"I'm thinking that if I had a wife with whom you danced better than I, you'd not be asking to be keeping her, would you?" I laughed as he shook his head, and the rest joined in. "I'll be keeping Cleaveheart here for the time being, but if you want to continue my fencing lessons, I'd be obliged."
"And I would be honored."
"As will I be if you will consent to be my guests." The emperor bowed to me and I returned the bow. "You realize of course, that you are still the Knight-Defender of the Empire." Reaching over, he plucked a glove from where it was tucked into the belt of one of his guards and displayed it to me. "As you can see by this brand, we still observe traditions here."
"Then you know I would be honored to be your guest, If that is acceptable to my companions." Berengar and Gena both nodded their assent. "High time, you do realize I also have a Dreel in my company?"
Hardelwick's face lit up. "Shijef?"
"His great, great grandson Stulklirn "
"He is welcome as well." The emperor clapped his hands. "In one old diary I read of the feast Beltran intended to throw when you returned from the Reithrese war. As you have consented to return after five hundred years, I think it only fitting I complete his plans—if that is acceptable."
"It is, Highness, provided one thing, I'm thinking."
"Yes?"
I smiled. "I consent as long as you're going to be using food that wasn't put up at the same time I was put down."
Chapter 39:
Once More To The City Of Gold
Winter
A.R. 499
The Present
***
HAD SHE BEEN asked to determine which of her companions would have been least enthusiastic with the suggestion of an imperial reception, she would have said Berengar would reject the idea. In fact, the suggestion sparked in him a pleasant attitude that had been rare since they left Jarudin on their way to Cygestolia. It was as if the recovery of Cleaveheart had been the climactic point of the mission and returning it to Aurdon was little more than perfunctory.
Despite his banter with Hardelwick when the offer was made, Neal seemed least at ease with the idea of a celebration. He agreed because there was no way not to agree to the honor—that much seemed clear to her—but she felt he would just as soon have quit the capital as fast as possible. Though he seemed happy to have reclaimed his sword from the place where it had been secreted after his death, melancholy took the edge off his normally stout-hearted person.
The Dreel, whom they found waiting for them in the suite of rooms the emperor gave over to them, appeared to like the capital and greeted the idea of remaining for a day with pleasure. "Capital cats fat be," he reported while smacking his lips.
It took Gena a while to put together her feelings on the idea of the celebration, and they were not crystallized even after a full day spent purchasing suitable clothing for herself and watching Berengar prepare for the feast. She realized she was doing everything she would have done, and, in fact, had done, to prepare for similar events in the past, but something seemed wrong in all of it. She found herself getting ready for the feast with the same trepidation with which one might walk across ice of an undetermined thickness. Passage was possible, but each step brought with it fear of disaster and a knowledge that the sound fundaments of the world may be nothing more than eggshell thin.
The palace contained a ballroom that dwarfed the one in the Fisher mansion in Aurdon, and it had been scrubbed clean and brightly lit for the gala. Enough candles burned in that room to set up their own wind currents, and light gleamed from polished gold and silver fixtures, as well as marble statuary and the multicolored floor. Silk streamers and drapes splashed blue and red throughout, and food and drink flowed in abundance.
In spite of the obvious preparations, the room and the people seemed wrong. The room had no life and people moved awkwardly through it. They appeared nervous and studied every little detail as if they were seeing each for the first time. Gena realized, of course, that was likely, which meant the room had been seldom used and, therefore, made everyone uneasy. Had they commonly been called to the room for festivities, they would have been used to it, and even oblivious to some of the more exquisite works of art hung on the walls—pity though that might have been.
The social mix likewise seemed designed to promote awkward and anxious relations. The first circle of guests—Gena thought of them this way because they seemed to cluster together in the northeast corner of the room—were imperial nobles of every rank, sex, and age. Their fine clothes were not new and, while in keeping with the red-and-blue color scheme, attained compliance by the use of scarves, hose, and ribbons that could be added or removed with ease.
Yet that seemed to be the only easy thing about them. Gena watched them interact and found them akin to a pack of dogs sniffing about to determine their correct social status. Clearly in the running for one of the primary positions, Berengar moved among them with a confidence and casual air that suggested he had no doubt as to where he belonged. He deferred to those who were clearly his superiors, by dint of age or wealth, yet remained cordial with those who were obviously beneath him. If he snubbed anyone, it was only someone the others snubbed, reinforcing his right to be there among them by helping exclude those who did not belong.
The second and third circles of guests had been selected by the emperor because of their connections to Neal and his era. Sharp and precise, the officers of the Emperor's Own Steel Pack seemed to take great delight in showing off their martial finery. Each of them wore a branded leather glove on his left hand and snapped to attention when Neal or the emperor passed by. Neal spent a certain amount of time speaking with them, which they seemed to enjoy. From what she heard of the conversations, she assumed that listening intently to old war stories was an acquired skill.
The third circle of guests were the descendants of the people Neal and her grandfather had referred to as "Mountain Men." She knew that the survivors of the group that willingly allowed itself to be trapped in the Hiris mountains had been rewarded with homes in the capital, but from the looks of their descendants, their exaltation had not survived more than a generation or two. All of them appeared to be well mannered, but grossly out of their class at the gathering. Tradesmen mostly, from the looks of their hands, they huddled together in small groups and spoke in low whispers with each other.
Neal spent an inordinate amount of time with those [sm]all peasant knots. She stood by him as painfully shy people introduced themselves and told him who their ancestor among the Mountain Men had been. Neal universally greeted them warmly and managed to come up with one anecdote or another concerning their kin. The people graciously excused themselves when he finished, but walked away with warm smiles to meet others of their kind and swap their stories.
She managed to steer Neal aside at one point and pressed a goblet of wine into his hands. "All that talking must make you thirsty."
He nodded wearily and drank a bit. "Wouldn't think it, but after this time I can actually see in them faces I knew."
Gena smiled, then looked down into the dark depths of her own wine. "Are all of those stories true?"
Neal's green eyes narrowed for a moment, then he nodded. "I'm thinking I'm remembering right. Only been about six months to me since I was up in the mountains freezing along with all of their kin. When they give me some details, I can remember most of them. Things have changed, of course, as stories come down through the years. The Mountain Men were all good folks, and I'm thinking they'd be happy that their kin are still living free because of what they did. It would make the sacrifice worth it."
She looked up into his face. "Do you think it was worth it?"
Surprise raised his eyebrows. "I always thought it was worth it. History, at least as reported to me by the Steel Pack and these people, has made the whole fight against the Reithrese into some glorious crusade where all of the people on the correct side of the conflict were rewarded with the spoils of the Reithrese Empire. They have made it
into a war of loot, but that wasn't what it was at all. We fought the Reithrese because they denied us freedom and kept us as slaves."
"But knowing that there would be rewards for your actions must not have hurt things."
Neal shook his head emphatically. "We all thought we were going to die, and we were willing to die. If you ask any man or woman here to put a price on his life, you'll find no amount of gold or jewels will suffice. But if you ask the same person if he would be willing to lay down his life so his children and their children will never have to face slavery, there's scarcely one here who would tell you he would not."
He drank a bit as the vehemence behind his words sank into Gena. "You see, Genevera, the Reithrese built an empire to enrich themselves. We liberated an empire to free ourselves. That people became rich and successful after the fact does not mean that we fought our battles because of money. Some of those who were best in battle were likely worst in commerce or agriculture, so they did not benefit from their efforts in the way someone else might have. The point is, though, that we all fought so our futures would not be limited, not so we could limit the futures of others so as to enrich ourselves."
Neal hesitated, then smiled. "Forgive me, I did not mean to lecture you. I . . . it's quite a shock to see what sort of stories survive. We are as removed now from my war as I was from the Eldsaga. I wonder now about some of the things I held as truths about Elves because of how the stories were warped."
"But does that matter?"
Neal frowned. "Does it not?"
Gena shrugged. "You managed to look past what the Eldsaga said and become friends with my grandfather. You endured incredible abuse at the hands of my people, but you never rejected them. You never struck out against them, you fought for and with them. What you did, not what you thought, made all the difference."
She pointed to the crowd of Humanity moving toward the walls as the musicians in the northwest corner began to play. "It does not matter if these people think the war was fought for riches or freedom. The fact is that they remain free and they jealously guard their freedom. Berengar's quest to find Cleaveheart and end your domination of his family's destiny is just a small example of how valued freedom has become. The emperor is less a dictator than he is an archivist. That for which you fought lives on."
"Your point is well-taken."
Gena looked out at the couples filling the dance floor. "Would you care to dance?"
Something painful flashed through Neal's eyes before he forced a smile onto his face. "I am afraid the only Elven dance I know is the torris, and I doubt it is seen as suitable for display outside Cygestolia."
"I am well versed in all sorts of the dances found among Men." She reached for his goblet to set it on a table beside hers, but he kept it out of her grasp.
"Please, Genevera, do not take this wrong but"—he looked down—"the last time I danced, it was with Larissa. Yesterday, in recovering the sword, I saw her again. My past and the present are slamming together here, which means that while I would love to dance with you, I would feel awkward doing so."
Gena sensed his withdrawal and decided not to let him get away. "Are you saying, Neal, that you think my grandaunt would have begrudged me this dance? Are you thinking she would have denied you a chance to dance with her grandniece?"
"No, but . . ."
She snatched away his goblet with her left hand, then took his left hand in her right. "You remember Larissa well, Neal Roclawzi. She would smile to see us like this, and for my part, I want to see if you actually are as good a dancer as she said you were."
One turn on the floor led to another, so the memory of that night's dancing managed to bring a smile to Gena's face even to the point when their journey south had brought them within sight of Aurdon. The emperor had reluctantly allowed them to leave on the promise that Neal would return to Jarudin to help fill in the gaps in the history of how the empire was won. Neal agreed and even allowed the emperor to reinvest him as Knight-Defender of the Empire in a ceremony that included the Steel Pack presenting him with a pair of gloves in which the left hand had been branded with the mountain rune.
A company of the Steel Pack had ridden with them to the borders of Ispar, then turned back before entering Centisian territory. The three weeks spent traveling with them had proved beneficial for keeping Neal's spirits up. The experienced swordsmen among the imperial soldiers took great delight in sparring with Neal and Berengar. While Hardelwick's men were good, and displayed a number of different fencing styles, Neal and Berengar clearly had an edge over all of them. Numerous promises of return matches were shouted back and forth when the Steel Pack departed for the capital.
She found the remaining ten days between the border and Aurdon entertaining. As they rode through territory Berengar knew well, he felt constrained to point out things of interest. His pride in Centisia became evident in his voice and, when they had stopped for breaks, in the way he paced back and forth. Neal tolerated being lectured, but the Dreel took to aping Berengar's strutting in a comical and decidedly unflattering manner, which set Berengar off.
Berengar and Neal began to fence a great deal more earnestly. Berengar still had an edge over Neal, but the gap between them closed quickly. Gena saw more of the unusual and odd moves from the imperial soldiers show up in Neal's repertoire. Berengar managed to counter most all of the ploys Neal used, but he had to work harder at it than he ever had before.
Just outside Aurdon they met a patrol of the Aurdon Rangers. Gena recognized Captain Floris, but had remembered him as a more carefree sort of individual. In the six months since she had last seen him, he had lost weight and had added a scar along his jawline. Even so the Man remained gracious and greeted their party warmly.
"Welcome home. Count Berengar. I am very glad to see you here again. How went your quest?"
Berengar looked over at Neal. "We succeeded. This is Neal Roclawzi and he bears Cleaveheart."
Floris's jaw dropped. "But, but, Neal Roclawzi died five hundred years ago." He shivered. "His ghost has . . ."
"Yes, yes, Floris, this is true. But it is also true that, thanks to Lady Genevera, he lives again." Berengar smiled carefully. "He was told of our plight and has come to set it to rights."
Neal reined Scurra up and offered Floris his hand.
"Pleased to meet you. Captain Floris, is it?"
"Yes, sir."
Neal smiled warmly at the soldier and at his men. "A fine group of soldiers you have here, Captain. I gather from what I have been told and your relief at seeing Count Berengar here, that the Haladina have continued to harass caravans coming into Aurdon."
"More than that, sir, they have burned a number of farms. The panic is forcing the price of grain up, which is causing a great deal of unrest in the city." He looked over at Berengar. "Half the Rangers are deployed to guard the warehouses to prevent people from looting them."
"This is most serious, but now we can deal with it appropriately. The treachery that has culminated in this series of events will soon have its own reward." Berengar pointed at one of the soldiers. "Ride back into the city and inform my family that I am returned successful."
Neal frowned. "We could ride on in just as easily as he can. I'm certain Captain Floris has his patrol to continue."
Berengar waved that idea off with a flick of his right hand. "Hardly, he is escorting us into the city. It is his duty and his honor."
"It is an honor, my Lord."
Neal shook his head. "I hated parades, and I'd rather be out killing Haladina than riding with us back into Aurium."
"Aurdon, Neal, it has changed since you were last here." Berengar laughed and started to ride toward the city. "You will find yourself most welcome among my people. Come, we will prepare for a ceremony tomorrow night in which you can undo the curse beneath which you placed us, and true justice can again determine the course of events in Aurdon. And then we will celebrate this new freedom with a festival the like of which you have never seen."
Ge
na fell in beside Neal as they rode into the city. Floris and Berengar preceded them and the other Rangers rode behind them, but they had enough room from either group to be able to converse without being overheard. A wave of weariness washed over Gena, but she forced it away with a laugh until she saw Neal's dour expression.
"What is the matter? This is almost finished."
Neal shook his head. "Nothing, really, though I should have expected it. I'm thinking that Berengar reminds me of your grandfather when he was in the company of other Elves. On the road we have been of equal importance, all of us. Now, because we are going into his city, he eclipses us."
Gena raised an eyebrow. "I'd not thought Neal Custos Sylvanii would be jealous of anyone."
"Jealous?" Neal frowned, then laughed. "I don't think I'm jealous. I have never wanted what Berengar has."
"You don't find his notoriety vexing?"
"Is that inquiry serious?" Neal watched her carefully, and she sensed she had asked something that lessened her in his eyes. "I have never been one to imagine another person's being praised in any way diminished me. If anything, I can now enjoy an anonymity that eluded me for a long time."
"Forgive me, Custos Sylvanii, I did not mean to presume."
He nodded. "I know." He reached out and touched her lightly on the shoulder, then quickly withdrew his hand. "There is much of your grandaunt in you, and sometimes I forget that you do not know everything she did about me. How she understood me, I do not know, but why, I do."
"Vitamorii."
Neal pounded his right fist against his chest. "She still lives in there, and I'm not of a mind to evict her. But she knew that it would take ambition for me to be jealous of Berengar."
"And you have no ambition."
"Not exactly." His smile returned in full force and made Gena feel better. "It's just that my ambition is to avoid being ambitious."
As they entered the city, Gena watched Neal as he saw what Aurium had become. The shock remained evident on his face throughout the journey. He sat tall in his saddle as he rode through the Haladin district, but the stern expression he had adopted softened when he saw children playing with dogs in the streets. He stood in the stirrups to peer deep into the open market, then waved at the troopers as they rode to their barracks.
Once A Hero Page 49
