by Jim Grimsley
6
I had stood on the High Place nearly fifteen days. On the last, I watched Kirith Kirin’s southward march, aching in every bone. Scanning the clouds a final time, hearing voices on the planes, nothing new. Drudaen moved beneath a veil and avoided the High Places. I could not find him.
The return to my body was hard; I found my flesh in fever from having endured fourth-level trance so long. I drank clear water from the cistern in one of the chambers and sipped cumbre to prepare my stomach for solid food again. Strange to see through the eyes again, to feel air on the skin, to gather sensation through the nose and fingertips. To hear so little, and such small sounds. I felt the heat of the fever and prepared unufru tea, finding the root stored in the Work Room. I drank the tea and descended.
Nixva had been moved to stable with the other horses, now that there were soldiers to guard him. I found the Base Vault empty, full of singing. Briefly listening to the changes of voice within the kirilidur, I touched the silver runes in the rock, the signature of Edenna Morthul.
I would not have wanted Kirith Kirin to see me that day, so removed from the world to which I was returning. I stepped across the causeway under clearing skies, clouds scattering north. This was late in the month of Ymut, near winter. Even in Genfynnel one began to feel the chill. The cloak swirled around me, casting off light. I tamed it some on the way to Telkyii Tars.
Knowing nothing about the place, I wandered. Idhril had left a servant to watch for me, a shy man who begged my pardon and led me to an apartment, Kirith Kirin’s own rooms, in fact. I thanked my guide and sent him to Idhril with a note telling her Kirith Kirin was marching to the city and describing some of the battle.
Then I read his letter to me.
“I am taking this chance to send my love by letter, since Idhril will see you long before I do. We’ve watched the fireworks with concern. The troops think it’s a fine show but I’ve seen these fights before. Troublesome that it’s continued so many days. You’ll come down from the High Place looking nearly transparent and you won’t know where you are. Well, if I were there I would find a way to remind you. Greetings from your friends. I’ve told Idhril to take care of you and put you in my rooms. Be safe and wait for me.”
The letter made him real. I felt better. Nearly transparent became flushed with color. The world enfolded me.
I slept in a high-ceilinged, stuccoed chamber flooded with light. I slept two whole days, woke, ate real food, and slept again. Idhril kept me company for a while that day, and later sent a doctor. I drank unufru again. The tea broke the worst of the sickness and I mended with rest and food. My arm had long since healed of its bone break and I had removed the splint during the time I spent on Laeredon. With sleep I began to feel more myself.
7
Even during sleep, part of me kept watch on the Tower. I dreamed of walking on the High Place, lightning flashing from my fingertips, as I rode across the world on a carpet of storm. I dreamed of Drudaen beneath shadow. I dreamed of Kirith Kirin.
Meanwhile, Idhril sent Kirith Kirin dispatches by post-riders and I included my own news in those. I wrote a letter to him when I finally got out of bed, and she sent that along.
The armies moved faster than I would have imagined, forced-marching down the Pajmar, taking the river road. We had news every day. Within five days after I descended from Laeredon, his outriders reached us with a packet of letters and news that he would cross the Isar bridges next day.
The letters contained orders for preparations for our southern march, which would take place within a few days of the consolidation of the armies in Genfynnel. Idhril set to work and people were coming and going from Telkyii Tars all day. A householder brought a note for me like the one before, but short. “We did good work in Vyddn. I will see you in a day. Yours.”
For his march into the city I withdrew to the Tower. The Nivri and Finru houses claimed the best seats for his arrival, atop the northeast walls where the flatland stretched out for miles. One could see a broad vista of the country through which Isar flows. The view from the Tower was better, of course. I made no trance that day, wishing to see only with the eyes of my body. I sat near the Tower Horns and saw his shadow on the horizon, the host of soldiers spread out across the plain.
Trumpets sounded when the sentries saw him, and from across the fields his trumpeters answered, deep, booming sounds like the crying of giants. Thirteen thousand soldiers marched across the plain, five thousand as prisoners and the rest as friends. I had never seen so many people moving as one body before, though I am told by the knowledgeable that our armies are actually quite small. Crimson banners waved and bodies of cavalry flashed in advance of the foot soldiers. The trumpets blared again and again, outriders crossed the bridges and the host of Kirith Kirin crossed Isar, the Prince riding at the head of the column.
The whole army would not fit inside Genfynnel so he made his main encampment on the ground between the city and the river, leaving sentries on the bridges. Some of the host rode inside the walls, and the City Lord and Lady Idhril walked their horses forward to meet them. All the folk left in Genfynnel filled the streets between the East Gate and Telkyii Tars. There were more of them than I expected and they made a big noise to welcome him. Autumn flowers were strewn in his path and parents lifted babies for him to kiss. Everyone who could reach him touched his cloak or brushed the Keikin’s mane. The royal pair, master and horse, pranced toward his palace, unoccupied these long years (Queen Athryn lately had not liked to ride so far north). The city, full of his legend for weeks, faced the fact of him.
Kirith Kirin made magic of his own, in his own way. He rode straight-backed and strong, without hurry, patiently letting everyone see him and seeming, himself, to see everyone. Today one hears stories of sick children he healed with a touch, blind men and women struck by his light and able to see again, the sorts of things invented by cheap romancers in the wake of history. But I was there, I saw the ride, even if I declined to share it directly. He rode with royal grace through the crowd and led his soldiers into Telkyii Tars.
Changes in the Tower light let him know he was welcomed from that place as well. He already knew as much. He dismounted in front of the cracked facade of the house, now repaired. Lords joined him and he entered the place. The troops, under the watchful gaze of Gaelex, took their positions on the walls and in the barracks of the citadel.
This was as much as I watched. He would send for me when he was ready for me to descend. Better, for the moment, I should sit where I was, under the open sky, with the knowledge that Kirith Kirin had come to Genfynnel safe and sound. The first leg of our journey was over.
Chapter 18: CHAENHALII
1
In the peaceful night, under a clear, cold sky, in a city restive with its occupying army, I sat on the summit of Laeredon holding the heavy locket in my hand, warming the gem, listening. From the streets below rose the light of bonfires, the sound of laughter, a night of good weather, soldiers bringing gold into the city, along with it a reason to drink, to forget. Fires burned in the countryside on both sides of the river as far as I could see, and I could imagine, watching them flicker under the stars, that the stars themselves were distant fires. I savored the thought because in the presence of such huge distances I felt small, like the locket in my palm, the dark gem catching starlight as I turned it over and over. Comforting and compact, this weight, the rasp of raised letters along my fingertips. The idea of vastness lent the feeling that I remained a finite object, after hours when I had spread my spirit over wind and cloud.
Kirith Kirin came for me late in the night when his business was finally done, and when I knew him to be waiting I descended. He stood where the gate had fallen, some of the broken stones as tall as he. Hood drawn over his head, a drab cloak, his bodyguard waiting at a distance. He had come alone, without our friends, I was glad of that. He stepped toward me and drew down the hood, his eyes glittering; we stood there watching each other. “I thought it was time you came
down.”
“Hello. I’ve been waiting for you all day.”
He smiled. Exhaustion had drained the color from his face. He signaled the guard and I fell in step beside him. We entered Telkyii Tars by a side gate, through a series of walled gardens. Guards were posted along the paths and inside the apartment. Gaelex waited inside and bowed her head to Kirith Kirin. “The sentries are in place on the inner and outer walls, Kirith Kirin, and the house is secure. I’ve taken charge of the keys from Lady Idhril’s steward.”
He acknowledged without answering, standing in the high-ceilinged room beside the chair where I had read his letter. Gaelex glanced at me and I nodded, very small. She withdrew with her soldiers.
When the door closed, I was alone with him, in a room where a warm fire was burning. I led him to the fire and he stood there looking at his hands, dazed. I took his face in my hands, kissed his mouth. We sat on cushions with the fire burning, I drew his head down to my lap, and he sighed. The weight of him, the texture of his hair, provided the same comfort as the locket before, to anchor me in my body. His face offered a different kind of gravity, always pulling me toward it. We sat in quiet with the crackling of the fire, with no need but to be there. We did speak after a while, almost in whispers, knowing so many folk stood guard around us, beyond every wall on every side. He laced his fingers through mine and turned to face me, his back to the fire. He lay a hand along my neck, fingertips on the throat. “Have you eaten? Are you hungry?”
I shivered, pulled him close. “I’m cold.”
He obligingly surrounded me, chuckling. “I like it when you’re cold.”
The closeness and heat of him made me understand how lonely I had been, and I said, “I missed you.” I said this quite simply, meaning no harm, but his response was to look at me dumbstruck, his eyes suddenly full, and then to hold me tight against him as though I were trying to escape. A sorrow poured out of him like wind. “Please,” into his ear, “I only meant I love you. That’s all.”
“I know.” He calmed, lay on the cushions again, and I listened to his breathing, his heartbeat. The fullness of feeling between us struck me like a sorrow too, that when I was with him I should feel such a sweetness, in a world in which I could hardly ever be with him. “I’m so very tired,” he said, “I don’t rest without you,” as though we had lain together for years. He needed sleep, more than he needed conversation with me. I drew him from the fireplace to the bed and tended him like the best of servants, taking off his boots, his leggings, his tunic, his ring of keys, the jeweled knife he carried, laying them all neatly on a ridiculously large chair near the fireplace arch. He watched, amused. We slipped into the warm covers on the downy mattress, and he sighed as I dimmed the lamp, easing against him. “I wanted to come for you earlier,” he said, “but the talking went on and on.”
“I spent a quiet night myself.” I could hear the question this raised in him and spared his having to ask. To tell the truth, I was relieved to find him curious. “Drudaen rode south days ago, before you signaled me from Vyddn. I don’t know what he’s doing or where he is.”
“There are only so many places he could have gone,” he murmured, his eyes already closing.
“He’s not in any of the Towers.” But I was already too late. Kirith Kirin sighed, curled around me, and fell fast asleep in hardly the time it took me to finish the sentence.
I had less need for sleep myself. What I needed was to have him there, to be a solid creature beside him, to feel the warmth spreading between us, to feel and smell his breath. What I needed was the slight moistness of his skin where it touched mine. Though after a while I did close my eyes, for the luxury of it.
When he woke me, early, the dawn soft on his face, I was startled I had slept so deeply, without dreaming. Sitting up, I did a check of the High Place and touched the locket. He laughed at me as he pulled me into the covers again. “Sleepyhead. I’ve been awake for hours.”
“You haven’t even been asleep for hours,” I answered.
He chuckled, stretching his arms. He stripped back the covers then, checked my arm to see that the bone had healed, as it had. “It looks fine. I was worried sick, you know. I still am.”
“Kirith Kirin –”
He set a finger on my lip. “Don’t waste your breath. I’ll worry as long as you’re you and I’m me.” After a while, looking down the length of the room, “At least my feet don’t hang off the bed, here.”
The memory of the farmhouse made me laugh. “I do miss the smell of the pigsty.”
“I gave our hosts there enough gold for a new bed.” He stroked the nape of my neck, drew me down along him. “I expect they kept the gold and the bed, though. It will be a nine-days wonder in the countryside, mark my word. The bed where I slept with my wizard.”
So close now, all I could see was his face. “I’m glad you’re here.”
He simply looked at me. “Do you really think you need to say it?”
“I want to say it.” I leaned over him, the locket resting on his chest. He slipped it over my head and lay it on the nightstand, easy as that, the enchanted gem on which all our futures might rest, and I never said a word. He felt no coldness in me that morning, though he tested every part.
2
I walked into the sitting parlor to find Imral Ynuuvil waiting there, winter light from the window on his silver skin. I had wrapped myself in Fimbrel, white and soft, to look at the day out the window. Fimbrel whispered music, an echo of the Sisters, as I moved to Imral, who embraced me loosely but most seriously. He handed me a cup from the oet. “I’m glad to find you here.”
“We have a roof over our heads, here, at least.”
One must learn to sense the pleasure of a Venladrii, one will never be told of it. Beyond the window catofars were calling, the winter song we call it, because in early winter the catofars pass from the mountains to the warm southern coast, singing the whole way. They rested this morning in the oaks in the park beyond, cleaning their wing feathers, flashes of black and green.
“Kirith Kirin is awake? Did he tell you he’s invited guests this morning?” He hesitated an instant, with a trace of discomfort.
When I turned, the white cloak whispered like the birds outside. He touched the fabric, closed his eyes, listened. “What guests?” I asked.
He stepped to the window himself, looking for someone, then turning to me sidewise, a sign he was uncertain. “My father has asked to meet you.”
“Not for the simple pleasure of making my acquaintance, I take it.”
Perhaps his father could also smile without moving a single muscle of his face. “No.”
Movement in the other room, Kirith Kirin stirring. He emerged from the bedroom toweling his face, nodding to Imral, asking, “Where’s Evynar?”
“Coming.”
I poured jaka for him, gave him the cup, sat down as one of the bodyguard escorted the Drii king into the room, no ceremony at all. Kirith Kirin took my hand. I stood when Evynar Ydhiil approached, and I bowed in politeness. Tall, pale, with eyes like white stars, he took my breath. An elegant figure, broad-shouldered but trim, his face clear and smooth, his hair the color of ice, he showed his age only in his gravity of bearing. He was dressed in a jacket trimmed with small white pearls, wearing gold and silver rings and bracelets, earrings and an earcup, so that he glittered when he moved. On him this finery sat like simple, homespun stuff, but I had never seen even Kirith Kirin dressed with so much gold, so many gems, and this before breakfast. “Sit down, boy, sit down,” he said, and eased himself into a chair with no formality at all.
“You slept?” Kirith Kirin asked.
“Not enough.” He looked around the room. Imral had knelt in front of the fireplace to stir the embers. When Evynar’s gaze rested on his son, something softened in his face. “Imral and I are sharing rooms opening onto the goldfish park. Did he tell you?”
Kirith Kirin laughed. “I know you don’t like Telkyii Tars very much, Evynar. But we’re only here for
a day or two.”
“But I love goldfish, I always have. Especially in the winter when they’re all asleep at the bottom of the pond.”
“The rooms are fine, Kirith Kirin.” Imral turned back to us. “My father is very comfortable. Aren’t you, father?”
He chuckled but never answered. He looked at me, studied me for a long time. Kirith Kirin introduced us, and I bowed my head again, not knowing what else to do. He continued to watch me in silence. “They told me you were a boy but I didn’t believe it could really be true.”
“It’s not exactly my choice to be so young,” I answered.
