by Helen Lowe
Haimyr looked down at her with a crooked smile. “Do you think so? I would say that he mistrusts the heralds’ power, which is so like those of your own priests—and he distrusts the opportunity they have had to influence you even more. At the same time, his honor as Earl will not allow him to overlook what they have done for your House, at considerable risk to their lives. So we must all ride forth, in the narrow chasms and paths that run through the mountain wall, with the howl of the storm far above us, to bring the heralds of the Guild safely to the Derai border—and very far from this keep and from you.”
“I see,” said Malian slowly. Put like that, it did fit. She shivered at the thought of riding those narrow, twisting ways in the claustrophobic dark of the storm. “Well, I am very glad that you’re here now.”
“Yes,” the minstrel replied. For once, the sheen of mockery was absent from his face. “I can see that you are. Has it been very bad, my Malian?”
Malian’s eyes met his. “Yes,” she said simply, “very bad. I thought,” she added after a moment, “that both you and Asantir had deserted me.”
He drew her to sit on a couch opposite the armchair, as they had sat together so often since she was a very small child. “I was afraid of that,” he said. “I believe Asantir may have been, too, given the grimness of her silence. But even Honor Captains and minstrels must obey an Earl’s command, at least some of the time.”
Malian smiled, a little stiffly. “Tasarion the Terrible. That is what Nhairin would say.”
“Would she?” queried Haimyr. “She is brave, our Nhairin. But then she and your father have known each other since they were children. Outsiders such as myself, and gleemen desperate for a lord’s golden coin, must be more circumspect.”
“You?” demanded Malian. “Circumspect? I do not think so, Haimyr the Golden.”
“Do you not?” he said. “I assure you, it is a chancy thing being a minstrel in the court of a great and stern lord, an Earl of the terrible and warlike Derai. There are days when I am almost too frightened to sing another note lest I give offence and be turned out to beg along the Wall.”
Malian looked at him. “I do believe,” she said carefully, “that you are trying to cheer me up, Haimyr.”
“I believe,” he replied, profoundly grave, “that you are right.”
“Well, I do feel more cheerful,” Malian admitted. “But I think that is because you are here, not because of all the nonsense you talk.”
A lean hand stroked her hair, gentler than his mocking face or satirical eye. Malian sighed deeply, relaxing for the first time since she had sat beside Yorindesarinen’s fire. “You know,” she said conversationally, “that my father will send me away.”
“I fear so,” he answered. Haimyr never wasted breath denying the obvious.
“It is the Oath,” Malian continued sadly. “It rules us all and cannot be gainsaid. But I do not want to be sent away to a keep that is not my own and locked up in a temple there for the rest of my life.”
Haimyr laid one finger against his lips in warning before rising and picking up a lute that lay on a chest against the wall. He turned it one way, then another, smiling a little at the red and white ribbons that trailed from its neck. “A pretty toy,” he murmured, “but it will serve.” He shook his head at Malian when she started to speak and began to tune the instrument, all his attention bent on the strings and pegs beneath his fingers. Eventually he gave a small nod and began to play.
It was an odd tune, almost dissonant in its stops and starts followed by a sudden rush of notes that buzzed and hummed before spiraling sharply up, then falling back into another vibrant, murmurous rhythm. Malian thought it curiously like the sharp humming song of the black spear, although without the spear’s ferocity. She shook her head to clear it of the buzzing sound and stared at the minstrel, puzzled. His eyes smiled into hers, a long, slow, lazy smile with a good deal of mockery in it. A gesture of his head invited her to step closer, but his hands never stopped playing and the strange tune spiraled around them both.
“What is this, Haimyr?” Malian whispered. “Is it some sorcery the heralds taught you?”
His eyes gleamed. “Not they, my Malian. We have our own charms in Ij; tricks for those who do not trust in walls or doors to thwart prying ears.”
Malian thought of the secret ways and listening posts that riddled the New Keep, and nodded. But the minstrel’s eyes still held hers, searching and intent.
“You have told me,” he said, “what you don’t want. But what fate, Malian of Night, would you choose instead?” He held up one forefinger, warning her not to speak too soon. “Not as a Derai or as one of the Blood of this House, nor as daughter to your father, or in fulfillment of any other obligation that has been drummed into your short life. What is that you desire for yourself?”
Malian stared at him, transfixed, and was seized with a sudden wild longing to run away, to leave the Wall and all it stood for, bidding farewell to the Swarm and the bitter legacy of the Great Betrayal. Most of all, she longed to be free of whatever destiny Yorindesarinen had seen for her in the fire, which felt too dark, too heavy for her slight shoulders.
Yet even as she felt this, another thought came winging in: But what would happen if every Derai forsook the Wall for a life that seemed easier, more pleasant? What would have happened if Yorindesarinen had not shouldered her duty and stood forth against the Worm of Chaos? And if she, Malian of Night, really was the prophesied One but abandoned the House of Night and left the Derai Wall to stand or fall without her, then it would not matter where on Haarth she dwelt. Night would fall everywhere.
Malian closed her eyes, shutting the minstrel out. “It’s no good,” she said. “I suppose that is my father’s lesson: If we believe in the Darkswarm and the Wall, then we must remain committed to our vigil here. But if I accept that—” She opened her eyes again. “If I accept that,” she repeated slowly, “then it follows that I must learn to use the power within me effectively, even if it means leaving this keep and everyone I love.”
“A paradox,” Haimyr murmured, and Malian nodded, her eyes falling away from his to frown at the honeyed grain of the lute. When she lifted them again, her look was challenging.
“As you say, a paradox. But that does not mean I must meekly accept exile to a place my father has selected, where I will be little better than a prisoner for the rest of my life.” She shrugged. “I cannot see how that will help me or the Derai Alliance. If I go, it must be to a place of my own choosing.”
“Ah,” said Haimyr the Golden. He spoke softly, but Malian thought that he looked satisfied.
“Will you help me?” she asked quietly.
He inclined his head. “Of course. But it will not be easy. The Wall is a harsh environment at the best of times, and it will be harder still if the Derai are on the hunt for you.”
“And they are bringing wyr hounds here,” said Malian, “which will make escape far harder, if not impossible.” She thought about what Yorindesarinen had said to her. “I suppose it doesn’t really matter where I go, so long as I can find someone to teach me. Once I would have thought that meant I had to stay on the Wall, but having seen what the heralds can do, and now you …” Malian leaned toward him, keeping her voice low. “I could go south and lose myself in the cities of the River, or in any of the lands between Ij and Ishnapur.”
Haimyr nodded. “You could,” he said. “And it seems that the heralds of the Guild share your way of thinking. They gave me this message, before our ways parted: ’Tell Malian of Night that we will wait for her by the stone pillar that marks the border between the Gray Lands and the world beyond. For the turning of one moon we will wait, so that we may bring her safely to the River—if that is what she wishes. But even if she misses us, tell her that she has only to ask at any Guild house to find succor. We will pass the word.’ Then Jehane Mor added, ’Tell her not to come alone, but to bring the boy.’ Now why,” Haimyr finished, “would that be, do you think?”
Malian shrugged. “They work in pairs themselves and they know I would not have survived the Old Keep without Kalan.” She frowned again. “But bringing him with me is easier said than done when I am locked up here and he is in the Temple quarter. In fact, it’s hard to see how we’re going to get out of the keep at all, let alone reach the Border Mark or the River!”
“Difficult,” murmured Haimyr, “need not mean impossible, my Malian. There is usually a way if one has the will to find it.”
Malian frowned and bit back a tart reply, wondering whether any of the spyruns extended into the Temple quarter. But even if they did, she still did not know of any route out of the keep—and it would take time to explore the spyruns exhaustively, time she did not have. “It might,” she said, thinking aloud, “be easier to escape my escort once I am sent away. I just need to find a way of getting Kalan exiled with me.”
“Just,” Haimyr said, with a glint behind his gravity. “But you may be right about it being easier to escape on the road, especially if you wait until well clear of the keep. Your escort would then have to return here to fetch the hounds, giving you a chance to reach the Border Mark. And once there—” He shrugged. “I believe the heralds will be able to deal with any pursuit, even wyr hounds.”
Malian’s frown eased, then deepened again. “What if I am so closely watched, even on the road, that escape is impossible?”
“I think it more likely,” the minstrel replied, “that the escort will see you as the child they have always known, your powers just a rumor. And from their point of view, where would you go? No, all their attention will be focused outward, toward the usual dangers that infest the Wall, providing your best opportunity for flight. As for the boy,” he smiled his lazy smile, “there is already talk that he, too, should be sent away.”
Malian struck one fist against the other. “If only I could be certain they would send him with me! Although,” she added, suddenly thoughtful, “I could ask it of my father as a boon. It’s not unprecedented for the Blood to take retainers into exile, and he knows that Kalan saved my life in the Old Keep.”
“That could work,” agreed Haimyr. “I will have to make sure that I am part of your escort as well, so I can assist in your escape and delay or confuse any pursuit.”
Malian threw him a doubtful look. “It will be dangerous for you to return to the Keep of Winds if you are implicated in my escape.”
The minstrel shrugged. “I will have to take good care, then, not to be implicated, for where else would I be paid such good coin to sing my songs? You should be safe enough with the heralds, my Malian, if I can get you to them.” He turned his head, as though listening to something at a distance—and the tune beneath his fingers became light and merry, filled with a rippling note, like laughter. “But it appears we have been secret too long and now company comes.”
“So I am indeed spied upon as well as confined,” Malian said, with a snap. She returned to the sofa and sat very straight, her hands folded in her lap. The merry tune jigged on, and Haimyr’s smile deepened as the doors swung open and Lannorth strode in with the two door guards at his heels. The Honor Lieutenant looked around keenly, then flushed as he met Malian’s inquiring gaze and the surprised lift of her brows. “My apologies, Lady Malian,” he said stiffly, and gave her a belated salute. “The guards were concerned for your safety, it had grown so quiet in here.”
Malian’s brows climbed higher. “So they came to you? How zealous, when they only had to knock and open the door to see that all was well. Could they not hear Haimyr’s playing?” She turned back to the minstrel, who had laid the lute aside. “You are right, that is probably enough music for now. But I would be glad if you returned tomorrow and played for me again.”
Haimyr bowed. “It shall be as you wish, my lady,” he murmured. Lannorth shot a quick, frowning glance between them, but Malian returned his gaze blandly. The two guards remained stolidly at attention, their eyes fixed on a point somewhere above Malian’s head. No one tried to stop the minstrel when he strolled to the door, although Lannorth continued to frown.
“Lieutenant?” Malian inquired, and his gaze swung back to her.
“In any case,” he said, as though this was a perfectly reasonable errand for the Second of the Honor Guard, “the Earl, your father, advises that he will dine here with you this evening. If it pleases you,” he added, the last clearly an afterthought.
Malian inclined her head. “I will be here, of course,” she replied, but suspected that he missed the irony. “You may tell him so for me.”
This was plainly a dismissal, but Lannorth hesitated. Malian observed him dispassionately, but said nothing. He opened his mouth as if to say something more, then plainly thought better of it, saluted and withdrew. The guards trailed out in his wake and Haimyr gave her a last smile before the door closed behind him. Malian allowed herself a small smile in return, but not the luxury of hope, since a half-conceived escape and a secret conversation were a very long way from escaping the Keep of Winds and her father’s plans for her future.
“Also ill conceived,” she murmured, but low enough that no hidden listener would hear. And even a half-conceived plan for escape was a beginning.
18
Parts of the Truth
The day wore on, as long and slow as the three that had preceded it, except that the eerie calm of the storm’s eye still prevailed. There had been many times, especially when Malian was very young, when she had wondered whether a storm could last forever, particularly with the full malice of the Darkswarm behind it. Those had always been the worst fears of the Derai vigil: The storm that never passed, the dawn that never came.
But this storm, too, will pass, Malian told herself, as the day darkened and Nhairin’s stewards came in, soft footed, to turn up the lamps and build the fire so that both light and warmth spilled out, banishing gloom. The stewards did not meet her eyes and nor would they speak; they simply completed their tasks and left as quietly as they had come. They, too, it seemed, had their orders—or were afraid to speak with the Heir in case the old powers proved catching. Even lamp and firelight could not dispel such gloomy reflection, and Malian was curled up in the armchair again, brooding, when her father arrived.
He came alone, but although she heard the thump of the guards’ spears as they sprang to attention, and the soft creak of the opening door, she did not look around or stand up when he walked over to the fire. That was a breach of etiquette from Heir to Earl, but they were alone and he, too, seemed abstracted, gazing down at the fiery coals. The winged horse of Night glittered on the breast of his long, blue-black tunic, and firelight played across the hilt of his sword and the dagger thrust into his belt. His expression was grim, his face a mask of hollows and angles despite the mellow light.
“You are sending me away, are you not?” Malian asked, before he could speak, and was pleased with the steadiness of her voice, despite the ache in her throat.
The Earl sighed and his stern eyes met hers squarely. “Yes,” he replied, “I am.”
He went on, as she had known he would, to lay out all the reasons for his decision. Malian had gone over them so many times in her own mind that she hardly had to listen at all, so she fixed her eyes on the red and white tapestry behind his head and let the words roll over her. When he had finished, she did not protest and was careful to keep her expression neutral. “So where am I to go?” she asked. “And when?”
“I am sending you to the Sea Keep,” the Earl replied, “for the Blood of that House are your mother’s kin, as well as our allies; they will receive you kindly there. As for when, as soon as possible now that you have recovered from your experience in the Old Keep. Prolonging your departure will only make the situation unnecessarily hard for both of us.” He paused, searching her face; and however unlikely it might seem, she thought he was ill at ease. “Is there nothing that you wish to say?”
Malian allowed herself a slight lift of one shoulder. “What is there to say? I have been expecting this si
nce my return from the Old Keep.” She thrust her hands into the folds of her skirt to still them and kept her manner calm. “But there is one boon I would ask of you, both as my father and my Earl. All my household were slain in the attack, but I am still of the Blood of Night. I should have someone to accompany me on this journey and into my …” she paused on the word exile and said instead, “new life. The novice, Kalan, saved my life in the Old Keep. Given the attack and everything else that happened, I would feel safer if he went with me to the Sea Keep Temple.”
The Earl frowned, clearly turning the matter over in his mind, and Malian tried to appear unconcerned. She studied the detail in the red and white tapestry behind him and thought of Ornorith, that deviser of ways and means, and wondered which of the goddess’s two faces would turn her way.
“Nhairin has already asked that I let her make the journey with you,” the Earl said at last, “but she cannot remain with you in the Sea Keep Temple.” His eyes searched her face again and she met his gaze with an assumption of ease. “It will be the Temple’s decision whether or not they let the boy go,” he said finally. “I will not command them in a matter that does not affect the well-being of either House or keep. But I will ask on your behalf and I think it likely they’ll agree.” He shrugged. “I understand there is talk of sending him to another Temple anyway, since he may be a disturbing influence if he remains here.”
Like me, Malian thought. She wondered, briefly, how the Sea Keep would react to being sent two “disturbing influences”—but perhaps the matter would not be put to them in that way. She blinked and realized that her father was studying her closely, as though sensing he had missed some nuance. “Will it please you,” he asked, “if Nhairin and this boy go with you?”
Would it make any difference, Malian wondered, not without bitterness, if I were not pleased?
But she only said, “It will please me if I do not have to go alone.” Which was true enough, although she would have greatly preferred not to have Nhairin as part of the escort. The High Steward knew her too well and was hard to fool; her presence would make it harder to escape.
