Karal sighed and shook his head, and Lyam patted his back. "Cheer up! The ones who think we're shirking are all idiots, and Firesong is going to get them to go away. If that Queen of theirs doesn't find them something harmless to do to keep them occupied, that is. I know his kind. He'll keep chipping at them until they quit."
Karal chuckled at Lyam's all too accurate assessment. "He can be diplomatic when he wants to be," he felt impelled to point out.
"Of course he can, but diplomacy is for when you've got time, and that's the one thing we're short of." Lyam shook his head as his expression turned grave. "Karal, I'm going to get serious for a moment; I want you to tell me something, and be honest. You've worked with these people—Firesong, An'desha, Sejanes, and all—for a long time. Can they do this? Can they really find an answer to the last Storm? Or should I look for a deep, dark den to hide in and hope it doesn't get melted shut behind me?"
Karal closed his eyes for a moment, taken by surprise by the sudden question. Perhaps that was why Lyam had asked it, so that he wouldn't have a chance to prevaricate.
"If anyone can, they can," he said at last. "An'desha holds the actual memories of Urtho's enemy Ma'ar, who was the second-most-powerful mage of the time of the Cataclysm. I just don't know if it's possible for mortal creatures to save this situation."
Lyam sighed. "I was afraid you were going to say that." He slumped abruptly, and looked up at Karal with an unreadable expression. "Let's talk about our girls," he suggested. "You and I can't do a blazing thing to help them, so let's talk about our girls, eh?" In a mercurial change of mood, he grinned, showing a fine set of pointed teeth. "Nothing like girls to get your mind off your troubles."
"Or give you a different set of troubles to think about!" Karal laughed, only too happy to oblige.
Tarrn found them both commiserating over the way that females had to approach any difficulty sideways, like a crab, instead of meeting it head-on, a trait it seemed both hertasi and human females shared. He stood within earshot for some time, simply listening, with his pointed ears pricked sharply upward, evidently waiting for a natural break in the conversation before interrupting.
:Lyam, have you any notion where the Shin'a'in stored the gray bag of books we brought with us?: he asked. :I find I need a reference.:
"It's easier for me to find it than tell you where it is," the hertasi said, leaping to his feet. "Stay right here; I'll bring the whole bag."
He scampered down the stairs to the workroom, and Tarrn turned his attention to Karal. :You and my apprentice seem to be getting on well,: he observed mildly.
"We have a great deal in common, sir," Karal replied politely." As you probably noticed."
Tarrn's mouth dropped open in a lupine grin. :Young women, for one thing. Alas, I fear I could never give you reasonable advice on that subject; my kind are neuters, but by birth rather than by oath, as our Shin'a'in friends are.:
That left Karal more confused than enlightened. "All kyree are neuters? And where do the Kal'enedral come into it?"
It took Tarrn a few moments to explain that, no, all kyree were not neuters, but that the neuters tended to be the scholars, tale-spinners, poets, and historians. Then it took him a bit longer to explain the oaths of the Sworn, and how the Goddess herself rendered them literally sexless, which was why it was so very difficult for anyone to be accepted by Her into Her service.
Karal was not precisely appalled, but he was certainly baffled. "I can't imagine why anyone would want to be Sworn!" he said to the kyree, "I mean, I beg your pardon, but—"
:Don't apologize; I don't regret being neuter, and over the years I've often considered myself fortunate not to have to put up with what you do,: Tarrn replied thoughtfully. :As for the Sworn, whether Swordsworn or Goddess-sworn, I can well imagine any number of circumstances where a human would find the burden of sexuality intolerable. Such tales that brought them to that condition may be sad, even horrible, but at least among the Shin'a'in they have a refuge. And for some—well if their life has been spent entirely in the sphere of the intellectual, then there is no sacrifice.:
Karal took a moment to look for An'desha, and finally found him, deep in conference with—Lo'isha and another black-clad Shin'a'in. "I suppose I can think of at least one case where memories might be intolerable," he said slowly.
Tarrn followed his gaze. :The thought had occurred to me as well. If we live...:
If. There was that word again, the one he thought about all the time, but did his best not to mention. "Are we likely not to?" he asked soberly.
As if called by his gaze, An'desha left the other Shin'a'in and walked over to them, just in time to catch Tarrn's reply.
:I don't know.: Tarrn was quite sober. :I came here knowing that there was a good chance we would not, and so did Lyam. It is possible that what we record will serve to help others cope with the next Cataclysm in another millennia or two. Or it may help the survivors of this one. It seems that the only way we can be assured of survival is through the mechanism you yourself suggested.:
"Divine intervention?" he said, dryly. "Ah, but there's a catch. We can't count on it; if we do, we certainly won't get it."
An'desha nodded as he sat down beside Karal. "That is the way of things with the Star-Eyed, at least, and this is the heart of Her land. If we were to call upon anyone, it should be Kal'enel. But Lo'isha says that She has been silent of late, as if She is no more certain of what is to come than we are."
:So what are we to do?: Tarrn asked. :When the gods themselves are silent, what is a mortal to do?:
"I don't know," An'desha admitted.
"You might try calling on old friends," suggested a helpful voice from above their heads, as brilliant golden light flooded down upon them.
Tarrn Jumped straight up in the air and came down with his eyes wide and his hackles up. Lyam, whose head was just poking up out of the hatchway leading to the stair to the workroom, had to grab for the edge of the hatch to keep from falling. Even Karal, who had seen this phenomenon before, and An'desha, to whom it was familiar, gaped with astonishment as they rose to their feet.
Swooping down from the ceiling in a spiraling dance that involved Firesong's ecstatic firebird Aya, were a pair of man-sized hawks with feathers of flame. They landed with the grace of a dancer and the weightlessness of a puff of down, and the moment they touched the ground, they transformed into a man and a woman who still had a suggestion of bird about them. The man was dressed as a Shin'a'in shaman, but the woman was all Hawkbrother.
The Shin'a'in present all reacted the same way; they did not drop to their knees or grovel, but went rigid with the profoundest respect, and with naked worship in their eyes.
:What—is—this?: Tarrn managed, every hair on his body standing straight out.
"I am Dawnfire, and this is Tre'valen," the woman said, looking down at Tarrn with a smile. Her eyes were open wide, as were his, and they were perhaps the strangest thing of all about the two, for those eyes were the bright-spangled black of a star-filled night sky. "We're old friends of An'desha."
Altra and Florian appeared from one of the farther rooms, and made their way across the floor to the little gathering, and it seemed that they were the only creatures in the building capable of moving. They paused a few paces away from the bright creatures, and both made little bows of greeting in unison.
"Tre'valen and Dawnfire are Avatars of Kal'enel, Tarrn," An'desha said, very quietly. "And although I would not have claimed the privilege of saying they were my friends, they have been very good to me."
Tre'valen laughed. "Well, claim it or not, we are your friends, little brother. And more than that, we're here to help you as much as we can."
That astonishing statement broke the spell holding everyone frozen in silence, and everyone in the Tower converged on the pair except for Karal, who sat abruptly down.
We have Altra for Vkandis, Florian for the gods of Valdemar—and now this. What is that Shin'a'in saying? Be careful what you ask for?
Well, he had asked for Divine aid; whether it would be enough remained to be seen.
Eight
"All I know is this," King Tremane said, rubbing his temple in a gesture of nervous habit, "I haven't even tried to light a candle magically for weeks, but my mage-energy is going somewhere. If you can tell me where, I'll feel a great deal better."
Darkwind nodded, squinting a little against the brilliant sunlight streaming in through the windows of the King's Tower. That was what everyone called it now—"the King's Tower," as Shonar had become, by default, the new capital of Hardorn. It was a small and slightly shabby residence for a King, but Hardorn itself had seen better days. It would do Tremane no harm to be seen putting the welfare of his new country above his own comforts.
After a frenzy of make-do preparations, there had been a tiny coronation ceremony, wherein Duke Tremane had become King Tremane, and had been presented with a crown that (like the country) was rather the worse for wear. It even appeared to have been flattened before someone managed to wrestle it back into shape.
Still, it was—at least now—the authentic crown of Hardorn, and there was something to be said for that.
Tremane had accepted it graciously, worn it for the coronation. then immediately went to his private possessions and had a few things melted down and made into a very slim, gold band with minimal ornamentation that bore a remarkable resemblance to his ducal coronet.
That, in turn, had borne a remarkable resemblance to the slender coronet that Selenay wore, but Darkwind didn't see any reason to mention that. Frankly, the thin band looked dignified on Tremane's balding head, as opposed to the heavy crown. Even if it hadn't been battered, the original crown still looked rather silly, at least to Darkwind's eyes.
Crowns. This conference isn't about crowns. He turned his attention instead to Tremane's statement. "I think," he said slowly, "that your energy is going into the land—at least in making queries of where and what problems there are—and that where it goes tells you what places are most damaged. I suspect that those places producing monstrosities are the most heavily damaged, which is how you have been managing to pinpoint their lairs. You can probably stop the drainage if you choose."
Tremane considered that for a moment, then shrugged. "On the whole, I don't see why I should bother. It isn't a critical drain, and it isn't paining me or making me physically weaker. The only things I might want to do magically are things the earth-sense is giving me anyway. I just wanted to know where my energies were going; it could have been due to something more sinister."
That was astute of him, and a reflection on the changes in his thinking that he did not immediately assume it was something sinister and begin looking for an enemy, "Tayledras Healing Adepts can send their energies out to damaged land deliberately," Darkwind told him. "And they can redirect energy from elsewhere, using themselves as a conduit. You seem to have many of the same abilities, given to you by the earth-sense, rather than by accident of birth or because of training."
"Interesting." Tremane replied, his brows knitting slightly with thought. He leaned toward Darkwind as something occurred to him. "You know, there's another thing; I had assumed that I'd have earth-sense for all of Hardorn, from border to border, but every time one of those groups comes in to give me their—their pledge—it seems as if I can sense more than I could before. It's difficult to explain; it's as if I knew the place was there, but it was blank or shadowed to me. It's analogous to seeing into a room that was darkened and is now illuminated."
"That may be precisely what is happening," Darkwind admitted. "When someone has an affinity for a given area—usually a homeland, or at least the village they grew up in—a magical link naturally forms between them and the place. Location and divination spells work just a little easier when they involve that person's home area as a target, for example, over places the person may have been to only once. When these people open themselves up to your rule, they may also very well be opening up their home-affinity connection to you, too. Or, well, it could also be that the earth you take from them in the seisin ceremony links you to that place. It's fairly obvious to me that the seisin ceremony itself is a primitive piece of contamination-magic. As for details of how you can use that to advantage, I don't know; you'd have to ask someone who already has the sense."
He hadn't missed the hesitation before Tremane picked the word "pledge." Poor Tremane was enduring a great deal of personal embarrassment for the sake of these people, if only they knew it. Little groups were trickling in all the time to swear fealty to their new king, and they were using an ancient ritual they referred to as "seisin," a ritual probably as old as the earth-taking ritual. There was no doubt in Darkwind's mind that it was just as potent as the earth-taking, and just as primitive.
And it profoundly embarrassed the urbane and efficient Tremane, as most "primitive" rituals would embarrass him.
Nevertheless, it was effective, and he didn't think he needed to point out to Tremane that the reason he could sense another new area every time his new liegemen swore to him was that he literally was adding to the area he had "taken." It was entirely possible that the pinch of earth he had ingested at the ceremony that gave him this new power had been carefully made of a bit of every soil the priests could get their hands on, for that very reason, thus adding in the extra power gain from contagion.
"Speaking of your new subjects, Tremane, there's another group coming in at the gate now," said Elspeth, who happened to be standing by the window. "They're pretty heavily armed and I see someone with a pennon at the front." She frowned and shaded her eyes with one hand, looking down into the courtyard. "Is that—yes, it is, four sets of strawberry-leaves. It's a baronial coronet on the pennon-head. Congratulations! You've hooked one of the few big fish remaining in Hardorn."
Darkwind barely suppressed a smirk. :For the first time since I've been with you, ke'chara, I've just seen a Herald... act as a Herald.:
Elspeth just made a short choking sound, while Gwena tittered in their heads.
Tremane sighed, but it was with visible relief. "I'd better go right down and greet them properly, then," he said. "Can we resume our meeting later?"
"No reason why not," Elspeth said for both of them. "We'll meet you down there with Gwena and the full panoply. If you've gotten a baron, we'd better confirm your treaty and association with the Alliance."
Darkwind smiled; this was not, by any means, the first time that Gwena, he, and Elspeth had dressed up and assembled to impress the new liegemen. It had rather startled some of them to see a "horse" indoors, until they saw Elspeth's white uniform and realized that it wasn't a horse at all, but a Companion.
Tremane laughed unexpectedly; it seemed to Darkwind that the new King laughed quite a bit more than he would have expected, perhaps because he had a strong sense of humor about himself. "You should hear the things my housekeeping staff has to say about hoofprints in the wood floors. Do you have the same problem in Valdemar?"
"Sadly, all the time," Elspeth told him. "We've never found a way to prevent them, and we've tried everything." She moved away from the window with her arms crossed over her chest and a twinkle of amusement in her eye. "A silver piece says this one will be more impressed by Darkwind and Vree than by Gwena and me."
"I'll take that bet," Tremane responded easily. Darkwind stood up, smiling mostly to himself. Tremane had become much more relaxed around them since the earth-taking ceremony, treating them more often as colleagues and equals than as foreign ambassadors. Darkwind thought he knew why, although he doubted if Tremane himself was aware of the reason.
The land "knows" Elspeth and Gwena; the Valdemarans have always been good stewards of the land and good friends to Hardorn since Vanyel's time. It also "knows" me, since serving and healing the land are what the Tayledras were born and bred for. Because the land knows and trusts us, it is making Tremane feel comfortable around us and inclining him to trust us as well.
Tremane's new link with Hardorn was g
oing to affect him in any number of ways that he was not always going to be conscious of, but Darkwind didn't see anything but good in that prospect. Very occasionally Tremane grew momentarily disoriented by some new information the earth-sense threw at him, but for the most part he was coping well. Eventually, as Hardorn recovered from the damage that had been done to it, Tremane would find that the land sustained him in moments of stress, rather than the reverse.
There was a knock on the door, and Elspeth joined Darkwind as Tremane's aide—now styled his "seneschal," though he still acted and probably thought of himself as a military aide-de-camp—entered diffidently.
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