by Anne Bishop
“Why?”
The bland expression vanished, which wasn’t a relief because now Saetan’s face held the look of a family patriarch annoyed with one of his offspring. Not angry, not threatening, just annoyed enough that if Lucivar had been younger, Saetan would have grabbed him by the scruff of the neck as a warning to pay attention and think.
“Point by point, then,” Saetan said. “There are about two hundred Eyriens in Ebon Rih. How many of them are you supporting?”
“I can afford it,” he mumbled, not sure how much trouble he was in, but certain he was in trouble. “Besides, they work for me.”
“Do they? It’s been two years since the last service fair, two years since the last contracts were signed that were part of the emigration requirements to live in Kaeleer.”
“No,” Lucivar said quickly, “there were a handful this past summer.”
“Eyrien women who have young children and were desperate enough and determined enough to leave what they had known. They didn’t come through the service fairs, since those fairs no longer exist. They came to the Keep in Terreille, asking for help. And Draca asked you to consider adding them to the women living in the mountains near Doun. Which you did. How many other Eyriens who signed contracts with you are still under contract?”
Not sure he liked where this was going, he shrugged. “They’re still serving.”
“Are they? Being a dark-Jeweled Warlord Prince, Falonar has to serve for five years in order to remain in Kaeleer after the contract is completed. The others, not being of that caste and not wearing dark Jewels, have fulfilled that obligation and are free to live elsewhere now.”
“If a Queen will permit them to live in her territory.”
Saetan tipped his head in agreement. “I think some of those men have already talked to Eyriens who accepted service contracts with Rihlander Queens and have discovered that those Queens are not intimidated by Eyriens or impressed by aggression and arrogance, that those Queens are not going to pay them to sit on a mountain scratching each other’s asses while complaining about the ruler they are supposed to serve.”
Lucivar took a step back. It still shocked him when his father expressed an opinion so crudely. It would have sounded natural if Andulvar had said it, but Saetan? No. And that crudeness focused his attention as nothing else could have.
“How many are still under contract to you, Lucivar?”
“I’m not sure.”
A flash of anger, like a flash of lightning, filled the room.
He waited to hear the thunder, waited for the gauge that would tell him how close the storm was—and how violent.
The silence that followed scared him because it indicated an anger too deep to gauge.
“Andulvar didn’t like paperwork any more than you do, but he knew every man who served him directly. Contracts were a formality. He didn’t need those pieces of paper to know who served and who didn’t, who was loyal and who wasn’t, who lived by the Blood’s code of honor and who didn’t. He knew—and so do you.”
Lucivar swallowed hard. “Except for the women I took in last summer, Falonar is the only one who hasn’t fulfilled the full contract.”
“Then he and those women are the only ones who should be receiving anything from your share of Ebon Rih’s tithes—if they’re fulfilling the tasks you’ve assigned them as their part of the bargain. The others should be informed that they have fulfilled their agreement and are free to live elsewhere. If they want to remain in Ebon Rih, and you’re still willing to let them live here, they will have to find work to support themselves. If they want to work for you, and receive wages from you, and have a skill that you want for the Eyrien community in your keeping, they will stand before you and witnesses and make a formal, binding pledge of loyalty for whatever amount of time you specify. They will do this according to Eyrien tradition, understanding that the penalties of breaking that loyalty also will follow Eyrien tradition. And yes, Prince, that does mean execution. And yes, there were times when Andulvar had to hold up that part of Eyrien honor.”
Lucivar wanted to pace, but that storm of temper could still come down on him, so he didn’t move. “I can’t cut them loose like that. They’re just starting to build a life.” He wasn’t thinking of the men. Not most of them, anyway. But the women? And what about men like Hallevar and Tamnar? What would they do to support themselves sufficiently?
“Eyriens prefer plain speaking, so I’ll speak plainly,” Saetan said quietly. “The reason most of the Eyriens who are now settled in Askavi Kaeleer came here was to escape the control of Prythian and all the corrupted Queens who followed her lead. Well, Prythian and those Queens and everyone who was tainted by them are gone. Dead. Destroyed. Purged from all the Realms. If the Eyriens living in Ebon Rih don’t like the boundaries that are set by the Queens in Kaeleer, they can return to Askavi Terreille and take up their old lives.”
“Would there be anything left of their old lives?”
“I don’t know. The point is, they could go back to Askavi Terreille and build the life they seem to think would be so much better than what they have here. I’ll open the Gate myself to accommodate them. But if they’re going to stay here, it’s time for them to start living in Kaeleer instead of expecting the Shadow Realm to change into the same, but more advantageous, place they left.”
Lucivar started pacing. He needed to argue and push because it was helping him see some things he hadn’t considered, but he was nervous about what might swing back at him if he argued and pushed.
When has knowing there was a price ever stopped you? “Two hundred Eyriens living in the mountains around a valley this size isn’t a lot.”
“How many Eyriens do you think usually lived in the land owned by the Keep?” Saetan asked, his voice laced with amused curiosity.
Lucivar stopped pacing. Wherever this discussion was going, it was going to bite him in the ass. He just knew it. “Falonar indicated two hundred are a lot less Eyriens than there should be. If I wasn’t the one ruling here, more would settle in the valley. In Terreille there were courts and hunting camps and communities of Eyriens in the mountains. Hell’s fire. Marian used to live in the Black Valley before she came to Kaeleer. So I know Falonar is right about that—there were hundreds, even thousands, of Eyriens living in the mountains around this valley.”
“Yes, there were. In Terreille,” Saetan said, his voice now filled with an amusement that could, in a heartbeat, turn cuttingly sharp. “My darling, you and Falonar have both missed a step in your education.”
Shit.
“Eyriens are not native to Kaeleer. The Rihlanders are Askavi’s native race in the Shadow Realm. The only reason there have ever been Eyriens living in these mountains, the only reason you are now living in an eyrie Andulvar had built for himself, was that during the time when Andulvar served Cassandra, a winged race was attacking Rihlander villages in the northern parts of Askavi. He was assigned to take care of the problem, and he and the Eyrien warriors who served under him went out and fought the Jhinka and established the line between what was considered Jhinka territory and what belonged to the Rihlanders. In thanks, the Rihlander Queens in Ebon Rih invited him and his men to establish homes in the mountains around the Keep. Which Andulvar did because, even though he ended up being the Warlord Prince of Askavi in both Realms, he liked what he found in Askavi Kaeleer a lot more than what he’d left behind as a youth in Askavi Terreille. So no matter what Falonar may think, there has never been more than two or three communities of Eyriens living in Ebon Rih. Ever.”
Lucivar shifted his weight from one foot to the other. It made sense. A hunting camp was usually paired with a court or a community. When he’d first made the decision to accept Eyriens into service, he’d scouted the mountains for other suitable eyries and found them in the mountains near the Rihlander villages. But now that he thought about those places being occupied, he realized there weren’t many of those old eyries that were still empty, and the ones that were tended to b
e isolated, more like overnight camps instead of homes.
“The valley below us belongs to the Keep in all three Realms,” Saetan said. “It always has; it always will. You were given Ebon Rih to rule on behalf of the Queen of Ebon Askavi. You were given the responsibility to watch over the land and the people who live here, whether they were landens or Rihlanders or Eyriens. When you made the pledge to defend and protect, you not only made it to the living Queen you served; you made it to the Keep and those who serve the Keep. Which is why you still rule here even though Jaenelle is no longer a ruling Queen.” He pushed up from the chair and ran his fingers through his hair, the first sign of exasperation he’d shown. “What is actually going on here, Lucivar? Do you trust Falonar so much that you’ve missed something obvious?”
Right now he didn’t trust Falonar at all, but that wouldn’t be a wise thing to say to his father—or his brother, for that matter. “Like what?”
“A challenge?”
Lucivar huffed out a laugh. “He’s arrogant, not stupid. He couldn’t survive me on a killing field.”
“But he is an aristo Warlord Prince who served in a less-than-honorable court. Was he free to leave, or would he have been considered a rogue when he left Prythian’s court and slipped in with the other Eyriens to try his luck at the service fair?”
“He said he couldn’t stomach what he was ordered to do,” Lucivar said. “I assumed he was rogue, but I didn’t care.”
“A man who lived by traditional Eyrien honor would have cared,” Saetan said. “Or at least cared about why a man broke an oath of loyalty.”
Snarling at the truth of that, Lucivar resumed pacing.
“So Falonar appeals to your sense of honor and tries to get you to give up your claim to Ebon Rih for ‘the good of the other Eyriens.’ What do you think would happen if you did step down?”
“Falonar would step in and become the next Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih and rule the valley in traditional Eyrien fashion.” And blood would be shed up and down the valley. The Rihlanders here, Blood and landen, wouldn’t tolerate the presence of another race who expected them to be accommodating, especially when accommodating meant becoming little better than slaves.
“If you step down, there will be no Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih,” Saetan said. “If you leave Ebon Rih, no one at the Keep will deny Falonar’s claim to being the leader of the Eyriens living in the valley, but the Rihlander villages here will have no duty to him. There will be no tithes to support him or his followers, because he will have no right to that income. He may be considered an equal to the Queens who rule the Blood villages, but not their superior. He would not be permitted to glut this land with Eyriens who can’t support themselves, and he certainly wouldn’t be permitted to bring in more warriors, because the number of warriors already here is sufficient to help the Rihlanders defend this land and its people.”
“And if he did try to bring in more?”
Saetan gave him a long stare before saying softly, “Don’t underestimate what guards the Keep, Lucivar.”
He heard the warning. Oh, yes, he heard the warning.
“I will give Falonar two points,” Saetan said. “First, you aren’t thinking like an Eyrien when it comes to the Eyriens in Ebon Rih. Who would you want with you on a battleground, Prince Yaslana? Who would you want supporting those men? Whose skills are useful? Who should be dismissed because they’re only extra weight? No one has reminded you of those completed contracts because they would have had to earn their living instead of expecting you to provide them with everything they want simply because you agreed to give them a chance to live in the territory you rule. They aren’t your children. Since you have sense enough not to spoil your own son, don’t spoil them. Give them a choice to stay or go, because the ones who can’t give you loyalty are no use to you in a fight—or in a healthy community.”
“Could I release Falonar from his contract?” Lucivar asked.
“If he wants to return to Terreille, you could forgive the rest of his contract. If he wants to stay in Kaeleer but no longer can serve you honorably, his contract could be transferred to a Queen of sufficient rank—meaning one who wears a Red Jewel or darker—who is willing to have an Eyrien Warlord Prince in her court.”
“I won’t let him serve Karla,” Lucivar said. She wasn’t the only Queen who wore Jewels darker than Sapphire, but after what Falonar did to Rainier, he wasn’t going to let the man near the Queen of Glacia and her weakened legs. “What’s the second thing?”
“People didn’t stop dying two years ago. Those who made the transition to demon-dead didn’t stop coming to Hell, didn’t stop wanting a last chance to take care of unfinished business.”
“So?”
“Come with me.”
He followed Saetan to the private part of the Keep’s huge library. On the blackwood table was a wooden box with a dozen audio crystals nestled in heavy silk.
Saetan put one of the crystals in the brass stand and used Craft to engage the sounds held in the crystal.
Andulvar’s voice. Lucivar’s chest ached. Hell’s fire, he missed his uncle. Saetan’s love and discipline and code of honor had shaped the core of who he was, but Andulvar, by being Andulvar, had shaped his sense of what it meant to be Eyrien.
How could he have forgotten that?
Then he focused on the words and gasped. “Stories?”
“Some stories,” Saetan replied. “Some legends as he was taught them. Some accounts of battles he was in. Prothvar has some stories and accounts of battles on a couple of those crystals too. And then there are these.” Returning that audio crystal to its place in the box, he called in another crystal and put it in the stand.
Lucivar didn’t recognize the voice, but he knew what he was hearing. “How? Where?”
“A historian storyteller from Askavi Terreille. He made the transition to demon-dead a couple of weeks ago. When he came to the Dark Realm, his main regret was that he had no apprentice while he walked among the living, had no one to learn the stories, and he worried that no one would remember what Askavi had been like before the purging, that the most recent history would be lost. So I showed him what Andulvar and I had done over the course of several winters.”
“He’s doing the same thing now?” Lucivar asked. “Recording the stories of Eyrien history so they won’t be forgotten?”
“Yes. If someone was interested in becoming the historian storyteller in your community, meetings could be arranged and held at the Keep.”
Maybe the storyteller could have an apprentice after all before he returned to the Darkness.
Saetan called in a thick sheaf of papers, carefully bound. He handed it to Lucivar. “Eyriens don’t have a lot of use for books, but I had all of Andulvar’s stories transcribed. I made two copies. One copy and the audio crystals will remain here in the Keep’s library, available to scholars and our family. The copy you’re holding is a gift from your uncle, and you may do with it as you please.”
“Thank you.” His throat was so tight it was hard to swallow. “I’ve let some things slide for the past couple of years. There were reasons for it, but now that needs to change.”
“Yes, it does. And there will be some who won’t like that change.”
Lucivar put a shield around the bound pages to keep them protected, then vanished them. “I’d better go. I promised Jaenelle I would tuck in Surreal and Rainier tonight, since they’ll both be resuming their training tomorrow.”
“You’re going to put a weapon in Surreal’s hands?” Saetan looked mildly alarmed. “Are you going to shield your balls?”
He laughed. “Damn right, I am.”
He headed for the library’s door. Saetan stayed at the table.
“Lucivar?”
He looked back.
“The next time someone tries to manipulate your heart by saying you don’t know Eyrien tradition, you remind that person that you follow Eyrien traditions that are far older than anything he could possibly know. Because, m
y darling, that is true. Andulvar was proud of you, as a man and as an Eyrien warrior. Does anyone else’s opinion really matter?”
Glancing up from the solitary card game he’d been playing, Rainier saw one of the younger Eyrien Warlords standing in The Tavern’s doorway, scanning the room.
Endar. Had a wife and two children—and lived with them, which, he’d gathered, was atypical in Eyrien society.
Despite what Lucivar sometimes said about his little beast, Rainier couldn’t imagine Yaslana living apart from his family, coming to the family eyrie for only an hour to see his children or have sex with his wife. Couldn’t imagine Yaslana tolerating that separation.
As Endar approached his table, he saw Merry start to veer from the table she’d been heading toward.
*It’s all right,* Rainier told her. *I’d like to know why he’s come.*
She turned again so smoothly, he doubted anyone else would have realized anything had happened.
“Prince Rainier,” Endar said when he reached the table.
“Lord Endar.”
Endar pointed at another chair. “May I?”
“Please do.”
An awkward silence. Then Merry appeared and said, “I know what Prince Rainier is allowed to drink. What would you like?”
Hasn’t been in The Tavern before, Rainier thought as he watched Endar stumble over a simple request for ale.
“I guess your training is done now,” Endar said.
Rainier shook his head. “We report to Prince Yaslana tomorrow morning to resume training.”
“I mean no disrespect, but what can you do right now?”
“I think my part of the training tomorrow consists of standing, walking a few steps, and bending my knee a few times to help stretch the muscles Lady Angelline is rebuilding. Yaslana’s part of the training is pounding on me if I do anything stupid.”
“He wouldn’t hurt an injured man,” Endar protested.
Yes, he would. “I’d rather feel Lucivar’s fist than my Healer’s fury.”
“Ah.” Endar took a couple of swallows of ale, then set the mug aside and called in four books. He looked embarrassed. Almost ashamed. “Since you need to rest that leg so much while it’s healing, I thought you might find these useful.”
