Days of Air and Darkness

by Katharine Kerr

  “My thanks, my lady.” He made her a bow.

  When Dallandra left, Yraen lingered in Jill’s chamber. Although he was the Princess Carramaena’s personal bodyguard, he—or any other man, for that matter—was forbidden to follow her into the women’s hall unless the princess’s husband was in attendance there. Unfortunately, the prince, and his warband with him, had been cut off outside the dun when the siege began, leaving them no choice but to return to the Westlands and their people, where they could gather warriors for the relieving army. Jill had scried them last a few days ago, making an un-threatened way south.

  “I don’t mean to offend you, my lady,” Yraen said, “but I don’t suppose you’ve any news of Rhodry, either.”

  “None. No more have I seen any of Cadmar’s allies riding to relieve us. Ye gods, man! I’ll tell you as soon as I do.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just the cursed siege. You’re right enough about morale. The waiting’s a hard thing for us to bear, us fighting men, I mean.”

  “I know.” Jill softened her voice. “I’m not what you’d call fond of it, either. But we can’t sally, not with the numbers against us, and so here we all blasted well are.”

  “True, true.”

  He nodded, glancing vaguely about him, seemed to be about to speak, choked it back, looked round again.

  “Yraen, what’s so wrong?”

  “Naught, naught.” He forced out a smile. “Beyond our situation, anyway.”

  “You look like you want to ask me somewhat.”

  “My apologies, and here the other sorcerer did say you were tired. My apologies.”

  Bowing all the way, he backed out of the room, then shut the door so hard the wickerwork trembled. The gnomes began to mock him, lining up, bowing backward, until one bumped another, and a small brawl of pinching and squealing began.

  “Stop it!” Jill banished the lot with a wave of her hand. “Ye gods, now what in all the hells could be wrong with Yraen?”

  Jill found her answer later in the day, when she went down to the great hall to fetch herself a scant ration of bread. Dun Cengarn’s great hall occupied the entire ground floor of the main broch of the complex. On one side, by a back door, stood enough tables for a warband of well over a hundred men; at the hearth, near the table of honor itself, were five more for guests and servitors. The walls and the enormous hearths were made of a pale tan stone, streaked and stained with smoke from torch and fires. All round the windows hung panels of interlacement; between them, roundels of spirals and fantastic animals. The honor hearth was the greatest marvel, though, embraced by an entire stone dragon, its head resting on its paws, planted on the floor, its winged back forming the mantel, and its long tail curling down the other side.

  At the moment, the honor side of the hall stood empty, except for a serving lass wiping down the tables with a rag, but over at the other, riders clustered round the open barrels of ale while the chamberlain’s men rationed out scant servings. Jill could wrap her aura about herself like a cloak, and by moving quietly and sticking to the shadowy half of the room, she passed through, virtually invisible. Yraen certainly never noticed her; he was standing near the back door and keeping a watch on the spiral staircase that led to the upper floors of the main broch.

  As Jill was fetching her loaf back again, she saw Yraen suddenly smile and take a few automatic steps toward the stairs. The Princess Carramaena was coming down, wearing a dark blue dress kirtled with a simple sash of cloth of gold, since the Westfolk never marked their clans with plaids as Deverry men did. She wore the kirtle high, too, to allow for her swelling pregnancy. She was a lovely lass, Carra, not quite seventeen that summer, all blond hair and rosy cheeks, with big blue eyes and a ready smile that even Jill could admit to be charming. She looked round, smiling impartially at the great hall below, and waited for her dog, a big wolflike gray creature, to catch up with her. Unseen by the door, Yraen watched her every gesture, his lips half-parted in something close to grief.

  Oh, horseshit and a pile of it! Jill thought. The little bastard’s in love with her.

  Bread in hand, Jill left by another door and hurried across the ward to the stairs that led up to her tower room. Although she considered asking the gwerbret to find Carra a new bodyguard, she couldn’t do so without telling him the reason, and she refused to shame Yraen. Besides, there was no doubting the cold truth that a bodyguard who loved his charge so hopelessly would throw his own life away to save hers, if things ever came to such an evil pass.

  Still, the situation was bound to turn dangerous, with the two of them shut up in the dun and Carra’s husband far away. Even supposing that the siege was lifted, and supposing again that both men lived through that battle, Yraen would be face to face with his beloved’s husband. Prince Daralanteriel was no man to trifle with. No doubt he would see nothing wrong with protecting his wife’s honor by murdering the mercenary soldier who’d dared to love her. There was nothing Jill could do with him. Yraen listened to advice about naught, generally, and now he was bound to be doubly stubborn, not so much for what he was now but for what he’d been, back in another life—Carra’s husband. It had been hundreds of years ago, but seeing her again had brought all the buried memories alive in his soul at least.

  What Carra thought of him, Jill didn’t know, though she reminded herself that she’d best find out. She, at least, was malleable. Yraen brought her naught but grief then, she thought, and if things go on this way, he’ll bring her naught but grief now. Carra loved her husband with all her heart, but at the moment, who knew if she would ever see her elven prince again?

  Carra had barely seated herself at the table set aside for the dun’s womenfolk when Yraen appeared to take up his usual place on the floor, slightly behind and to the right of her. Lightning wagged his tail with a thump on the braided rushes, as if greeting a peer.

  “Yraen, I do wish you’d take a chair,” Carra said. “It aches my heart to see you sitting on the floor.”

  “This is fine for the likes of me.” He twitched his lips in the expression that did him for a smile. “Besides, anyone trying to reach you would have to trip over me.”

  “Oh, nonsense! Nobody’s going to attack me right here.”

  “We’ve already ferreted out one traitor in the dun, haven’t we? Who’s to say there aren’t any more?”

  “Well, truly, I suppose you’re right.”

  In a few moments, the gwerbret’s wife, Lady Labanna, a stout woman, her gray hair neatly pulled back into an embroidered kerchief, hurried over with her servingwomen trailing after.

  “Carra, dear, I do wish you’d waited for the rest of us. It’s not seemly for you to come down to the great hall alone.”

  “But I wasn’t truly alone, my lady. I have Lightning, and Yraen’s always here.”

  Labanna favored dog and silver dagger alike with a sour smile, then sat down in her place at the head of the table. At her signal, a serving lass brought bread and watered wine.

  Slowly, the hall filled up for the evening meal, riders and servants at their hearth, gwerbret and his noble-born servitors at his. Cadmar himself came in late, stopping by his wife’s table for a word before moving on to head up his own. Even though he limped on a twisted right leg, the gwerbret was an imposing man, standing well over six feet tall, broad in the shoulders, broad in the hands. That evening he repeatedly ran one hand through his slate-gray hair as he whispered to his lady. Carra could hear bits of their conversation over the general noise and clatter—a predictable worrying about when the relieving army might ride their way. Even when it did arrive, there was no guarantee, of course, that the battle would go their way.

  “Just have to wait and see,” Cadmar finished, turning away. “Naught else we can do.”

  Labanna watched him go with haunted eyes.

  “I’m so sorry,” Carra burst out. “I’m not worth all this trouble.”

  Yraen rose to a kneel and growled.

  “Hush, child!” Labanna snapped. “N
o one blames you.”

  “I blame myself. If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t be besieged.”

  “Hush, hush, that’s not true.” Labanna leaned forward with a wry smile and caught her hand to squeeze it. “If it weren’t for the treaties between my lord and your husband, we wouldn’t be besieged. That’s a very different thing.”

  “I suppose. I just—”

  “It’s honorable of you, child, to worry for our sakes. But you must remember that these days, it’s your position that counts, not you. You’re not that obscure lass with no dowry anymore. I realize it’s difficult for you to get used to.”

  “It is, truly.” Carra felt her mouth trembling and forced it to stop. “If it weren’t for the baby, I think I’d just turn myself over to them, and you’d all be safe.”

  “Hush!” Labanna laid a warning hand on her arm. “You must never allow yourself to think such things.” She glanced at Yraen. “Make sure you keep a close watch upon your lady from now on.”

  “I will, Your Grace. You need have no fear of that.”

  Satisfied, Labanna sat back in her chair and turned the talk to other things while the meal was served. Although normally Cengarn’s dun set a generous table, with the siege, the chamberlain measured out each scrap of food. When the thin slices of meat arrived, they were spiced so heavily with pepper and Bardek cinnamon to cover the scent of spoilage that Carra couldn’t eat hers. Without thinking, she tossed it to Lightning, then realized that Yraen, silver dagger as he was, had been given none. What should she do, apologize and call attention to her selfishness, or let it pass and let him think she hadn’t even noticed? She could not make up her mind, felt tears of sheer frustration gathering. I cannot be a princess, she thought, I just don’t know how. All at once, she realized that the other women were looking at her in concern. She nearly wept.

  “I feel unwell.” Carra rose, gesturing to Lightning. “I simply have to get out of all this noise.”

  Yraen leapt up and caught her elbow just as the room spun round her in a blaze of candlelight. Although she did faint into his arms, she woke again almost immediately to find the room still spinning. She could hear the yelping of concerned voices round her, but at first the words roared without meaning. Yraen hoisted her up like a sack of meal and settled her head against his shoulder. The luxury of his strength, his concern, his simple human touch went to her head like another faint. She clasped her arms round his neck to steady herself.

  “Take her up to her chamber, Yraen.” Labanna’s voice seemed to be coming from a long way away. “I’ll follow you up. Page! Where’s a wretched page? We need to fetch Jill.”

  With Lightning bounding ahead of them, Yraen carried her upstairs, first past the landing of the women’s hall and then up another spiral to the chamber she once had shared with her husband. Fortunately, she’d left the door unbarred, so he could kick it open and maneuver her inside. He laid her down on the bed, then went to the window to fling open the shutters for some air and light. A little breeze was blowing, blessedly cool. Carra struggled with her kirtle, which was pinned with a small brooch. When she tried to unclasp it, she stuck her finger.

  “Here, here,” Yraen sat down next to her. “Let me.”

  His broad fingers, all calloused and battle-hardened, were clumsier than her own, but at last he got the brooch free and the kirtle untied. Carra sucked the bleeding tip of her finger and watched him try to fold the cloth.

  “Just throw it onto that chair,” she said at last. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Very well.”

  For a moment, he sat beside her, the cloth of gold in his hands, and looked out the window at the sky. Through the open door, she could hear voices, panting up the stairs. She wanted to apologize to Yraen, but if she did, their talk would inevitably dredge up the painful truth that he loved her. The moment ended; he rose and strode across the room just as Jill appeared in the door with Labanna right behind her. The dweomermaster carried a cloth sack that smelled of herbs.

  “I’m sorry,” Carra burst out. “I know I’ve been weak again.”

  “Do hush,” Labanna said. “It’s all right.”

  Jill said nothing, merely laid her hand on Carra’s forehead.

  “Well, you’re clammy and cold, sure enough. Labanna says the meat set you off.”

  “It was all the pepper. I’m sorry.”

  “Stop apologizing.” Jill considered for a moment. “But you’re fairly well along now. These queasy spells should be passing off.”

  “It was the noise, too, and everything so crowded. Really, I’ll be fine in a bit.” Carra bit back another apology just in time. “I just felt so odd.”

  “Odd?” Jill went stock-still. “How? Queasy, you mean?”

  “That, too, but just odd. I couldn’t think right.”

  “Carra, this might be very important. Try to remember. You say you couldn’t think right. Do you remember why?”

  “Well.” All her shame at having put her dog before a man who loved her flooded back. “Sort of. I was trying to decide a thing, you see, and I couldn’t, and I just felt so worthless, all of a sudden, like I couldn’t do anything right.”

  “Did you ever feel that—well, this will sound very peculiar, I know—but did you feel that someone was interfering with your mind?”

  “What? I didn’t, truly.” All at once, she realized what Jill must mean. “You mean, someone like another sorcerer?”

  “Just that.”

  “I didn’t, but, ye gods! Do you think it might happen?”

  “It’s not very likely. I was just making sure.” Jill walked over to the window and looked out as if she were studying the view. “You’d best rest, Carra. Yraen, you guard the door. I’ll have someone bring you food.”

  “Jill?” Labanna said. “Wouldn’t she be better off in the women’s hall?”

  “Once you’re all in it, she will be. But for now, I want her in a room that Yraen can enter if he has to.” Jill stopped, thinking something through. “My lady, and you, too, Silver Dagger, if you could leave us for a moment? Just shut the door, too, would you?”

  Once they’d all left, and the room was quiet again, Carra felt well enough to sit up, pulling the pillows behind her to rest against. Jill sat down on the chair.

  “Carra, what do you think of Yraen?”

  Carra bit her lip and turned her head away.

  “You’re not in love with the man, are you?”

  “What? Of course not. Oh! You know how he feels.”

  “I do, and it worries me. I’ll warn you somewhat—your husband is a proud man and a jealous one.”

  “I do know that.” Carra forced herself to look at Jill again. “And truly, you don’t need to worry. I don’t love Yraen. Truly.”

  Jill raised a questioning eyebrow.

  “Well, besides,” Carra went on, “I feel so rotten all the time with the baby and suchlike. And here we are, right in the middle of everyone all day, and I sleep in the women’s hall at night. I mean, even if I did love him, and even if I was the sort of woman who’d betray her husband, where would we go?”

  Jill laughed.

  “You have a very fine core of common sense,” the dweomermaster said. “I need to remember that, and so do you. Now, you rest here till the other women come back upstairs, then go to the women’s hall. In the meantime, I’ll have Yraen come in. If he says he feels danger in the air or suchlike, listen to him. The reason that I want him to be your guard is that he’s had some experience with the peculiar kinds of magicks we’re facing here.”

  “I will.”

  “Good. But somewhat’s still wrong. I can tell by the look on your face. Out with it.”

  “I just feel so cruel, knowing Yraen loves me. He knows I’ll never love him. And he has to sit on the floor when we eat, and walk behind me everywhere, and sleep on the floor, too, in front of the door to the women’s hall. It’s dreadful.”

  “Cruel? Well, you know, I hadn’t thought of that, but I suppose it is pai
nful for him. Huh. Very well. I’ll think about this.”

  When Jill left Carra, she gave her sack of supplies to a page to return to her chamber, then went up to the roof. Although she’d just renewed the dweomer seals that noon, she wanted to check them on the off chance that they’d been breached to allow an enemy to attack Carra’s mind. She stood in the middle of the roof, faced east, and raised her inner sight to etheric level.

  Over and around her, the golden dome shimmered unbroken with all its seals of the Elemental Kings still safely in place. Jill turned in a slow circle, studying each seal and segment, but she found not the slightest sign of tampering. Yet danger pricked at her like a touch of ice, a deep stab of dweomer-warning. She sat down cross-legged, because she would have to be in a stable position if she should need to go into a trance, then considered the sky beyond the dome. To her etheric sight, it hung silvery and alive, swirling with energy and the darting forms of innumerable Wildfolk. The long beams of light from the setting sun shot through, seemingly as solid as silver rods.

  In the midst of all this confusion, it was hard to see, yet Jill felt the warning intensify when she peered out to the east. She waited, on guard, until all at once, she saw a white mist forming high in the sky. She dropped her sight down, found no trace of the mist on the physical, and brought it back up to the etheric in time to see the opalescent mass billowing outward from some other plane, as if an invisible blacksmith were using a bellows to blow smoke through a crack in the wall of sky. Jill went tense and rose to a kneel. Light-shot and pearly, it sank toward the golden dome in a single cloud.

  All at once, the cloud cracked open like a tapped egg in a cook’s strong fingers. Out stepped the figure of an enormous woman as calmly as if she were stepping onto solid ground instead of midair. She was dressed like an elven huntress, in tight doeskin trousers and a belted tunic, with a quiver of arrows slung at her hip and a bow held loosely in her hands. Her honey-blond hair hung to her waist in swept-back Horsekin fashion, laced with little charms and thongs, but it had to be Alshandra. Like Evandar and indeed most of their race, she preferred to appear in elven form, mostly because those incorporeal beings had no true form of their own. Here on the etheric, she shimmered in an aureole of silver light.