“Maybe. As you’ve said yourself, it’s also important what her example would teach any child of ours.”
Vatar nodded agreement with that. “Maybe you should talk to someone less biased. I confess, Avaza isn’t my favorite person, either.”
Ariad started to leave, then turned back. “Is this why you asked me and my father to sponsor Thekila and Theklan into the Eagle Clan last year? So that their word would carry more weight than Avaza’s in my clan.”
Vatar shook his head again. “No. I won’t pretend I didn’t recognize that aspect. But there are other reasons why Thekila belonged in the Eagle Clan.” Vatar paused. The next obvious question was what those reasons were. And, since they all involved magic, they were not things he could explain to any Dardani. He wasn’t about to explain to Ariad that Thekila could Transform into an eagle, just like Vatar could take the form of a lion. There was, perhaps, one thing he could tell Ariad, though. “When they tattooed her Clan Mark, did you see the little charm she wears around her neck?”
Ariad cocked his head to one side. “I was preoccupied with Theklan, but my father said she wore a little metal eagle on a chain. I thought it was maybe something you’d made for her.”
“No, that’s not my handiwork,” Vatar said. “Her people all wear similar amulets, though they’re all different. It’s always some animal that represents that person’s . . . spirit, if you will. The eagle was the symbol they chose for her. Thekila was an eagle long before she was adopted by your clan.” That much, at least, was certainly true. Truer than Ariad would ever know.
Ariad smiled. “Then she’s in the right clan.”
Chapter 3: Kausalya
Gerusa looked around her new apartment with displeasure. It was not quite rustic, but the Fasallon Palace in Kausalya wasn’t nearly as large or luxurious as the Palace of the Fasallon in Caere. On the other hand, it hadn’t been hard to persuade the Kausalyan Council to name her their new leader. They’d already, very sensibly, put restrictions in place to keep Cestus’s rebellion from reaching their city. She finally had the position at the head of the Council table she’d always wanted and deserved—just in a much smaller city. Well, that would be amended in time.
Actually, though it had seemed like disaster at first, this removal to Kausalya might actually work to her benefit in the long run. Already, she had the basis of a plan. Admittedly, this plan would take longer to carry out, but the prize would be worth it. Never mind heading the High Council. Gerusa just might be able to supplant them all and rule as sole representative of the Sea Gods. No. Not representative. She’d rule absolutely as a goddess in her own right. She just needed to consolidate her position here.
She smiled at the thought. She didn’t actually need to do anything for the first part of her plan to play out without her raising a finger. Without her—and her Talent for Transformations—the Festival in Caere was bound to fail. There’d be uncertainty and unrest following that. The Caereans would begin to lose confidence in the High Council. That would show them for their supreme bad judgment in rejecting her.
Follow that up with shortages. Caere actually grew—or fished for—only a portion of its food. Much came from the other coastal cities along with other commodities the Caereans had become accustomed to. And most of that came either from Kausalya’s rich farm land or through Kausalya from Tysoe. Just a little tightening of the exports—perhaps a tariff on goods shipped through Kausalya from Tysoe—and there would be shortages in Caere this winter. And still more loss of faith in the High Council.
Fortunately, she’d still be able to coordinate with her daughter, Selene, with Far Speech. She’d know exactly how much things were disrupted—and be able to judge whether to squeeze still tighter.
Of course, she still needed a strategy for how to exploit the situation when things were at their worst. That was going to take a little time to formulate. First, she had to determine what allies and assets she had to work with in this little backwater city.
Chapter 4: Concessions
Vatar finished checking the loads on the pack horses and nodded to Arcas. They were ready to leave as soon as their escort joined them.
Arcas looked over at the three young Dardani riding out to meet them. “Good idea about bringing some extra protection along.”
Vatar shrugged. “Officially, they’re coming to help us move the herds, since three of us have to be encumbered with children. Of course, that doesn’t mean that they’d stand by if we were attacked again.”
“What are you paying them?” Arcas asked.
Vatar looked back toward their Dardani helpers. “I’ve promised each of them a new knife, good Caerean steel, and etched with the clan symbol.”
Arcas laughed. “Which also happens to be your master’s mark, which you put on all your knives.”
Vatar grinned. “Well, yes. But they won’t treasure the blades any the less for that.” He set about seeing that his family was mounted and ready to go. He lifted Thekila and little Jadar up to her saddle. Hard for her to mount and hold the baby, after all. Besides, he liked the feel of her as he lifted her up. Then he turned to Theklan. The boy was still fussing with his saddle. “Mount up, Theklan. We’re about ready to leave.”
Theklan turned to face him, chewing his lower lip. “It looks like you’ve got enough help to tend the herd. You don’t really need me. I thought . . . I thought maybe I could stay here. Not go back to Caere.”
“You’re coming back with us and continuing your education. You’ve fallen behind while you’ve been here,” Thekila said.
“I’ve learned other things, though,” Theklan said.
Vatar didn’t need to turn around to see Thekila’s lips thin to a flat line. He could feel her annoyance and disapproval through their bond. “Theklan, I know you had a couple of bad experiences in Caere last winter and the year before, but things won’t be the same this year. The High Council has much more to worry about than us, for one thing. For another, Gerusa’s gone.
Theklan’s expression turned sullen. “I like it here.”
Vatar shook his head. “Trust me, you won’t like it out here nearly so well when the snow is so deep you can barely walk, let alone ride. There’s not so much for an active boy to do, then. You’d far better spend your winter in Caere, learning the things your sister and the Temple School can teach you. We’ll be back here next summer. Likely for a longer stay.” He blew out his breath. “And we do need you. Zavar will be riding with you—so you’d better have learned to ride well.”
“But—”
Vatar could feel Thekila’s irritation growing and spilling over to him. “Mount up or I’ll put you in your saddle.”
Theklan reluctantly swung up into his saddle and Vatar handed Zavar up to sit in front of the adolescent boy. “Take good care of him. I’m counting on you.”
Theklan heaved a sigh and tightened his grip around the little boy. “I won’t let anything happen to him. You know that.”
Vatar slapped Theklan’s leg. “I do.”
~
They’d been back in Caere for just long enough for their Dardani escort to start back for Zeda when Vatar looked up from his forge at the barking of the dogs. He smiled when he recognized his father on the other side of the gate. He set the blade he’d started aside and banked the fire. By the time he left his forge, Father was already sitting on the bench under the apple tree with Savara on his lap and Zavar standing on the bench beside him, both babbling happily about their trip out to Zeda.
“And Papa brought back ponies, just for us. Next year, we’ll be able to ride out to Zeda all by ourselves,” Zavar proclaimed proudly.
Vatar ruffled his son’s hair. “We’ll see about that. But I’ll certainly teach you to ride on your own this winter.” He looked up at the older man. “Welcome, Father. I didn’t expect you to come out here so soon.”
Father smiled and put the twins back down. “Well, I can’t let my own grandchildren forget me, now can I?” When the twins had run off to p
lay with the dogs, he added. “Besides, I need to talk to you, Vatar.”
Vatar stifled a sigh. He expected this would be a renewed attempt to persuade him to participate in the Festival. Still, it was good to see Father again. “Come inside. I’m sure we can find some cider to make talking easier.”
“Good idea.”
Inside, Thekila and Arcas’s wife, Elaria, had already set out a pitcher of cider and a platter of nut bread and fruit. Father gestured for them all to sit at the big table in the front room. Only Elaria, still a little overawed by the Fasallon in her midst, shook her head and retreated to the kitchen. Theklan tentatively took a seat near the middle of the table, as if uncertain whether he was welcome in the grown-ups’ discussion and looked mildly surprised when no one told him to go outside and keep an eye on the twins.
Vatar placed himself by the window, with Thekila at his side, where he could watch the twins from inside. Though he didn’t think there was a chance that Copper, the female herd dog now retired from other duties, would let them get into any kind of trouble. Not without loudly sounding the alarm, anyway.
Father cleared his throat. “I have to ask you to reconsider assisting with this year’s Festival, Vatar.”
Vatar let out his breath. “Father, I just don’t feel right about that—”
Father raised his hand. “Hear me out. There’s already some . . . restlessness in the city. First the disruptions of Cestus’s revolution—even though we’ve tried to keep most of that from affecting the city. Then the Festival was delayed when Gerusa escaped. Rumors are starting that the Sea Gods have abandoned Caere. The shortages in the markets haven’t helped.
“But that’s nothing to what’s coming. So far the shortages have only been inconveniences. Kausalya has raised prices on their grains. Within the last couple of seven days they’ve also set limits on their exports. The timing . . . Well, I see Gerusa’s spiteful hand in it, striking back in any way she can. We grow next to none of our own grain here. This winter, there may be no grain to be had. And without grain, there’ll be no bread.”
Arcas rubbed his chin. “I thought they were growing a surplus of grain in Tysoe this year.”
Father grimaced. “They are. But we can’t get it here. Kausalya has placed either embargoes or ruinous tariffs on most of the goods shipped from Tysoe.”
Arcas glanced out the window, past Vatar’s shoulder. “Sounds like it’s time to start thinking about another way to transport goods to and from Tysoe, then. I talked with Orleus a little about the possibility of a road.”
“Is that even possible?” Father asked.
Arcas shrugged. “Orleus has ridden across country to or from Tysoe at least three times that I know of. And not by the same route.”
“The first time I came to Caere, we came straight from the Gna River, beyond Tysoe,” Vatar said. “Of course, that was with pack horses, not wagons.”
Arcas frowned. “True. It would take some time to build a road suitable for wagons. And there’s a limit to how much even a train of pack horses can carry over that distance.”
“You’d need to get the Dardani to agree to allow it, too,” Vatar said. “It would have to pass through Dardani lands.”
Arcas nodded. “So it would.” He grinned. “For this winter, though . . . well, I’d be surprised if some of my colleagues in the Merchants’ Guild haven’t already started to find ways around Kausalya. There’s more than one channel through that river delta.”
Father smiled. “A good thought.” He sighed. “You two have presented some very good ideas. I dare to hope that you’ll come up with more, given the chance. But it’s already late in the season. There will still be shortages—and not just of food. The Smiths’ Guild gets most of the charcoal for your forges and smelters from Tysoe, too.
“Unfortunately, that’s still only a small part of the whole problem. While you’ve been on the plains, there have been many, mostly small tremors here in Caere. With that, and the delay in the Festival and the shortages, the people are on edge. Right now, they need faith that their Sea Gods will protect them.”
“But you aren’t their Sea Gods,” Vatar objected. He’d never been comfortable with the idea of the Lie—that his ancestors on his father’s side had used their magic to pretend to be the Caereans’ Sea Gods and so become rulers of that city and eventually all the others along the coast.
“No, we aren’t,” Father agreed. “But that doesn’t mean that their Sea Gods aren’t real. You’ve given ample proof that your Spirits of the Lion and Eagle are. Why not the Sea Gods, too?”
Vatar shifted uneasily. “For all I know, they are. But—”
Just then, the sturdy farmhouse shook, doors and windows rattling as the earth shifted underneath it. Vatar braced his hands on the table, eyes going wide in surprise. He turned to look out the window, and breathed out to see Zavar and Savara continuing their game as though nothing had happened.
“Tremors just like that,” Father said.
Thekila watched the lamp above the table swing. “Are earthquakes common here in Caere? I don’t remember any last year.”
Father sighed. “There haven’t been any in a long time—so long hardly anyone actually remembers them. There are, of course, records in the archives. From what we can tell from those records, there seem to be long periods without any, punctuated by shorter periods of movement. Unfortunately, the average length of those more active periods is still several months.” He looked across at Vatar. “When times are hard, people need their faith most of all, to give them hope. Is it honorable to deny them that?”
Vatar squirmed.
“With Gerusa gone, we’ll never pull off the Festival—unless you help,” Father said. “You need not lie—directly, anyway. You won’t be one of those portraying the Sea Gods. That’s always left to the members of the Council, except for the Healer acting as Calpe.”
Vatar winced. Honor was everything to a Dardani—and he would always be a Dardani first, at heart. But, put that way, it looked like neither course was entirely honorable. So, which was right?
Thekila laid a hand on his arm. She couldn’t sense his thoughts through their bond unless he chose to share them, but she could hardly miss feeling his confusion, now. “Life isn’t always as simple as the Dardani try to make it—clean, simple lines between good and bad, right and wrong. Sometimes, you have to make the better of two bad choices, Vatar.”
He turned to her, placing his hand over hers. “So which is right, now?”
Thekila looked down into her mug of cider, swirling it around. “It’s always better to help other people. The Caereans aren’t hurt by the Lie. Or no more hurt than they have been for the last six hundred years. But they could be hurt by adding more turmoil than necessary to their lives.”
Vatar let out his breath and nodded. “You’re right.” He looked up at his father. “All right. I’ll do it.”
Father grinned. “Good! How many second-level Transformations do you think you can hold at a time for, say, four hours?”
Vatar’s brow furrowed. “Second-level? Not third?”
Father shook his head. “No one will expect third-level Transformations from you on your first Festival. We all know how taxing it is. How many do you think you can hold?”
Vatar shrugged. “No idea. I’ve never done multiple Transformations except under stress—like the bear attack. And I’ve never held any Transformation that long.”
Father nodded. “I expected as much. Well, we’ll just have to practice a bit.” He smiled. “And that will give you two more chances to come up with good ideas for me to take back to the Council.” He tapped his lips with his finger again. “You know, Vatar, we could use ideas like yours on the Council.”
“I’m willing to tell you anything Arcas and I—or Thekila—come up with,” Vatar said.
Father paused to take a drink of cider before continuing. “I appreciate that. But it might be even better if you could communicate those ideas directly to the Council. Yourself.
”
Vatar shuddered at the thought of going across the strait to the Palace of the Fasallon. He still didn’t like the idea of all that water. Especially the waves. “No, thank you. I’ll be perfectly happy never to visit the Council again.”
“Not visit. Sit on it,” Father said.
Vatar shook his head violently. “That’s not even a bad joke. I’m of Tabeus’s and Taleus’s lineages. Tabeus’s seat is already occupied—by you. And Taleus never had a seat, since he died before the Council was formed.”
Father leaned forward. “Yes. But Taleus’s wife, Calpe, did. And because she was believed to have died without children, her seat has been vacant for almost six hundred years. But you have a claim to that seat.”
Vatar swept this aside with a gesture like swatting at flies. “I don’t want it. Besides, it’d be impossible to prove that right after all this time.”
“No it wouldn’t,” Father said. “You and I both heard—witnessed—Taleus declare the truth to you. So did Orleus, Miceus, and Cestus. The sooth teller would know we spoke the truth and the Council would have to accept it. Besides, now that I know where to look, I expect that I could find some supporting evidence. Someone must have known that Calpe was pregnant at the time of Taleus’s death.”
Vatar shook his head. “Don’t bother. I’ve agreed to help with the Festival. But I have no desire to sit on the High Council. I still intend to go out to Zeda every year. And Thekila will want to visit the Valley again. That would be impossible if I was on the High Council. No. I don’t want it. Let them go on thinking that Calpe died childless. We know the truth. No one else needs to.”
The Voice of Prophecy (Dual Magics Book 2) Page 37
