Blade of Empire

by Mercedes Lackey

  “I will hope we need none at all,” Vieliessar answered honestly. “Certainly not to Heal a battlefield of wounded. But if it were done, it would be useful.”

  “‘If’ it were done,” Miras said. “Is the High King not to order it done?”

  “How should that be,” Vieliessar answered, “when the Lightborn who must perform this task serve Houses which have not yet sworn fealty? The High King may ask. Just as she can ask for Lightborn to travel with the scouting parties that must go. But I will not order.”

  “And yet, all here have sworn fealty to the High King,” Iardalaith said.

  “True enough,” Vieliessar said. “But I know as well as any of you that the Light is more than a sword and a shield. It is our breath, our heartbeat. I will permit neither bodies nor spirits to be enslaved. Landbond and Lightborn are free.”

  “And the great lords will have to heat their own bathwater,” Miras said mockingly. No one rebuked him.

  “I will see if there are any who are willing, and bring their names to the High King as soon as I may,” Iardalaith said. He got to his feet and held out his hand to her. Vieliessar took it, and as she stood, Thurion did also. “And now, permit me to conduct you to your pavilion—though I am certain it will be many candlemarks before you sleep.”

  It was a graceful dismissal, and Vieliessar accepted it. She folded her cloak more firmly about her as Iardalaith summoned a wisp of Silverlight to guide them, and the three of them left the Lightborn encampment.

  “There is a matter you did not wish to speak of before the others,” Vieliessar observed, when they had gone about half the distance. “Will you speak of it now, to Varuthir?”

  Even now Iardalaith hesitated a moment before he spoke. “You know that Daroldan and Amrolion are domains of close kinship, for between them they hold the Western Shore against the Beastlings. I Farspeak Belfrimrond Lightbrother at my cousin’s court as often as I may.”

  “As would I, did I have distant kin,” Vieliessar answered, wondering why Iardalaith—born a prince of Daroldan—was speaking of things they both already knew.

  “The Beastlings seem to know the Domains of the Western Shore cannot call upon the Houses of the West for aid,” Iardalaith said, sounding troubled. “In fact, I am not certain there is a taille of komen left anywhere in the West just now, and if there were, they would be our enemies until they had received word of their liege-lords. But Amrolion and Daroldan must have aid, and it has never been a contravention of the Covenant to use Magery against the Beastlings. Leopheine Amrolion sent Princess Ciadorre to ask for help in the only place from which they might obtain it.”

  “The Sanctuary of the Star,” Thurion said.

  “Ulvearth Lightsister rode with her,” Iardalaith said. “Ulvearth Farspoke Handiniel Lightbrother of Amrolion a sennight ago to say that they would reach the Sanctuary the next day. But there has been no word since.”

  Nor will there be tribute caravans this Wheelturn, bringing tithes and Candidates to the Sanctuary of the Star. At least they have Rosemoss Farm to feed those who remain there, Vieliessar thought.

  “Even if the Astromancer delayed receiving them, Ulvearth should have sent to say so,” Vieliessar said, understanding now why he was so troubled. “I know of no Warding that can block Farspeech.”

  “Nor do I,” Iardalaith said grimly. “Whether Ciadorre succeeded, or failed, or was simply delayed, Ulvearth should have sent word to Amrolion, and Daroldan would have heard it soon after.”

  “If she could,” Vieliessar said. Warding could not block Farspeech, but at the very least, Farspeech required time and quiet. “Let me think,” she said. It was an admission of vulnerability, but she trusted Iardalaith and Thurion as she trusted no one else, even Rithdeliel.

  They waited in silence, as still as the trees of the forest. Vieliessar felt herself once more visualizing what must be done as if this were a xaique-board in mid-game. History taught that to hold the West, one must hold the Western Shore. She could not retake the West if she had to fight the Beastlings to do it. Nor did she dare leave Hamphuliadiel to his own devices. The Vilya had fruited several seasons before, signaling the change of Astromancers, yet Hamphuliadiel had bespelled the Vilya in the Sanctuary garden so it would not fruit and used that as a pretext to retain his power. He was her implacable enemy, and there was no custom to make the Astromancer swear fealty to a High King—indeed, during their reigns, the Astromancers’ fealty even to their own Houses was in abeyance. So long as he was Astromancer, Hamphuliadiel owed no fealty to Less House Haldil. Or to her. Or to anyone or anything but his own ambitions. And she was no longer certain what those were.

  “We must know why,” she said at last, opening her eyes. “We must know not merely Ciadorre’s fate, but what Hamphuliadiel has done—or not done. And I must keep my promise to those who have sworn fealty to me.”

  “You can’t get an army through the Dragon’s Gate in Rain Moon,” Iardalaith said. “Not this year. The winter was hard. And … I would not wish to be the one who had to order my army into the field a few sennights after the battle they have just fought,” he added reluctantly.

  “Nor shall I,” Vieliessar said, the plan growing in her mind even as she spoke. “But the Southern Pass Road will be clear by the time you reach it, I think. Thurion?”

  “It is far to the south of the Dragon’s Gate,” Thurion said. “Yes. I think so. Caerthalien would send messengers east this early, and they must have gotten through somehow. And the tribute caravans had to cross into the West by Rain Moon to reach the Sanctuary by Flower. As you know,” he said with a small smile, for Vieliessar had spent decades longer at the Sanctuary than any other Postulant.

  “Then there is a way to reach the Shore,” she said decisively. “Iardalaith, you must send such Lightborn as you think best into the West. Bring aid to the Western Shore, and find what you can about Hamphuliadiel’s plans. I ask only that you yourself remain here, for I shall need your counsel in the days ahead. But I leave this campaign in your hands.”

  “It will be another sennight before we can strike the Healing Tents,” Thurion said. He turned to Iardalaith. “Send them after that.”

  “As if I could send them tomorrow even if I chose!” Iardalaith said, relief plain in his voice. “But in a fortnight … that can be done.” He met Vieliessar’s gaze. “I would send two great-tailles of Lightborn. If you intend to move into the Uradabhur at the same time … it will not leave many here in Celenthodiel.”

  Two great-tailles was nearly three hundred people. And the Lightborn injured in the Banespell still required tending. It would leave few indeed for other services.

  “To heat bathwater and find lost gloves?” Vieliessar asked lightly. “That time is past. My princes will discover my rule to be harsh, I fear—Lightborn will no longer be ornaments of rank and power.”

  An easy promise to make, Vieliessar reflected. A harder one to keep.

  * * *

  “I suppose I am to tell my steward that he is to leave the wine to spoil and the bread to rot?” Sedreret Aramenthiali asked.

  The day after she returned from her visit to the Lightborn, Vieliessar gathered her War Council together again, this time to address the matter of the Lightborn. There were many who still resided in the households of their masters, as they always had. And they all, Lord and Lightborn, must be reminded that the Lightborn were now free.

  “If you like,” Vieliessar answered. “I do not see why it should. The Lightborn wish to eat as much as anyone. They will set those necessary spells as they always have. And you will reward their labor, just as you always have.”

  “And if another should grant them a richer reward?” Ivaloriel Telthorelandor asked. “A Great Keep cannot be maintained without Magery.”

  “So it cannot,” Vieliessar said. “But you do not ask your Craftworkers to labor without recompense. Nor your Farmfolk. Nor even your castel servants. I say only that you will treat the Lightborn in your service as you treat your vassals.”


  “As much as if they were great princes—and you have seen to that, with this plan to send half of them away!” Sedreret said. “If my servants do not please me, I can have them flogged. If my komen refuse my orders, I can have them executed. I cannot do either of these things to my Lightborn.”

  “You can’t do it to your servants, now, either,” Caradan Master Archer pointed out helpfully. “Not without a Lawgiver’s word. Nor can you keep them if they wish to leave.”

  Only Vieliessar’s presence kept Lord Sedreret in his seat. Caradan had spoken only truth: Vieliessar had promised law and justice for all, and it was a promise she intended to keep.

  “What an interesting future you plan for us,” Sedreret said at last. “My lord king.”

  “Perhaps you will wish to ask Nadalforo for her advice?” Rithdeliel said sweetly. “Somehow she manages to keep order among her people without executions.”

  “Because we’d kick them out of Stonehorse-as-was if they broke the rules,” Nadalforo said cheerfully. “And that meant they’d starve, if they couldn’t find another Free Company to take them in. And if they were useless enough, they couldn’t. It’s simple enough, Lord Sedreret. You pay people, and you take care of them.”

  Lord Ivaloriel waved a languid hand. “Fascinating as it is to discover that the Lightborn are now to model themselves upon a mercenary company, it begs the question: How are we to do without them?”

  “You don’t,” Annobeunna Keindostibaent said. “You just use them wisely. We are not all High House lords here at this table. Some of us know what it is to have our Lightborn taken from us along with our grain and our cattle.” She favored the others with a cold smile. “One survives.”

  The meeting eventually returned to its purpose—planning the pacification of the Uradabhur—and Vieliessar made sure her words were carried to all in the Princes’ Council as well.

  Lightborn are not chattel.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  RAIN MOON: THE ROAD PAVED WITH SWORDS

  The alfaljodthi were not the first folk of the land, nor shall they be the last. Yet when they came, the same ambition burned in their hearts as had burned there since the stars fell to earth: to be the only folk.

  —Chronicle of the Nine Races

  Leutric was King-Emperor. From the land beyond the Peaks of Leunechemar to Great Sea Ocean, from Eternal Snow to Eternal Sand, all the folk of the Nine Races agreed: Leutric was King of the Minotaurs, Emperor of all the Otherfolk and of the Brightfolk as well. All had agreed that Leutric should lead them and bring peace to the land and the end of all war.

  The trouble was, he couldn’t. Not while the Children of Stars had more kings than Leutric had wives and made war as easily as they made more of their accursed kind. It had taken centuries for the Otherfolk to understand that even Pelashia’s sacrifice couldn’t gain them peace, not while the Children of Stars lived. But now, the war-hunger of the Elves had turned upon their own kind as never before. Now there was a chance.

  The Children of Stars have returned to the city of their shame. We will bind them to the stones of Celephriandullias until the stars they worship grow cold and dark. And, at last, there will be an ending.

  * * *

  “You’re brooding again, old bull,” Melisha said.

  Leutric looked up as Melisha entered the chamber. The living trees reflected the light of the unicorn’s coat as if she walked in her own beam of moonlight. Delfierarathadan belonged, as it always had, to the Otherfolk. It did not matter that it was bounded on either side by Elven Lands. The Nine Races had taught the Children of Stars this Flower Forest was entered only at their peril.

  He sighed deeply. “I have reason to brood,” he said shortly.

  “And I thought this war was going so well,” Melisha answered. She stopped at the far edge of Leutric’s living throne room, for she could approach no nearer: there were certain of the Nine Races that both possessed—and could lose—the elusive quality of purity, and the unicorns, the living embodiment of purity, found the proximity of those that had lost that purity distasteful. It was, Melisha always assured him, nothing personal.

  “As you said yourself, the best war is one the enemy doesn’t know he’s fighting. It looks like that’s changed,” the Minotaur answered.

  “No,” Melisha said, taking a cautious step closer, “I don’t think so.”

  “Thousands are dead and you don’t think so?” Leutric rose to his feet with a growl. His sweeping ivory horns brushed the living canopy overhead, and he lashed his tail in anger.

  “I don’t deny they’re dead,” Melisha said, standing her ground.

  “I hope not,” Leutric snarled. “Spellmother Frause spiritwalked to see. The whole of the Southern Flower Forest is dust—along with every creature in it who could not flee.”

  Many of the Nine Races—Bearwards, Centaurs, Gryphons; those creatures whose bodies were flesh and fur and feather—could roam as they chose. Others—fairies, pixies, many of the Dryads—were bound to the places they were born.

  “I am sorry,” Melisha said, bowing her head so that her long spiral horn was parallel to the ground. “It is a terrible thing to lose so many of the Brightfolk. But I, too, have my sources. I say it was not as you believe.”

  “Then give me your wise counsel, windrunner. Tell me it didn’t happen at all. Let us laugh together at my foolishness.”

  Leutric flung himself into his seat again. Though it creaked alarmingly, it was living wood, shaped and tended as it grew. It held.

  “Don’t sulk,” Melisha said with a sigh. “Not with so many dead. Yes, against all the teachings of Mosirinde Truefriend, the Children of Stars drained the Flower Forest to dust. But not because of us. I don’t think they even knew we were there.”

  “Cold comfort so far,” Leutric said darkly.

  “True,” Melisha agreed. “But it was drained when they fought the great battle they have been galloping toward for even longer than they know, because to win it, one of their Lightborn used the Forbidden Magery. His side lost, you’ll be pleased to know.”

  “Better if both sides lost,” Leutric muttered. “Then they’d all be dead.”

  “And the Darkness would come for us at first instead of at last,” Melisha said. “I’ve told you before: this plan of yours isn’t going to work.”

  “So you keep saying,” Leutric said. “And I say I am King-Emperor. War for them is hope for us. The only hope we have. We will drive them east until we drive them into the Sea of Storms and drown them there. It’s what our ancestors should have done.”

  Melisha’s sides heaved with the force of her exasperated sigh. “And when the Darkness flies forth on the Red Harvest?”

  “They won’t,” Leutric said uneasily.

  “Oh, yes they will, old bull,” Melisha said sharply. “Count on it. How many of the herd have vanished just in your lifetime?”

  “The Darkness hunts,” Leutric admitted. “It has always hunted. So what? Hunting is not Harvesting. I might as well go into battle against winter or storm as against the Darkness.”

  “They do more than hunt, you great idiot,” Melisha said, stamping her hoof soundlessly against the thick moss that covered the floor of the living chamber. “They breed. Their numbers increase.”

  “So their numbers increase,” Leutric said wearily. “I can’t do anything about that, either. But I can do something about the Elves. And I will.”

  “Just as you say,” Melisha said long-sufferingly. “And doubtless the Darkness will thank you for doing so much of its work for it—and for denying us our only hope of survival.”

  “You speak yet again of the Bones of the Earth,” Leutric said. “And I tell you this: I shall not give up that secret until the last of the Children of Stars is dead.”

  “At which point there will be little use in giving it up at all,” Melisha answered. “There’s clearly no use trying to talk to you. Call me when you come to your senses.”

  With a bound, the unicorn was away.
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  * * *

  “Do what you can,” Vieliessar said to Lawspeaker Commander Gollor, upon hearing the latest tales of drunkenness, fighting, and theft among the refugees she had barely begun to govern.

  If she held open court every day to hear the complaints her people had of her and of each other, Vieliessar would have no time to do anything else, but to hear the words of her Lawspeakers was crucial, for the High King’s justice could not be meted out fairly if she did not know what was happening. While her War Princes kept her peace and ruled over the komen, and her Lightborn ruled themselves, the refugees that flooded Celephriandullias-Tildorangelor were not bound to answer to any of her lords and Lightborn: she must rule them directly through her Lawspeakers. Most of the new guild had come from the survivors of her army, and though their numbers grew daily, they were still too few to keep the peace—and at the same time, too many for Vieliessar to take the report of each one directly. Fortunately, the Lawspeakers had organized themselves into tailles: each taille’s captain collected the reports of their people, and every grand-taille had a commander who did little more than collect the reports from the others and bring them to her. Each sunturn, before she and her private council began the work of the day, she heard from one of them, but the system was unwieldy and becoming more so with each passing sennight.

  Soon I shall have to ask them to choose a grand commander to take the reports of the commanders so I may hear them in a timely fashion, and then I shall be lost, for words that must pass through so many throats to reach me will retain little of meaning or sense.

  “My lord king,” Gollor said unhappily, bowing her head. “I know not what that might be. We cannot immure them, as you know, for there is no place. We cannot fine them, for they have nothing. Beating…” she shrugged. “What Landbond does not know what it is to be beaten? It means nothing.” Gollor had been born Landbond. She knew what she was talking about.

  And to let them do as they will serves no one, for if I cannot assure the safety of my folk in my own lands, how can I expect them to believe I can give them a land at peace?