by Carol Berg
“We have ways. I need to take him home.”
“It will be done. Give me an hour. Wait in the fountain court behind Druya’s shrine. I’ll have everything brought to you there.”
“Thank you, my lord.” I bowed to him ... as a man bows, not as a slave.
Kiril extended his hand. “You have done the Empire—the world—such service as there are no words to express.
Even if we fully understood it.” We shook hands, then he hurried away, sending the guards back to their posts.
Music—wild desert pipes against the droning mellanghar—drifted from the brilliantly lit Palace. They would be drinking toasts and watching the whirling dezrhila dancers spin out the legends of Derzhi history. I sat in the little garden outside the priests’ room and thought of Rhys, stories from the past, when we were young and invincible, and would emerge from danger excited and glowing, as Kiril was, instead of tired, and lonely, and homesick.
I was suddenly overwhelmed with such a longing to be home among my own people that it was a physical effort to remain in the little garden. It would not be easy to go back. Ysanne could not revoke my undeath on her own whim. Though I believed she would fight for me—and Catrin could be no mean ally—there would be a great number of my people who would strongly resist violating our oldest traditions, even to regain the services of the only living Warden. And that would not be the last change they had to face. The world ... the demons and our war ... were going to change. We had to be ready.
As for Ysanne ... I knew she was waiting for me. Her love had followed me into horror and held strong and unyielding until I returned. Her music had always been for me. Yet we would need to find our way back to each other, Ysanne and I. So many stones had fallen into the stream of youthful passion, it would take some doing to discover how the water ran. Soon, my love. Soon.
If not for a remaining sliver of reason, I would have set out right then and run across the desert without stopping until I had the high valley of Dael Ezzar in sight. Yet I would make the journey sooner and safer if I had transport, and I would not leave Rhys behind. It was the only thing I could give him. Ysanne and I would always carry a burden of guilt about Rhys: Ysanne for her childish flirtation with my friend, I for the pride and self-absorption that had blinded me to his need. I had been so sure of him. So sure of myself. So sure of Ysanne. She had rebelled and dallied with Rhys, never thinking he would believe her or link his feeling for her to his other problems with me. Neither of us had listened to him, and so together we had woven a landscape where his weakness could flourish. Our regret would not change what had happened, only make our grief for the big laughing youth more bitter.
So much to consider. So much to remember. The weeks of traveling that lay before me would not be idle.
It was more like two hours until my mounts arrived. I kept my guard up this time, so I heard the steps on the path and stood ready long before the young steward came through the garden gate leading two horses and a chastou. The desert beast was laden with water casks and leather food bags, and one horse was burdened with a long wrapped bundle, tied securely and respectfully to its back and draped with a white velvet cloth. Across the saddle of the other horse was laid a white desert robe and scarf. “Speak Lord Kiril’s name to the gate guards,” said the boy. “Tell them you’re the one he told of, and you’ll be passed through.”
I thanked him, checked the bindings, and prepared to mount up. But when the lad was gone, there was still breathing from the shadowed corner of the garden.
“Did you think to leave without seeing me?”
I smiled and turned, discovering the lanky form sitting on a broken fountain, his arms around his knees, almost invisible in the darkness. “You have a great deal to keep you occupied,” I said.
“A great deal more than my prospects of the morning warranted.” He unfolded his legs, but stayed where he was. “We’re off to finish the Khelid tomorrow. I go east, Kiril north, Marag south, my father west. I’m even in the good graces of the Magician’s Guild again.”
“Be careful with them, my lord. They have only a smattering of melydda, but no concept of how to use it carefully.” I clamped my mouth shut. “I’m sorry ... always one more lesson.”
“Never apologize for telling me what I need to hear. I am not as I was before I knew you. I have fallen as low as a man can go, and you have raised me up again. I won’t forget it.”
“Whatever I found in you was there all along.”
He growled in mock ferocity. “Of course, you’ve caused me a lot of trouble. I’ve had to find a new scribe.”
I laughed and adjusted the stirrups on the horse. “And I’ve no time to give him lessons ... or warn him about your habits.”
“Lydia loaned him. I think he’ll do well. He doesn’t say what he’s thinking, either, but then, I don’t believe he’s thinking all that much. You’ll find some of his work in the small pack on your mount. Review it when you have time and let me know what you think.”
“I will,” I said, mounting up. “If you ever have need of me ...”
“Be safe, my guardian.”
“Be wise, my prince.”
He was laughing as I rode away, through the streets of his city and into the desert.
It was on the next morning when I stopped at a small rocky outcrop to wait out the worst heat of the day that I unwrapped a rolled leather bundle to find the two well-written papers. The first was a writ sealed by the newly anointed heir. It stated that, despite physical marking that might indicate otherwise, the Ezzarian who bore the letter was a free man, not to be detained, made captive, abused, or mishandled in any way under penalty of banishment from the Empire or death. A precious writing indeed. Even an illiterate warrior could not ignore Aleksander’s seal.
But it was the second paper that caught my breath.
A Continuation of the History of the Glorious Dakrah of Aleksander, Crown Prince of the Derzhi Empire, as begun at Capharna and continued this fifth day of the Month of the Bull by the hand of Illeos of Avenkhar.
After this most holy anointing in the manner prescribed by the overlord Tyros when his son Athos came to his majority in the Courts of the Sky, the Emperor Ivan zha Denischkar did proclaim Aleksander to the people as his beloved son and heir, as their Emperor’s Voice and Hand. And after they had retired from the place of the anointing, the Emperor did ask Prince Aleksander what gift he desired to remember the day: horses or lands, gems or gold, slaves or wine, women or titles, or perhaps songs to be made of his trials and his victory over the unholy Khelid treachers.
The Prince contemplated the riches offered him, but without hesitation spoke his mind. “One thing, honored father, I would ask of you. Far to the south lies a warm, green land once known as Ezzaria. Some of your nobles have occupied it these past years, but I am looking for a suitable site to build myself a palace, a sanctuary where I can take my bride on the day my marriage is blessed by your hand. I would ask that you grant me all titles to Ezzaria, compensating those displaced with twice the lands in Khelidar or other territories that are under my rule. I will take possession of this land at the summer solstice and travel the houses there to see if any are to my liking. I desire it to be a private territory, no trade routes through it, no use of its timber or game unless I say it, and this to be written into the law of the Empire so that it will extend beyond my death for as long as the Derzhi rule.”
The Emperor expressed his astonishment with the modest request of the Prince and his pleasure at my lord’s care for those noble families displaced by his desire. With his hand and his seal the Emperor has commanded that all be done as the Prince has spoken.
At the bottom of this finely written page were a few words, drawn in crude, childlike letters.
It is yours.
A.
rom.Net
