Lady of the Trillium

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  Within seconds the birds had dropped from the sky to land beside the bedraggled wanderers. There was a strange woman sitting on the back of one of the birds. Both children stared in astonishment. “I didn’t know that birds could carry people,” Mikayla said to Fiolon.

  Fiolon didn’t answer her; he just sat and stared.

  The lady, however, seemed impatient. “Mikayla,” she said, reaching down to grab the girl by the arm, “sit here in front of me.” She half hauled the girl into position. “Fiolon,” she added, pointing to the second bird, “climb aboard.” Fiolon moved slowly to do as he was told, staring dubiously at the great bird and dragging Quasi with him. The Oddling hesitated until the lady nodded to him, then took his seat at the very back of the bird’s neck.

  The lady spoke to the lammergeiers and they flew. Mikayla would have thought she was dreaming, but the pain in her arm where the lady had wrenched it when she hauled her onto the bird, and the extremely unpleasant sensation of wet clothing freezing on her body as they flew, convinced her that she was awake and, at least for the minute, alive.

  Within an hour they were at the Tower—the same distance that Haramis had traversed so laboriously on her fronials.

  Mikayla noticed when the bird they were riding began to lose altitude and the air grew slightly thicker and warmer, although “warmer” was certainly a relative term. She raised her head slightly from where she had pressed her face into the bird’s feathers to protect it from the stinging wind and looked over the bird’s shoulder. The bird’s path slanted down toward a white Tower, set into a ledge in the mountain. Given the snow surrounding it, it might have been invisible had it not been liberally decorated with black trim around all the windows and black crenellations around the upper level. There was a balcony large enough for the lammergeiers to land on, and that appeared to be their destination.

  The birds landed, furling their wings, and Mikayla, freed from the lady’s grip, slid to the pavement. By now her clothing had frozen; it crackled as she moved. She turned to see if Fiolon was all right.

  Fiolon was also on the pavement, holding Quasi’s unconscious body, completely ignoring the birds that were taking flight around them. “Quasi!” he said urgently, shaking the little Oddling. “Wake up!”

  The lady walked stiffly over to them and reached down awkwardly to touch Quasi’s forehead briefly. “He can’t hear you,” she said briskly. “Bring him, and follow me.” She turned and walked through a doorway into the Tower without even looking back.

  Mikayla helped Fiolon lift Quasi’s body. She was dismayed by how cold and unresponsive it was as she and Fiolon, both stiff with cold and hampered by frozen clothing, struggled to maneuver it through the doorway. Quasi didn’t even flinch when they inadvertently banged him into the door frame.

  When they got inside, they found the lady standing at the end of the hall, staring down the stairs. There was the sound of several sets of light footsteps rushing up toward her, followed by the arrival of five servants: three Nyssomu and two Vispi. Mikayla had never seen a Vispi before, but she recognized them at once from descriptions in the books she and Fiolon had read.

  The Vispi were more human looking than the Nyssomu, taller, with narrower faces, and what looked to Mikayla like normal noses and mouths with small even teeth. Like the Nyssomu, they had larger eyes than humans did, but green instead of gold. They had silver-white hair and pointed ears, three fingers on each hand and fingernails that were virtually claws.

  “Welcome back, Lady Haramis,” the Nyssomu woman said respectfully.

  “Thank you,” Haramis said briefly. She indicated Quasi’s limp form and pointed to the two Nyssomu men. “You and you, take this and thaw him out. You,” she said to the Vispi woman, indicating Mikayla, “take the girl and get her cleaned up and dressed.” To the Vispi man, she added, “You take the boy.” As they were relieved of Quasi’s body and towed off up another staircase, Mikayla heard Haramis add, “Draw me a bath, Enya, and make sure the fire is lit in my study. We’ll eat there when the children are dressed.”

  As she soaked her chilled body in a warm tub, it occurred to Haramis—and not, she thought, before time—to wonder what Mikayla’s parents would think of the abrupt disappearance of their young charges. She cast out her thoughts to one of the nearby lammergeiers, asking it to carry one of her servants to take a message to the King and Queen. When the lammergeier agreed, she told Enya to choose a servant for the journey and be sure that he was dressed warmly enough for travel by lammergeier. Enya nodded and left the room.

  “I’m getting too old to go flying about like this,” she grumbled to herself as she soaked in the tub, waiting for her chilled limbs to warm and become more responsive to her commands. Why, she wondered, had she brought them all here, instead of just returning to the Citadel? None of them had been dressed to fly in this climate, and that Oddling could have been permanently frozen. Haramis knew better than to bring an unprotected Nyssomu up into these heights—even more than two hundred years later, she remembered the day she had allowed Uzun to attempt to go into the mountains with her when she was searching for her Talisman. She touched her fingers to the Three-Winged Circle, which still hung by its golden chain between her breasts. On that occasion she had lost two days travel taking Uzun downhill and thawing him out. She should have remembered that before she let a Nyssomu mount a lammergeier. He would have been safer in the swamp. And she didn’t need either him or the boy here. The only one she did need here was Mikayla. Am I getting senile? she wondered.

  She frowned, considering the question. She had discovered in her long career as Archimage that sometimes she did things that seemed strange to her at the time, but there would turn out to be a good reason for her actions, even though the reason was unknown to her when she acted. She felt that this was one of those times, but what could the reason be? The only thing that came to mind was that Mikayla’s parents might have refused to let her take their daughter, but from what she had seen of them, that did not seem likely. And if they had tried to stop her, she would have taken the girl anyway, and there is nothing they could have done about it.

  She shrugged, got out of the tub, and dressed in her warmest clothes, even though her rooms were not at all chilly. Then she went to see her guests.

  Her servants had found them various garments, although nothing that really fit either child properly. Soon the children were seated dry and warm, albeit rather oddly garbed in a random assortment of ill-fitting clothing, before a fire in Haramis’s study, with one of her housekeeper’s good meals before them. Enya was very much pleased by this for, as she had often complained to Haramis, the Archimage did not eat enough to keep a bird alive; and Enya, who liked cooking, found the healthy appetites of the children a most welcome challenge to her considerable talents.

  Quasi had been thawed out enough to join them, but he was still rather sluggish and ate little. Both children seemed concerned about him and asked him repeatedly how he was feeling until Haramis finally lost her patience and told them to be quiet and eat.

  But when at last the empty dishes had been magically banished to the kitchen again, the Archimage glared at her young guests and at Quasi, who sat with folded hands, silently respectful beside them.

  “Tiresome little beasts,” she remarked crossly, “I wonder if any of you three will prove to be worth the trouble to which you have put both me and my lammergeiers.”

  Quasi, who had revived considerably during the meal, probably due to the fact that he was sitting next to the fire, said rather pertly, “Begging your pardon, Lady—and it was very good of you to come after us and I’m sure we’re all most grateful—but we didn’t none of us ask to be whisked away here. And what the King and the Queen will be thinking when no one can’t find any trace of the princess and the young master, I’m sure I don’t know.”

  “That’s right,” piped up Mikayla, “Mama and Papa will be most terribly worried when they don’t hear any word of us from anywhere.”

  “Don’
t you dare to be impertinent,” the Archimage growled. “I have sent a message to the King and the Queen, and they will know soon enough that you are both safe with me. And from what I’ve seen of your parents—and heard of your behavior,” she added cuttingly, “it will be several days before they even begin to worry about you.” Mikayla bit her lip and dropped her eyes to her lap.

  Secretly Haramis thought that if Mikayla’s parents and Fiolon’s guardians had a few days of worry about the children, it would only serve them right for taking such poor care of their charges, and for the way in which this had resulted in her, Haramis, having her Tower turned upside down by these unexpected guests.

  “But you must understand,” Mikayla said earnestly, “that we really didn’t need rescuing at all. After all, madam”—she was not at all sure who the Archimage might be, but if only because of her abundance of white hair, she was sure that the elder lady was somehow entitled to respect—“we did escape from the Skriteks, and we managed to get to shore safely, and we weren’t far from Quasi’s village. So we really were getting along quite well, and if you rescued us you must have done it because you had some reason of your own, or some use for us, hadn’t you? So it really isn’t our fault that we’re here, is it?”

  Fiolon said, shocked, “Oh, Mika, you shouldn’t sound so ungrateful. I’m sure that whoever the Lady is, she’ll have had excellent reasons for what she did.”

  Until that very moment it had not occurred to the Archimage that neither of the young people had the faintest idea of who she was. She raised her head and said irritably, “Do you not know who I am?”

  “We don’t have the faintest idea, Lady,” Fiolon said politely. “I suppose by your birds you must at least be a mighty sorceress. I have heard of only one woman who could command the lammergeiers, and I believed that she died many years ago. You could not possibly be the old Archimage of Ruwenda?” He hesitated. “Or could you?”

  Haramis realized that she should have been prepared for this—if she had really thought about it, she would have known that none of them had ever set eyes on her before. And from what she had seen of the King’s attitude toward them, she would wager that their education had been neglected as well.

  “I am not the old Archimage, no,” she declared. “Her name was Binah, and she died many years ago, before any of you young people were born. I am the new Archimage—it would hardly be right to say the young Archimage now—and my name is Haramis.”

  Fiolon gasped, obviously the name meant something to him, but Mikayla still looked blank. Haramis frowned at her. “I am also your kinswoman. Don’t imagine that I am proud of the relationship,” she added cuttingly. “I’m not.”

  Mikayla rose to her feet and curtsied. She had beautiful manners when she chose to use them, Haramis realized, presumably having been schooled extensively in court etiquette by the Queen. But it would appear that she seldom chose to use them.

  “Is it permitted to ask why we have been brought here, my Lady Archimage?”

  Haramis sighed; she had lost almost all her enthusiasm for choosing this impertinent young girl as her successor. But after all, what choice did she have? It wasn’t really her choice to make, just her job to train the girl. At least, Mikayla was Anigel’s great-grandchild—or was that great-great-grandchild?—and must have some of her ancestress’s talents. She would simply have to make the best of it.

  She summoned all her self-control and said, “Like all creatures, I am mortal. I must train my successor before I die. Would it please you, Mikayla, to become Archimage when, as all things must, I pass on to whatever is the next stage of existence?”

  Mikayla stared at her, her mouth hanging open. Haramis hoped that her expression was merely astonishment, but it bore a definite resemblance to horror. It was several minutes before the girl managed to speak.

  “The idea had never occurred to me, my lady. What does an Archimage do?”

  “Mika!” Fiolon’s reproving whisper wasn’t quite soft enough. Haramis turned her attention to him.

  “Did you have something to say, young man?” she inquired acidly.

  Politeness lost out to curiosity rather quickly. “Are you the Archimage Haramis who was one of the triplet princesses?” he asked. “The one who fought the great battle with the evil sorcerer Orogastus and defeated him …” His voice trailed off and he looked around excitedly. “This is the Tower that he used to live in, isn’t it?” he asked enthusiastically.

  Haramis raised her eyebrows. “It is,” she replied. “How do you come to know those old stories?”

  “I like music,” Fiolon said self-consciously. He looked down and traced a half circle in the carpet underfoot with his toe, “and I’ve memorized every ballad I could find, including all the ones by Master Uzun.” The strings of the harp that had been sitting quietly in the corner rippled softly, as if it had heard something that pleased it. Fiolon looked sharply at it; Mikayla didn’t seem to hear anything.

  “He does more than just ‘like music,’” Mikayla said proudly. “He can play any instrument I’ve ever seen, and he has a beautiful voice. The King has him play at court whenever we have visitors.”

  Haramis smiled at the boy. “Perhaps you will play for me before you leave, then.”

  Fiolon bowed as well as he could while seated. “I should be honored, White Lady.”

  “When are we leaving?” Mikayla asked.

  Haramis turned to her, repressing a sigh. I hope Binah never found me this unpromising, she thought. “You are not leaving, Mikayla,” she said. “You are to remain here so that I can train you as my successor.”

  “But I’m going to marry Fiolon,” Mikayla protested, reaching out to him. He took her hand and held it, but he looked grave; obviously he had more of an idea of what was happening than she did. “That’s the only good thing about being the youngest princess; my parents already have enough daughters for all the alliances they need, so they said that Fiolon and I could marry. We’re going to live on a small estate near the Greenmire, and explore the ruins there, and teach our children about the Vanished Ones.…”

  Her voice trailed off as Haramis just looked at her. “Our betrothal is to be announced next spring,” Mikayla protested. “My parents promised. I’m just an extra princess—nobody has any use for me.”

  “I have a use for you,” Haramis said firmly. “The land has a use for you.” She glared at Fiolon until he released Mikayla’s hand, with obvious reluctance.

  “Fio?” Mikayla tried to cling to him. He patted her on the back and let her go.

  She looked at him, then at Haramis. “Am I not to be given any choice?”

  “No,” said Haramis bluntly. “It is far too important to be left to the whim of a child.”

  Mikayla looked at her for a long minute, and Haramis could almost see the wheels of thought going round in the young girl’s head.

  She said, “If I am not to be given a choice, then I suppose it does not matter what I think about it.” She curtsied to the Archimage more politely than Haramis had expected and said, “I am here to do your will, Lady Haramis.”

  But Haramis felt that she was catching a bit of the edges of Mikayla’s thoughts, and the girl’s body language was most expressive. Mikayla might do Haramis’s will, but it would be a long time before this was also Mikayla’s will. A very long time indeed.

  Maybe I should have waited until I was at the point of death and dropped the job on her then, Haramis thought wearily. Training this one is not going to be easy.

  5

  It was silent in the Archimage’s study, with no sound except the snapping of the fire.

  Fiolon got up and walked to a beautifully inlaid harp every bit as tall as he, with silver strings and a frame of satiny reddish wood with white bone inlay at the top of its pillar. “What a beautiful harp, Lady Haramis,” he said. “May I play upon it? I am sure its tone is as beautiful as any harp I have ever heard.”

  Haramis said in surprise, “Can you play the harp, young Fiolon?”
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  “Yes, I can, though I am really not expert. I have had lessons on many instruments; but I think of all of them, the harp is my favorite. It is almost impossible to make any sound upon a harp that is not beautiful.”

  “I think you are right,” said Haramis, and rose to her feet. “But this is no ordinary harp; nor does one play upon it, as with any ordinary instrument. This is Uzun, my wisest of Oddling counselors.”

  “That’s Master Uzun?” Fiolon asked in excited surprise. “I thought he must have died long ago.”

  “When at last he came to the end of his natural life,” Haramis explained, “it was my first act of great magic which conjured him into this harp so that I might always have the benefit of his wise counsel. I will introduce you to him; and if he is willing he may speak or even sing to you.”

  Mikayla muttered, “I never heard such nonsense in my life. How can a harp be a counselor, whatever he was in life?”

  “I don’t know,” Fiolon said softly. “But at least so far, I am willing to believe anything the Lady says; do be careful, Mika.”

  Haramis shot Mikayla a sharp glance but she said nothing. As she approached the harp she said, “Good evening, Uzun.”

  “Good evening, Lady Haramis.” The voice was strong and plangent, with a sweet singing tone, and did indeed seem to come forth from the sounding board of the tall harp that sat motionless on the carpet. Haramis glanced at Mikayla out of the corner of her eye. The girl appeared not quite ready to believe the evidence of her own ears. She was obviously telling herself that it must be some kind of clever trickery.

  “And who are the young people?” asked the voice. “I do not think I have met them before.”

  Haramis said, “Master Uzun, I would like to introduce two of my young kinsfolk: Princess Mikayla of Ruwenda and Lord Fiolon of Var, the son of the late sister of the King.”