“You made this decision on your own?” Dorio asked.
“Yes. Is that so surprising?”
“We don’t have that luxury. My order is a strict hierarchy—I’ll have to talk over what you’ve said with my superiors.”
“Good,” Narrion said. “But you have to hurry.”
“Why?”
“Because the queen is about to declare war. Do you hear nothing of the world outside in this great observatory of yours?”
“Very little,” Dorio said. “The order does not encourage us to leave the observatory.” He looked down at Narrion’s hands, at the land-rings on his fingers. “I know that the queen has raised you high on the ladder, that you have the queen’s ear. Can’t she help you?”
“I’ve just come from her council. All her thought is on war. I would not put my trust in the queen.”
Dorio said nothing for a moment. “Very well,” he said. “I’ll talk to the priests. You’re right—those of us who are bound to the gods should discuss this matter.”
“Good.”
“When do you think war will come?” Dorio asked.
“Within the week,” Narrion said. “I’ll let myself out. Good fortune, Dorio.”
He turned and left; his boots echoed in the stone stairway as he went. Would Dorio help him? The priests thought themselves inviolate, he knew; they had survived generations of war and plague and treachery hidden behind the walls of their observatory. But no wall in the world could keep out the darkness that was about to come.
Duke Arion went down Palace Hill to visit Valemar. As fortune would have it the other man was just leaving his house when Arion arrived. “Val!” he called. “Valemar!”
Val turned. “Good fortune, Arion,” he said.
“I have to ask you something,” Arion said. “You went to Tobol An, didn’t you? Is there anything there?”
“What do you mean?”
Arion hesitated, not wanting to reveal what he had learned from Callia in the council meeting. “Someone was asking me about it the other day. He wanted to visit the place for a few days and asked me to come along.”
Val laughed. “I wouldn’t. There’s nothing there but a few cottages and some ruins. Fish every night.”
“Ah,” Arion said. He took his leave and went back to his rooms at the palace. What did his sister want with such an uncivilized place? He frowned, puzzled. Perhaps he should go to Tobol An after all.
Six
ARION’S JOURNEY THROUGH THE FOREST of Thole was uneventful. The ghost-knight in the path startled him for a moment, but then he saw the cold rain falling through the man and his horse and he nodded and continued onward. He had heard tales of the wizardry of Thole Forest, but now he thought that these were stories told to frighten children, nothing more. He did not see that there was anything here more terrifying than the ghosts of Etrara.
When he came out of the forest he saw that Val had been right; Tobol An held nothing but stone cottages and a few ruins. No—a white spire towered in the distance. What was that? Should he go there? Or should he see how Callia’s troops fared against the uprising?
One of the Maegrim stood before him on the path. His pulse quickened and he looked around for the other five, his heart filled with a strange combination of fear and hope. His fortune was about to change.
But none of the other women appeared, and after a moment Arion realized that she was alone. A harmless old aunt, nothing more, he thought. She came closer and he saw that her hood was not badger skin but plain black cloth.
“Welcome, my young lord,” she said.
“I thank you, aunt,” he said. “Could you tell me—”
“Aye. I can tell you many things. You will love a foe and hate a friend, and one will betray you and the other save you. You will have your heart’s desire.”
“I—I thank you—”
“Do you?” She looked at him shrewdly with her one good eye. “You may not be so grateful when it comes to it.”
“Do you know where the queen’s commander is?”
She said nothing, but pointed upward.
He looked where she pointed and saw only rain and sky. “What—what do you mean?”
“You asked for the queen’s commander. Surely the only one to command the queen is the goddess Sbona, who lives in heaven.”
He sighed. The woman had lost her wits, that much was certain. He could not help but feel a little regret at the loss of his heart’s desire; none of the fortunetellers and natalists he had consulted in the city had ever promised him such a marvelous future.
“Good fortune, aunt,” he said, and continued on the path toward the village.
He passed a few men and women in cages, and saw that the criminals here were better fed than those in Etrara, almost plump. He frowned. What had the commander been doing? Callia was fortunate that he had decided to come here; he would straighten things out for her.
He saw a man in the queen’s uniform and asked the way to the commander’s house. To his relief the soldier pointed out one of the small houses along the path; the old woman’s madness hadn’t infected the entire village, then. He went up to the cottage and knocked.
The guard who came to the door recognized him and let him in immediately. Arion had always taken pains to get to know as many soldiers as he could, and as a result he was very popular with the army. He did not think that Callia could have ascended to the throne without his approval; in effect he, and not the Queen’s Axe, commanded the soldiers of Etrara.
“Duke Arion!” the commander said, rising from his chair and coming to greet him. “Good fortune! We are honored, sir, honored indeed. Do you come from Queen Callia?”
“Yes,” Arion said. Now he noticed that the commander seemed a little nervous, and he saw how that could be used to his advantage. “What is happening here? The criminals are well fed, and the people won’t answer a direct question—”
“These things take time, sir. Tell Queen Callia that we’re working hard, and that we’ll have the information she wants soon.”
“How—how far have you gotten?”
“We’re searching the library room by room. It’s only a matter of time before we find the birth records.”
Library, Arion thought. Birth records. There was no uprising at all, then. By the Ladder, what was Callia playing at?
His face must have shown some surprise, because the commander backed away a little and said smoothly, “I would like nothing better than to help you here, but as you can see I have a great deal of work to do. Should I appoint a man to show you around the village?”
“No. No, I thank you.”
Arion left and rode aimlessly down the path, angry at both the commander and himself. He was not clever, like Talenor, or cunning, like Mariel; both of them would have made certain they gave nothing away to the other man. But by all the gods, why did Callia want the birth records?
He could think of only one reason. She wanted to forge them so that she would seem to be Tariel’s rightful heir. But if the people accepted Callia he would lose his chance at the throne.
A shrill wind blew, flattening the knotted grasses on the plain. Arion shivered. He remembered when Mariel had come to him, seeking his support. She had been reasonable, persuasive; she had mentioned the chaos of King Galin’s time, and had warned him that civil war might come again if all of Tariel’s children did not unite behind a single ruler.
And he, stupid fool, he had agreed. Certainly, Mariel, by the Ladder let us have Callia on the throne, he had said. Had Mariel suggested to him that Callia would be easy to overthrow, that he would be the next to wear the land-ring of Etrara? He couldn’t remember. She had done something clever, had woven her web around him the way she had always been able to do when they were children. And now she ruled Etrara in Callia’s name.
The white spire shone before him. Should he go to the library? No—he knew enough about Callia’s plans, and the soldiers would certainly report his movements back to her. He urged his horse b
ack toward the forest.
For a brief moment he wondered why Val hadn’t mentioned the library. But Val was guileless, uninterested in court politics. It was his own treacherous brothers and sisters that he had to watch out for.
He reached the forest. The ghost-knight stood before him on the path. He moved through him, grinning a little. He would see to it that Callia fell from the ladder, and Mariel with her, and that he would rise by their ill fortune. Callia was the least clever of all of Tariel’s children; surely he could think of a way around her.
The man assigned to watch Arion reported to the commander. “He’s gone, sir,” the man said. “I saw him ride through the forest.”
“Did he go to the library?”
“The library? No.”
“Good,” the commander said. Duke Arion had lied when he’d said he’d come from Queen Callia, that much was certain. What had the duke wanted? He went over their conversation in his mind, hoping that he hadn’t given away any of the queen’s secrets. But if Arion hadn’t visited the library then he probably had no idea what the queen wanted here.
He dismissed the soldier and went back to his work. Suddenly he looked up at the door, a little frightened. Why hadn’t the ghost’s trumpet announced Arion? Did the ghost consider Arion a friend to Tobol An?
Two days after Arion visited Tobol An the queen declared war on Shai. Suddenly everyone in Etrara ordered a ladder to assure their good fortune in battle; the ladder makers on the Street of Spiders worked day and night to fulfill their commissions. Fortunetellers and natalists grew rich predicting a rise on the ladder for anyone who consulted them.
The wine sellers nearly sold out their entire stock as the people threw one party after another to celebrate the declaration. No one would buy the Shai wines, though, and these were eventually poured into the Darra River, or finished quietly among the wine sellers and their friends.
The parties spilled out into the streets, and Etrara shone with torchlight and lantern light as it had not done since the reign of Tariel III. A few nights after the declaration people near the Darra River saw a sight to delight and amaze them: the royal barge floated past, its banners showing the queen’s colors of black and white and gold, its lights reflecting silver on the water. Folks stood spellbound as it went by, and as it passed they heard the sound of flutes and drums.
But there were those who complained that taxes were too high, higher than anyone could remember. And with every healthy young man impressed into the army it grew harder and harder for families to meet the demands of the Queen’s Coin, to say nothing of the landlords and shopkeepers. A man whispered that the army had not had nearly enough time to train; he was caged for speaking treason a day later. He had spoken quietly and among people he had thought his friends, and in the months that followed, hanging above the pageantry that filled the streets below, he had ample time to wonder who among his friends had turned informer.
Most of the young noblemen at court had joined Callia’s army, and Val was no exception. As he had expected he was made an officer, and he spent all his time in the fields outside the Gate of Shadows drilling his men.
But there was another reason he had volunteered. He was eager to see battle, to test himself against an enemy. He wanted to understand the valor that men like Arion spoke of.
He was not yet ready, not seasoned enough in battle, to claim the throne. And if he returned a hero the people would welcome him; he might gain more support among them than Callia had.
Duchess Mariel stood next to the queen on the Street of Roses, watching as the troops filed past them. A fine rain drizzled on soldiers and nobility alike, and she was not the only one who glanced up at the thick clouds enfolding the high towers of the city, the palace and observatory and the clock tower at the university. Folks feared a stronger rain, or even snow.
She shivered in the cold air. She could not forget Narrion’s speech in council, his warning that the days were growing shorter. She and Callia had had several council meetings without Narrion since then, had demonstrated to him in a dozen subtle ways that he had not risen as high on the ladder as he had thought. Still, the rumor that Callabrion had not ascended had spread through the city like an infection. Could it be true? Could the gods be displeased with Callia, and with the part she herself had played in Gobro’s death?
She rubbed her forehead. No—they had poisoned poor Gobro after the Feast of the Ascending God, not before; there was no need to fear divine retribution. She forced herself to pay attention to the soldiers marching in front of her, trying not to wince as their booted footsteps set up an answering echo in her brain. Folks cheered as the men passed, and the bells of all the towers of the city rang out.
Callia touched her arm as Val rode by, and she waved. “He’s not wearing anyone’s favor,” Callia said.
Of course not—whose favor did Callia think he would wear? Callia seemed to regard war as a kind of game, just another of the pageants and shows put on to entertain the nobility of Etrara. As if to confirm her thoughts the queen said, “I wish we could have sent them off later in the year—we could have showered them with roses then.”
In her mind Mariel saw the soldiers pelted with the spiky branches of winter roses. She shivered; she hoped the evil vision was not an omen of ill fortune.
At last the long line of troops came to an end. She watched as they headed east toward the Gate of Roses. Then she left without waiting for Callia, going up the hill to the palace.
Except for a few guards the palace was deserted; everyone was out seeing the soldiers leave for Shai. She walked wearily up the main staircase and along the corridor to her rooms, looking forward to drinking the potion the apothecary had given her. Perhaps she would even be able to sleep.
She opened her door. Something moved at the corner of her vision and she turned toward it quickly. She screamed.
Gobro came toward her, wearing the puzzled look she had seen so often when he was alive. “Do you know where Riel is?” he said. “I can’t seem to find her anywhere.”
She screamed again. Outside she could hear the guards come pounding toward her room.
Val rode out through the Gate of Roses, his men marching behind him. They passed a few houses clustered around the gate, then farmland and fields enclosed for pasture. A few hours later these gave way to the grassy plain of Wathe.
It felt good to be out of Etrara, away from the close, stifling air of the court. A clear wind blew against his face. In the city they had passed under the arch raised to the heroes of the battle of Arbono, and he had thought, as no doubt many of his company had thought, that before the year was out there might be a new arch on the Street of Roses, one with his name inscribed on it. And what then? Callia could not remain queen forever.
Val could barely see Arion’s company up ahead of him. He hoped the duke would not leave him behind in his eagerness to join battle. They and all the other commanders had studied the battle plans the Queen’s Axe had drawn up, but Arion had seemed too impatient to pay much attention.
The wind blew over the plain, bending back the tall grasses. He thought it might even be colder here than in Etrara, and he pulled his woolen cloak closer. He turned and saw that the men marching behind him had slowed, and he reined in his horse to let them catch up.
As he waited for stragglers he thought about the men he had been sent to fight. He had heard the stories, of course—that the Shai queen married a man who was crowned as the summer god, and that the priests killed her husband six months later, when she married the god of winter. But he thought that the stories could not possibly be true, that they were tales told to frighten children and to keep the people of Etrara at odds with their age-old enemy.
The last of his men had come up, walking wearily toward the company. Several of them shivered with cold, and he eyed the vast plain before them uneasily. They were at least a week from the blue-white mountains that marked the border of Shai. The Teeth of Tura, the mountains were called, after an ancient hero who had
searched for Sbona’s children at the beginning of the world.
Val and his men continued on. After a few hours of marching the plain seemed no different, and Val remembered the tales of sorcery that had always been told about the Shai, stories of the power that was loosed with the killing of kings. The people of Shai drank blood, folks whispered, and their children spoke in poetry from the cradle, and every one of them grew up to become a poet-mage.
Val glanced up ahead. Penriel, the queen’s wizard, was traveling with Arion, but Arion’s company had disappeared. The wind blew stronger now, and seemed to cry out with a voice of its own.
The sun began to set behind him, and Val remembered something he had heard whispered in the streets of Etrara. The days were growing shorter, folks said; Callabrion had not ascended. It seemed to him now that wizardry had been loosed on the land, that something was stirring that had been stilled since the deaths of King Tariel’s mages. He thought of Tobol An, the ruins of the wizards’ war.
He looked at the plain ahead of him and decided to halt and make camp; his men did not seem to be able to travel much farther. They would catch up with Duke Arion later.
He spread his bedroll on the ground and thought once more of Tobol An. At least Taja was safe, he thought. At least her village was spared the horrors of war, and of so much else. He smiled; she knew so little of the great world around her, after all.
Val hardly slept at all; one of his men had been shivering so violently that Val had shared his blankets with him, and the man had trembled all night. Finally, toward dawn, the man seemed to have found the warmth he sought so desperately, and both he and Val dropped off to an uneasy sleep.
It seemed to Val that he had closed his eyes for a few minutes, but when he woke he saw the sun on the horizon and the long shadows of the grasses in front of him. He cursed; Arion would be far ahead of them by this time. He hurried his men through their small breakfast of hard bread and beer and they continued on.
A few days later they had their first sight of the Teeth of Tura. The peaks ahead of them shone white with snow. The sight heartened the men for a moment, and they pushed on.
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