The Sworn

by Gail Z. Martin

  “I would not have come to you if any doubt remained.” Talwyn spoke deliberately, enunciating carefully to make up for her strong accent. “I have tested the spirits. I’ve walked with the spirit guides and with the Consort Spirits. The Dread do not come lightly to the living. No one living can remember another time when they have requested that a mortal mage be brought to them for… evaluation.”

  “We’re on the brink of war. There’s no way Tris can leave for Ghorbal right now,” Soterius protested.

  “We don’t need him to leave the palace,” Talwyn replied. “The meeting is in the realm of spirit.”

  “You mean the plains of the dead?” Fallon asked.

  “No. I’m not a summoner like your king. I can’t walk the Plains of Spirit in the same way he can. The Durim are no more ‘dead’ than vayash moru are ‘dead.’ There are… places… between the extremes of living and dead. The Dread dwell in those places.”

  “And what of the ‘things’ the Dread guard? Whose side are they on?” The challenge came from Nisim, and there was a hint of fear in his voice.

  Talwyn turned to look at him. “If the Dread intervene, it will be for the first time in a thousand years. But even if they do, the spirits they guard, the Nachale, can remain bound—if the Durim don’t release them.”

  “And the last time the Nachale and the Dread walked the world of the living, the legend says there was a War of Unmaking,” Fallon said quietly.

  “I spoke with the soul of Marlan the Gold. He ruled this land when that war was fought, and he was the last king to see the Durim before they went into the barrows,” Tris said quietly. “He said that the Dread sought him, as a channel for their power. But I had the distinct impression that their reasons were their own.”

  “Is it a trap?” Senne’s eyes had narrowed. “With all respect, Cheira Talwyn, might the Dread have an agenda of their own for asking our king to come to them? Maybe they’ve already allied with our enemies and intend to eliminate the threat King Drayke poses to their invasion.”

  Talwyn seemed to consider his argument for a moment, and then she shook her head. “I understand your caution, General. You do well to protect your king. But the Dread are ancient beings. Mortal politics don’t concern them.”

  “Some say the same of the vayash moru, that because we live for centuries we care little for the maneuverings of mortals,” Mikhail said quietly. “They’re wrong.”

  “Can I go on record to say that I don’t like this at all?” Soterius’s jaw was set. “Tris went to seek counsel from the ghosts of his long-dead ancestors, and he barely had enough energy to stagger out of the crypt. I’ve seen how much this kind of magic costs him. How many times can he do these kinds of workings before our luck goes bad and something goes really, really wrong? It’s not like my soldiers and I can go in after him.”

  “I will walk with him.” Talwyn’s voice was firm but not defensive. “His mages can help to anchor him, if they wish.” She gave a tired smile. “To tell you the truth, it would be nice to have backup, for once.”

  “We don’t have a choice.” Everyone turned to look at Tris. “Marlan’s ghost told me that the Dread also sought him out. This isn’t just the chance of a lifetime; it’s the opportunity of a millennium. If the Dread want to size me up, then it’s not a meeting I can afford to miss.” He met Talwyn’s gaze. “I’ll do it.”

  Since it was agreed that Tris and Talwyn needed a day to rest and prepare for the working, it gave Tris an excuse to clear the remaining meetings from his afternoon and left the evening free. Jair and Talwyn were happy to join Tris in the parlor of the king’s private chambers, after servants saw to it that they both had cool baths and time to clean up from their long journey.

  “That’s a healthy-looking boy you’ve got there,” Jair said, getting a glimpse of Cwynn as Kiara handed him to a nursemaid after his feeding was finished.

  A shadow seemed to cross Tris’s face for a moment. “He’s got an appetite like a horse. And he’s grown by the length of my thumb just since he was born.” He took a deep breath. “How’s Kenver?”

  “He’s every bit his father’s son,” Talwyn answered.

  Jair chuckled. “Funny, I was going to say that it’s clearer every day that he’s got your blood.”

  “Aunt Jinelle and Uncle Harrol are well?” Tris stretched out in his chair, moving as if he were stiff from battle or the salle.

  Jair nodded. “They were when I left Dhasson, and I pray to the Lady and Her Consorts that they remain so.”

  Tris shifted in his chair and leaned forward onto his knees. Kiara returned to a seat near him and curled her legs under her. “How badly is the plague hitting Dhasson?”

  Jair sighed. “Bad, especially on the southern border. And it’s making its way north toward Valiquet. I think this is the first year Father’s actually been relieved for me to leave on the Ride. He’s worried what might happen if the plague really takes hold in the palace city. I know you had no choice in the war on the southern plains, and I know that the plague wasn’t of your making, but it crossed the river quickly into Dhasson just a few months after the Margolan army decamped from Lochlanimar. Although, if it’s any consolation, it appears to have hit Nargi just as hard.”

  “The last letter I received from my cousin, Carina, said that King Staden in Principality had sent his daughter, Berry, to Dark Haven for safety,” Kiara said. “Plague’s already gone upriver into Principality, and from what Carina says, it’s going badly up there.”

  Jair looked to Kiara. “You know that King Kalcen has opened relations with Dhasson. There’d been diplomatic envoys before your wedding, but Kalcen and Father hit it off at the ceremony.”

  “As I recall, they were back to back wielding swords against that magicked beast the assassin turned loose,” Kiara observed dryly.

  Jair chuckled. “You should hear the way Father tells that tale to the court! It’s been years since he’s been allowed to be in harm’s way, and he’s relishing every moment. The beast gets bigger with every telling. But as I was saying, Kalcen and Father actually left Margolan with a draft of an alliance handwritten on some scraps of parchment. They made it official a few months ago. So we get news regularly from Eastmark and have full diplomatic exchange.” He sighed. “Unfortunately, the news isn’t good, even from there. They’ve had two outbreaks of plague, and once that happens, more’s sure to come.”

  “And Trevath? Has anyone heard news of them?”

  Jair shook his head. “Father and King Nicolaj have never been on entirely good terms, although obviously better than relations between Margolan and Trevath. Most of what the spies bring us is related to trade and smuggling, and nothing at all about Jared’s bastard.”

  Tris grimaced. “I’m not surprised. Ah well. That particular problem will have to wait its turn.” He arched backward, and his face twitched in momentary pain, as if he’d pulled on a sore muscle.

  Jair looked at him worriedly. “You know, Tris, I might be one of the few people who can say this without landing myself in the dungeon, but… you look like hell.”

  Tris’s chuckle was bitter. “Actually, I’ve heard almost those exact words from Fallon and Soterius, and Kiara keeps telling me I look ‘tired.’ ” He glanced sideways at his wife. “I think that’s code for the same thing.”

  “If I weren’t already dreading the day I take the crown, you’re certainly making it look less fun than anyone imagines.”

  Tris closed his eyes and slumped back against the chair. Kiara reached over to take his hand and tangled her fingers with his. “We’ve both read the old histories. Some kings were lucky enough to come to the throne during peace and prosperity. Some had to fight for their crowns, and some had to battle just to stay alive.” He sighed. “I’m afraid it’s our lot to live during ‘interesting times.’ ”

  Jair slipped his arm around Talwyn. “I always found the histories to be boring, pretentious, and, in all probability, lies. But it’s alarming how few kings get to die of old a
ge in bed.”

  “I went into the crypts to summon the spirits of King Hadenrul and Marlan the Gold. Both of them died in battle.”

  Jair’s surprise was clear on his face. “You spoke with them? If it were anyone but you saying that, Tris, I’d be sure they were making it up.”

  Tris shook his head. “It was a hard working, and that’s one of the reasons Soterius and Fallon were so adamant that we wait before we walk with the Dread. I was pretty spent afterward.”

  Talwyn leaned forward. “Our magics are very different, but I am intrigued by your summoning. I can spirit walk, but it’s not the same as being present in soul both on the Plains of Spirit and in the realms of the living.”

  Tris frowned, thinking. “So you can walk in the Nether?”

  Talwyn conversed for a moment with Jair in the Sworn’s language, asking for a translation. Finally, she nodded. “We have other names for the Place Between, but perhaps it is the same.” She smiled. “We’ll see when we try to walk there together, no?”

  “I don’t know that your visit will allow it, but I would also like to learn more about your magic.” Tris grimaced. “My education was rather rushed. I learned about warding and blasting, and I picked up on what not to do the hard way. Every time I do a working, I’m reminded that there is a lot I didn’t have time to learn, and one of these days, that’s going to catch up with me.”

  Talwyn turned to Kiara, who had been quiet. “And you, Kiara, you have some magic, too?”

  Kiara smiled. “A little Regent Magic, although up till now, it’s been mostly scrying and self-protection. Maybe I just don’t have the talent.”

  Talwyn shook her head. “I don’t believe that.” She closed her eyes and was very still for a moment. When she opened her eyes, she met Kiara’s gaze. “No, there is magic in you. Perhaps it isn’t time yet. But power is in you.”

  Tris and Kiara exchanged glances. “Fallon and I have both tried to sense Kiara’s magic, and something seems to block us,” Tris said. A look passed between Tris and Kiara that Jair could not decipher. “How is it you can feel it and we can’t?”

  Talwyn shrugged. “Magics work in different ways. I call on the Consort Spirits instead of the Sacred Lady. That’s one difference between us. My magic is grounded not just in the four elements, as yours is, but in the magic of each Consort. Perhaps I walk different passageways.”

  Again, a look passed between Tris and Kiara, and Jair knew that something in Talwyn’s words had been very important to his cousin.

  “Talwyn, I have a favor to ask,” Tris said. Kiara gave him an encouraging look. “Could you use your power to sense whether Cwynn has magic? I know it’s early but…”

  Kiara leaned forward, laying a hand on Tris’s arm. “The truth is, I was attacked by an assassin when I was pregnant with Cwynn. The blade used wormroot, and it was a massive dose. We both nearly died. The birth was very difficult, and although he seems healthy, Cwynn’s had a rough time of it. ‘Fussy’ doesn’t begin to cover it. Right now, he’s the heir to two thrones, so if there’s truly something wrong—”

  Kiara’s voice caught and she looked down. Tris wrapped his arm around her, but Tris’s worry was plain on his face. “Even the runes and omens refuse to speak. In better times, we could wait and see. But now, with a war looming…”

  Talwyn nodded. “Of course. We know something of succession problems ourselves.”

  Tris glanced at her. “But you have Kenver, and he’s healthy, isn’t he?”

  Jair knew that his own distaste for the situation in Dhasson was clear on his face. “Health isn’t the issue. It’s parentage. The court has made it clear that they will never accept Talwyn as my wife, or Kenver as heir to the throne.” He sighed. “And Talwyn wouldn’t be able to leave her people any more than I could leave Dhasson.”

  “What will you do?”

  Talwyn was first to speak. “We will make an ‘accommodation.’ Among the Sworn, Jair and I are ritually wed and Kenver is both Jair’s heir and next in line, behind me, for the chieftainship when my father goes to the Consorts.” She shrugged. “Jair will have to make a suitable arranged marriage, a business proposition, to produce an heir of acceptable lineage. So long as the other party knows what to expect, life moves on. It’s hardly the first time such a thing has happened.” Jair looked at his wife. Although her tone had been objective, he knew her well enough to see the pain that flickered in her eyes.

  Kiara leaned forward to touch Talwyn’s hand. “I’m sorry.”

  Jair glanced at Tris, and he knew that Tris could see that his own feelings were far from happy with the arrangement. “I’ve always envied you two the chance to make a love match. You know how rare that is among kings and queens.”

  Kiara gave a dry laugh. “We only had to break a betrothal contract that was put in place to stop a war, then fight for the crown. Even so, it’s brought Isencroft to the brink of civil war.” She shook her head. “It wasn’t as romantic as the stories make it sound.” She closed her eyes and rubbed a hand across her forehead as if it pained her. “That’s why we really need to know about Cwynn. Two kingdoms hang in the balance.”

  Talwyn nodded. “Bring me your son.”

  Kiara slipped from the room and returned holding Cwynn. He was already beginning to fuss. “It’s not like I woke him,” she said apologetically. “He doesn’t sleep much, or for long at a time. There are places in the castle that we can’t take him at all, because he shrieks like a wild thing. He coos to himself, or we think it’s to himself. He responds best to the two ghosts who have been nursemaids to the children here for hundreds of years, but we aren’t certain whether he can see other ghosts.” Gently, she folded back the light wrap that covered Cwynn’s face.

  Talwyn threw up a hand to cover her eyes.

  “What’s wrong?” Tris asked.

  Talwyn shook her head and blinked several times, gradually lowering her hand. “He glows so brightly it hurts.” She looked to the others in astonishment. “Can’t you see?”

  The confused shakes of their heads made Talwyn’s eyes widen. “I see him bathed in many-colored light, like I’m told the Spirit Lights of the far north shine. I’m certain he sees the light, too.” She held out her arms. “May I hold him?”

  Carefully, Kiara transferred Cwynn to Talwyn. “He’s not good with strangers. In fact, he’s not very good even with the people he knows.”

  Talwyn said nothing. Her lips began to move, and Cwynn’s fussing grew quieter. Tris closed his eyes, and Jair guessed that Tris was opening his own magic, perhaps even stepping into the Plains of Spirit to see if he could see the glow. Slowly, Talwyn began to move around the room, speaking in a whisper. Jair could make out just enough of her words to know that she spoke in the Sworn’s language, and that her words invoked the Consort Spirits.

  “Careful! He tends to scream if you get too close to that wall,” Kiara cautioned.

  A faint, yellow light began to glow around both Talwyn and Cwynn as Talwyn moved closer to the north wall. Cwynn gave a sharp cry, and Talwyn took a sudden breath. The yellow light wavered, and then grew stronger, and Cwynn’s terror subsided. Talwyn walked full circle around the room. When she returned to the center, she held Cwynn in one arm while her right hand pulled at the amulets around her throat, lifting them above the neckline of her tunic. She wore one amulet in honor of each of the Consort Spirits, and a talisman of the Lady’s mark. Eyes closed, Talwyn handled each amulet one by one, waiting for several breaths as if she were expecting a reaction from Cwynn.

  Whatever she found, Talwyn said nothing. Her eyes opened, and she walked toward a clustering of candles on the side table. She drew a pouch from her belt with her free hand, still holding Cwynn against her side with her left arm. From the pouch, Talwyn poured a mixture of dried leaves onto the side table, and dropped a pinch into the candle flames. A dense, musky smoke rose, filling the air with its scent.

  “Consort Spirits, I ask the honor of your attendance. Trouble the smoke for me, and hel
p me see.”

  Cwynn had fallen completely silent, watching with round, open eyes but making no sound. His gaze seemed to follow the rising smoke. With her right hand, Talwyn made a series of gestures. The smoke began to move, rearranging itself. From where he stood, Jair caught glimpses of images in the smoke, ever-changing scenes that appeared and disappeared between breaths. He wondered what Tris’s magic made of it, or whether anyone but Talwyn could read the messages in the smoke.

  After a few moments, Talwyn bowed her head and made a gesture of thanks to the spirits. She seemed to come back to herself, and she turned toward the others. Cwynn gurgled happily in her arms, and she returned the baby gently to Kiara, who looked from Talwyn to Cwynn with astonishment.

  “He’s never this happy. What did you do?” Kiara asked, nestling Cwynn against her chest as she patted his back.

  Talwyn lowered herself into a chair, and Jair could see fatigue in her face as he slipped an arm around her to steady her. Tris hurried to pour a goblet of sherry, which Talwyn accepted gratefully. “The Eagle Consort answered my petition. She’s the wildest of the Lady’s Consorts, an untamed spirit. I see a glow around Cwynn that augurs of power, but what kind of power, I can’t tell. I sense no magic, and no lack of magic. I sense nothing at all. That’s highly unusual. But whether he possesses magic or not, Cwynn can sense power. When we reached the north wall, I felt his terror. I didn’t feel what caused his terror, but I felt his reaction. It changed the light around him, in color and intensity.” She looked up at Tris and Kiara. “I sense no sickness or damage in the child. But at the same time, there is a difference. I don’t know what that difference means, or how it would affect his ability to rule. But with or without a crown, he is a spirit of power.” She frowned. “There was one other image. I don’t understand it, but I should mention it. A bridge. I saw a bridge the moment I touched him, and that image never left me until I handed him back to you.”

  “What kind of bridge?” Kiara asked. “Did you recognize it?”