady Ylia! She lives and is come to Aresada!” He spoke more, but could no longer be heard above the sudden outcry, and the cliffs were lined with people; more sped down the narrow road, which led uphill from the River to the Caves.
They were surrounded; more folk came, and still more, laughing and crying, shouting Ylia's name and Brandt's, crying Marhan's and then Lev's as they were recognized—Lisabetha's, that of Grewl.
The clamor died away, finally, and they began the steep ascent, slowly, with questions thrown at them from all sides. When they reached the flat upper ledges, Ylia pushed free and leaped to the guard's station, so that she stood well above the crowd and held up her hands for silence.
“People of Nedao!” she cried out. Another prolonged wait while the cheering died away. “The thanks and the love of all of us for your welcome! Would I had better news for you! Koderra fell to the Tehlatt, and with the City we lost a greater part of the men of the South, including our King.” Silence. She swallowed, hard. “The Lady Scythia is no more, also, she died avenging her Lord.” A low moan swept the crowd. “But many of the City, many of the folk of the South escaped by sea to Yls; they have found safety there.” She paused for breath. “So it is, my people. But we shall build again, as we did five hundreds of years ago. And Nedao will again be great among the lands!” A joyous outcry echoed across the rocks as she leaped down.
A chant began somewhere deep in the crowd as she moved forward, the sheer ledges before the Caves echoed with it: her name, her father's. Nedao. Over and again, building in volume, in intensity.
The guard at the entrance to the main cavern wore Vess’ colors. He stepped across the entry, blocking what he could of it with his spear. Whether he would actually have denied her entry, she never knew; he never had the opportunity. Folk swirled about them, jostling. Her companions were lost in the press. The guard was swept aside.
It was cool, suddenly; pleasantly cool, half-dark. Torches flickered against the walls. Bags and parcels, dim shapes, lay scattered about or pressed into man-cut niches. On, on through a narrow passage, squeezed in as they pressed forward. And then they were out, spilling into an immense chamber: the Grand Temple, large enough to hold over a thousand people. Large enough, nearly, to hold Brandt's great receiving hall. A ceiling, hung with stone icicles, vaulted high and out of sight. Pillars of stone rose from the smooth floor.
She was no longer hemmed in; the folk had stopped, moved aside once within, and she walked forward alone. Footfalls echoed strangely; her shadow, wavering with the air that took the torchlight, ran before her. But there was no hesitation in her step, for she sensed him long before she saw him: Vess. He sat amid stone splendor, a hanging at his back—the egret, snow white, on a background azul within a border: indentee. The band, gules, about the near leg tokened bastardy. He ever wore that with pride. Two guards flanked him.
And then Levren was at her side, Nisana leaped to her shoulder. Brelian moved swiftly to her other side. Footsteps behind: Marhan, Golsat brought up the rear. A great, sudden calm washed through her: matters had been taken from her hands and moved of their own.
She walked forward until a drawn blade barred her path. Vess glared at her sullenly. A long scar, nearly the match of her own save not so cleanly healed, ran the length of his face; his broidered tabard was stained and in need of mending. His face was thin, and but for the feverish eyes, deadly tired.
“Cousin.” A muscle in his cheek jumped as she spoke. “A pleasure to see you again, and well.” A lie, however pleasantly spoken, and they were not the only ones who knew it. An elaborate distaste pulled at his mobile, overly wide lips.
“Hah. And you. Dear cousin.” He raised his voice. “Though Koderra fell and most died, yet you are here—and these with you.” His eyes touched on her companions, one by one. Lighted momentarily as they found Lisabetha, well to the rear and behind Marhan. “Well must you have fought, all of you, to win free at the last.”
It hints at cowardice, yet it dares not speak it aloud. For fear of me, or of Marhan? “You fought well yourself, Vess, clearly, to have escaped Father's walls only to reach Teshmor, and have it torn from beneath you.”
He cleared his throat, distaste once again twisting his mouth. “And you have brought more mouths to feed. What, another twenty? More?”
“Many of whom can find food for others as well,” Ylia retorted. Vess laughed spitefully.
“It will not do, Aresada can support no more folk, we are dangerously low on rations. Try Nar, all of you!” He sat back with finality. An unhappy murmur reached Ylia's ears. No, the people were not pleased.
“And who are you,” she demanded, “to say who will stay, and who not?”
He smiled. “You ask that, Ylia of the Outer Circle?”
“I ask it.” Play out his game, then press your own.
“I rule here. As the surviving male of the House of Ettel, I rule.”
“No. I yet live, and Nedao is no barbarous land, that only men rule,” Ylia cut in flatly. “While I live, who am First of my father's House, and his named and sworn heir—”
“But I rule!” Vess overrode her, his voice high and furious. “As an established fact. And so I have for the past month. Wrest that from me if you dare. Cousin!” His light-brown eyes left hers as Marhan strode forward, a towering rage darkening his face.
“Are you fool enough to think Nedao will stand by while you send Brandt's daughter hence?” Contempt spilled from his lips, his words echoed across the cavern. Something in the pale man before them came apart. He laughed shrilly.
“Nedao!” he shouted. “Nedao is no more! That—” a hand stabbed eastward, “that was Nedao! If this witch is a true daughter of my uncle and therefore Nedao's Queen, let her return to the Plain, there to rule!” Silence, a terrible silence. Vess snapped to his feet. When he spoke, his voice was under a dreadful, taut control. “There is no room here, nothing to eat, Swordmaster. Shall all of us starve together?” Cold, dark eyes bored into furious pale ones; Vess was no match for Marhan, and his were first to drop. Ylia laid a hand on the old man's forearm then, shook her head. “My battle,” she mouthed at him. He shook his own head dubiously, but stepped back. A single pace, no more.
“You rule here as intermediary, Vess.” For a wonder, her voice remained level. “We do not leave, any of us. You cannot force us. And with us are women and children, folk who would never survive the long journey to Nar. The people here already would not permit, however you say. And, there are Chosen among us,” she added deliberately as he still made no comment. She raised her voice. “You are said to believe in Chosen ways, Vess. Do you condemn those among us to certain death?”
He scowled at his hands. “Chosen. Such of you,” he called out, “as are Chosen may remain. Do you wish it. The rest—no. I rule here, and watch you, Ylia,” he added softly, “what you say to me. A certain respect is due a lawful ruler.”
She let her head fall back and laughed loudly, effectively silencing him. “Vess, you were ever amusing and most often when least intended! Respect, for such as you? No. Since you do not step down, as you are honor-bound to do,” she was still smiling, but her eyes had gone cold, “why, then, I must give you challenge.”
&nbs
p; It was his turn to laugh. “Challenge? You? Against me?”
“I give you challenge, as one member of the House of Ettel to another, setting upon the outcome the rule of Nedao. Or, as you seem to prefer, the ruling of these folk.” Her voice echoed across the stone chamber. A ripple of loud, excited speech, suddenly hushed. “By sword and dagger I challenge you, Vess, that only one live and the outcome be without doubt!”
He stared at her astonished, pulled himself together with a visible effort. “No. I will not fight against you. You are a daughter of the White Witch of Yls, a sorceress. I fight none of your kind.” He raised his own voice. “I am not bound to fight a witch! She could charm my own sword into my heart, if she chose! Ye know her kind, all of ye. She is witch; evil! Will ye have one of that cursed race to rule ye?” Silence. People looked at one another, no one spoke.
Nisana? She was gone, but even as Ylia missed her, she returned. Lisabetha; she had gone to Lisabetha with her thought and Lisabetha, in turn, pale to the lips, had brought Grewl. “Father Grewl, many of those here who are Northern know your name and know you to be wise in our histories and ways! Your aid to us!”
The old man pondered a moment, then paced on slow feet to Ylia's side. “This woman is child to King Brandt, and she is his named heir. Also, I owe her my life, though she will not have it so. She is not an evil woman, whatever her skills and talents. And, how should any man choose better the King's successor than the King himself?”
Vess gazed at him with ill-concealed fury, and more than a little surprise. “Have ye lost your senses, old man!” he hissed. “She is a wielder of the witching your kind prate against! Would you give these folk up to evil? You have gone soft with age, and she has besotted ye! No,” he fumed, “I rule here. There is nothing else to say.” He spun away, trembling with anger, but when he turned back moments later, his face was once again under control. “I decline this challenge,” he said formally, his voice pitched to fill the chamber. “I am not held to fight one I dare not trust.” And he turned his back with finality.
