His heart jumped. She wasn’t going to keep them apart. He said a silent prayer to Odin. “Oh, I will, Matradomma.”
The Queen nodded. She turned to leave.
“Thank you,” he added.
Kalindinai stopped, her back still to him. “Don’t thank Us, yet, Garmtur.” Kalindinai’s violet eyes flashed as she glanced over her shoulder and gave him cold smile. “You don’t know yet what you owe.”
Bannor felt the chill of that smile long after her footsteps faded into the distance.
Bannor waited for Sarai in anticipation. He needed her. He wanted to feel her arms around him, to smell her hair and taste her lips. It seemed summers since they last touched. As he contemplated a reunion, the Queen’s last words gnawed at him. You don’t know yet what you owe. Thos words did anything but comfort him. Some inner feeling said that a bargain with Kalindinai might be as bad as a deal with Hecate.
Sitting on his cot with nothing to do he stared at the stream, then the flickering torches, and finally the cavern roof. There was nothing to read or do. His legs wouldn’t support him so there was no way to explore. He felt the tiredness of being ill, but the waiting made him too fidgety to simply lay still and do nothing.
On impulse, he picked up a rock and scratched on the stone floor. The surface yielded, giving up a passable white line. He continued, etching a pattern on the floor. His only thought was to create a satisfying piece of art. Something about it tugged at him. As inspirations came, he worked with more deliberation. The depth and precision of the curves and angles grew. The flow, rhythm, and sequence of the developing symmetry drew him in.
He put down the rock an indeterminate time later and wiped the sweat on his brow. Totally focused, he’d lost track of time. A symmetrical maze of lines, angles and curves stretched around the far end of his cot. What had started as an aimless alleviation of boredom had become a something of significance.
A tracery. He saw bits of his own soul pattern in it and that of the Garmtur. Other segments reminded him of Sarai. He’d learned not to trust patterns. Parts of his Garmtur were recorded here. The one time he concentrated on its pattern the power almost destroyed everything.
He lay on the cot and studied what inspiration had created. Dozens of lines converged in complex rosettes, spanning outward, twining and splitting like the web of a demented spider. Other lines formed a framework, lines of perspective that gave the illusion of depth and volume. The Garmtur hadn’t died. The pattern instincts integral to his Nola remained alive. At his most basic level, he still interpreted reality in terms of patterns like this one. This etching was an energy map that would allow the manipulation of something. With his Garmtur subdued he had no way of interpreting it.
What could it be?
Boots on stone interrupted his contemplation. His heart beat faster in anticipation of seeing Sarai. The sight of a green blouse and blonde hair dashed his hopes.
“Wren,” he greeted. His tone sounded more dour than he wanted.
The savant sighed. She still looked pale and a frown pulled down the lines of her face. “Bannor. I see you still have your head.”
He made a half smile. “The Queen tried to take it, but I wouldn’t let her.”
Some of the frown lines went away, and Wren smiled. She leaned against the partition and folded her arms. Her attention went to the drawing on the floor. “What’s that?”
“Don’t know exactly,” he said. “It’s a tracery of some kind. I got bored, starting drawing, and that came out.”
Wren stepped across the partition and bent over the pattern. “Interesting.” She rubbed her chin. “I see bits of myself in it.” She glanced to him for recognition.
He frowned. “Really? I see myself, Sarai, and the Garmtur in there too.”
“Why this particular pattern? With those specific elements?” She mused aloud. After a moment, she shook her head. “Well, that can wait. How are you doing?”
Bannor sat up on the cot. He took Wren’s hand. “Okay, the Queen gave me a lot to think about. What about you? Are you all right?”
She nodded and looked at his hand holding hers. It seemed to stir memories in her because she pulled away. “Kalindinai was right. I took too much on myself. Still, it had to be done; policy or no, right or wrong.”
“Kalindinai thinks so too. She simply can’t say so.”
“How do you know that?”
“She told me.”
Wren pursed her lips. The savant’s face tightened. “Bannor, can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Do you still trust me?”
Where was she heading with this? He folded his arms and took a breath before answering. “Never trusted you completely, but I don’t trust you any less than I did. We’ve come through a lot together after all.”
“Good.”
“Why?”
Wren shook her head. “Hard to explain, but I think the Queen will to try to come between us.”
“What do you mean? It’s not like we’re engaged.”
“No…” She drew the word out. “You and I have things to do. Things she may try to prevent.”
“It strikes me that if there’s something Kalindinai wants to stop, then there’s a good reason.”
“Her reasons are political. She’s not just a person, Bannor, she’s a nation. What’s good for Malan might not be so good for us savants. You and I are dangerous people. Many folks think we’re potentially too harmful to let roam around free. Understand?”
He did, and he didn’t like the implication. “You’re sure about this?”
“Bannor, aren’t I always?”
He grunted. “So, what do we do about it?”
“Don’t get locked in more than necessary, that’s all.”
“Besides wanting to marry her daughter?” he asked.
“Nothing to be done for that. Sarai is our biggest asset right now, and our biggest liability.”
Boots scraped on stone and he heard a familiar female voice. “I heard that.”
The sound of her voice sent a warm tremor through him. “Sarai!” He held his arms out.
Sarai stood at the partition opening, dressed in a brilliant red silk blouse and skirt. Her hair had been coifed and fixed in fashion he’d never seen her wear. The two guards flanking Sarai scowled at his open-armed gesture to their arminwen. The bigger of the two looked ready to pull out his sword and impale Bannor on it.
Sarai looked sidelong at her guards and their threatening stances. “We are here. We no longer need your escort. Dismissed.” She made a shooing gesture. When the two hesitated, she pointed and stamped her foot. “We said—dismissed.” Her voice rang with that commanding tone he’d now come to associate with the Queen.
It worked. Not only on the guards, but on Wren too. The savant flinched as though bitten. Apparently, she was still a bit tender from the tongue-lashing Kalindinai had given her.
After the two elves stalked off, Sarai came to him. He tried to rise but his legs failed him. Sarai hugged him before he tried to rise again.
Bannor wrapped his arms around her tight. His heart thundered, and he felt Sarai’s heart beating in syncopation with his as they pressed together.
“My One,” she breathed. “I missed you.”
“I, too,” he agreed.
Bannor didn’t want to talk. He only wanted to hold her. He wished that he felt stronger, that he could make his arms hold as tight as his convictions said they should. For a while, there was no sound save their breathing and the gurgle of the underground stream.
He was aware of Wren watching them, but didn’t care. Let her watch. He loved Sarai. The problems that conspired to keep them apart were only obstacles to overcome. Sarai’s love was worth it.
Sarai pulled away. She smiled but it looked a little forced. “How are you, my One? Is Meliandri providing good care?”
He nodded. “What about you?”
She folded her arms and glanced at Wren. The savant raised an eyebrow. The tw
o of them stared at one another as if in silent communication. She turned her attention back to him. “I have been weathering Father’s storm. He has had me in to see him several times. That is why I was not here sooner. He wanted to yell at me one more time.”
Bannor swallowed. Kalindinai was bad. He wasn’t sure if he could handle Father. “Does he know you’re here?”
Sarai shrugged. “Probably. Mother ordered it.”
“Aren’t you concerned?”
She cupped his ears in her palms, pulled his forehead close a kissed it. “Let me handle my parents. You concentrate on getting better. You need to be strong for tomorrow morning.”
He heard something ominous in Sarai’s voice. “What’s tomorrow, Little Star?”
“Your first audience with Father.”
* * *
Mothers, fathers, siblings, they are something that we of the pantheons possess but those relations are something that take quite a bit more than a few breaths to explain. For example, my sister Athena claims to have sprung fully grown from the head of Zeus.
The truth is considerably less imaginative…
—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’
Chapter Forty-Seven
« ^ »
Bannor stared into Sarai’s glowing violet eyes and the earnest expression on her face. Her tone had sounded so innocent, so innocuous, as she calmly asked him to walk up the gallows steps and put his head in the noose.
“My first what!” he choked out. The loudness of his voice startled both Sarai and Wren. The savant who’d been leaning against the partition almost fell over.
The brief surprise on Sarai’s face was replaced by a frown. “I said, your first audience with Father.”
“No.”
“My One…”
“No,” he said louder.
“My One…” she growled the word ‘one’. “We have to…”
“Later,” he said. “Much later. Your Father will just snarl at me, make veiled threats and remarks about my questionable heritage. That, and he’ll probably hang me if he can find an excuse.”
Sarai’s face clouded and her eyes flashed. She folded her arms. “You don’t know anything about my father,” she declared.
Bannor sighed. This was hard, especially when he felt so weak. He needed her support. “I know fathers. I’ve had one, and a sister, too. I know what my Father put my sister’s suitors through. Little Star, I’m not up to it. I look like … well, I’d rather not describe what I look like—”
“Or smell like,” Wren said, wrinkling her nose.
Bannor glared at her. She shrugged.
Sarai fixed Wren with a ‘you-stay-out-of-this’ stare then turned her attention back to him. “We can get you cleaned up. That’s not a problem.”
He squeezed her hand. “Little Star, I don’t want to.” His voice rose on the word ‘want’.
“My One, you may not, but Father does.”
Bannor gritted his teeth. “Does your Father always get what he wants?”
“Usually.”
“Odin.” He felt so tired. Why did he even try to argue? So disoriented. He didn’t even know what part of the day it was now. “Can we make it for late tomorrow?”
“We can try.”
“Good.”
Wren raised an eyebrow. “For a princess who’s a captive of her own people, you certainly are confident.”
Sarai squared herself on the cot. She put her arm around his waist and gave Wren a look. “You know how it is with fathers.”
“Of course. Mine dotes on me.” She pointed an admonishing finger at Sarai. “I’ve never gotten my Father mad enough to throw me in the dungeon though.”
Sarai shrugged. “Give it a couple hundred summers. You will. I’m not a baby, nor a puppet to act out his games.”
Bannor put up a hand to halt the conversation. “Not that this isn’t an important topic, but has anyone found out what’s happening with the gate or the armies?”
Wren nodded. “Last I heard, Hecate had pulled her armies back to the portal. Best guess is they’re waiting to move out. Nobody knows for what.”
Bannor suspected why. Hecate was waiting for his decision about giving up the Garmtur. Whether or not Kalindinai decided for him or not, he would still feel responsible for the consequences. He wondered now if he shouldn’t challenge the Queen’s decision.
Wait. He’d tell Wren later. He didn’t need to worry both himself and the savant now. Part of what he’d learned negotiating with Hecate was that she knew about Wren’s lover in the dream world. The savant would be very upset over the goddess knowing about it. What Hecate knew, she could twist or destroy.
He didn’t even want to think about it. Hecate knew about his brother, too. “Another thing. Has anyone talked to Laramis?”
“He’s all right,” Sarai said. “Upset, of course. I’m working on getting him freed.”
“He’s fretting over Irodee,” Wren said. “Can’t blame him. I’m worried myself. Trapped here with no way to go find her.”
“I’ll handle it,” Sarai snapped. “Carellion’s eyes. It takes time. Mother and Father aren’t through scolding me, much less in a mood to help me. I’m surprised Mother was as generous as she was.”
Wren snorted. “Generous?” She turned her back and faced the stream. Bannor guessed she was thinking about the tongue-lashing Kalindinai had given her.
“I think I can talk Mother into having some scouts search for Irodee.” She glanced at him. “That’s better than nothing—right?”
Back still to them, Wren nodded.
For the rest of her visit, the savant remained sullen and withdrawn. He suspected it was more than being trapped or not being able to go to Irodee. He knew Wren hated being powerless. He empathized with that.
Sarai sent for some heated water and gave him a washcloth bath. At first, he’d thought just to bathe in the stream. One toe in the icy current quenched those ideas. The flow must be snow runoff and barely above freezing.
They spent their time discussing how best to deal with their situation as captives of the state. They talked about what to do about Laramis, and where Irodee and DacWhirter might be if they were still alive. Much of their plans hinged on whether he and Sarai could soothe the King’s anger. The situation was too much, too soon. He couldn’t even stand on his own yet.
They ate a cold dinner of cheese, venison, bread and blackberry wine. Sarai brought her cot from another part of the ward and they lay together in the darkness listening to the stream gurgling by.
Even with Sarai at his side, Bannor’s sleep was fitful. So much rode on the meeting with the King. The morning, or what passed for morning underground, came far too soon. An elf assigned to Sarai came to wake them. A night’s rest had returned little of his mobility.
They sat up as the aide lit the torches and brought salves that Kalindinai had left instructions for applying on Bannor’s scratches.
Sarai had clothes fetched for him, and bathed him again. She applied the salves then rubbed in some oils whose application was the most pleasurable thing he’d experienced since he and she made love among the trees back at Hades flats.
The dark maroon tunic fit snug, and the dark flare-leg breeches even more so. Few elves were over 17 hands tall. He just held in his breath and hoped the seams wouldn’t burst.
Sarai stepped back and examined his appearance. She shook her head and muttered something in elvish.
“What?”
“I said, I wish these were larger.”
Bannor felt a tingle in the back of his skull. A faint glow pulsed around himself and Sarai.
The glow faded, and he realized that the tightness around his legs and groin had vanished.
Sarai’s eyes widened. Her jaw dropped open. “Did you..?”
A cold lump hardened in his stomach. “No, I didn’t.”
Her voice sounded tiny. “I felt a buzzing in my head—then it happened.”
“Odin’s breath,” Bannor muttered. “I
felt it, too.” Had the Garmtur found some other outlet? He still sensed that the block he’d put up remained intact. What did Sarai do? More frightening than the Garmtur being loose was that Sarai couldn’t see the threads of reality to even guess when something might be dangerous. He calmed himself and tried to be logical. Might this only be a fluke?
He sat on the cot and rubbed his face with his hands. “This is bad. I had enough problems when I was the only one who could use the Garmtur.”
Sarai’s violet eyes widened. “I don’t understand. How?”
He shook his head. “Don’t know—I—” Bannor stopped. Through his fingers, he glimpsed the tracery on the floor around his cot. He fought back to his feet, wanting to move fast, but slowed by pain. He grabbed her cot, tried to lift it and failed. Sarai snatched it one-handed and tossed it aside.
On the floor lay the complex etching he had spent a day creating. Bits of his pattern, Sarai’s, and Wren’s were snuggled into the complicated maze of curling lines. Without using the Garmtur, he couldn’t navigate the tracery to understand it. He could guess what it did, though. What had he been thinking? No, he hadn’t been thinking at all—simply doodling; musing about Sarai and Wren.
“What is it?” Sarai asked.
“A tracery.”
“What does that have to do with what happened?”
He shrugged and pointed to the pattern on the floor. “I’m guessing something like this can work magic if done right.”
“What were you trying to do?”
“I wasn’t trying to do anything. Just scribbling. The Garmtur’s power is in manipulating patterns like these, only they’re in my mind. I guess it works written down too, just differently.” He shook his head. “There’s so much I don’t know.”
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