Daughter of Regals

by Stephen R. Donaldson

  I was not concerned for my apparel; the robe I wore would do well enough for the occasion. But I went to my glass and expended a few moments with my hair, pinning it this way and that in an effort to give my, appearance more grace if not more comeliness—striving by such small vanities to cover the hollow place which Kodar had opened in my heart. With a trace of rouge, I concealed the mark of Thornden’s hand by matching its color upon my other cheek. However, I could not remove the memory of Kodar’s kiss from my mouth. Schooling myself to steadiness, I gave up the attempt.

  Alone and afraid and resolute, I left my chambers and went to meet my fate.

  The hail in which the Seat of the Regals stood upon its pediment was at the far side of the manor. When I reached it, all the guests and personages of the realm had gathered there before me. I heard their excitement and anticipation in the hum of voices which issued from the open doors. And at the sound I nearly failed of courage. To meet King Thone alone did not seem to me a great matter. To strive for my life in private against Count Thornden and Queen Damia and Kodar had been necessary, inescapable. To bear the loss of Mage Ryzel’s allegiance was a burden I could not avoid. But to risk failure and humiliation publicly, to prove unworthy of my heritage before the assembled lords and nobility of the Three Kingdoms—ah, that was another question entirely. I did not know how I would endure the shame.

  While I remained hesitating outside the hall, Ryzel appeared in the passage and came toward me.

  I believed that he meant to hinder or challenge me. There was a grimness in his face which spoke of anger and accusation. Therefore I prepared to rebuff him despite my gratitude. My fragile hold upon myself was not a thing which I could submit to the consideration of his uncertain loyalty.

  He did not speak at once, however. Taking my arm, he steered me a few paces from the door, so that we would be unheard as well as unseen. And he did not meet my gaze as he asked, “Chrysalis, are you sure of what you do?”

  That question I could answer honestly. “No,” I said. “I am sure only that I must make the attempt.”

  The effort of will which brought his eyes to mine was plain in his visage. “Then trust me,” he breathed, not in demand, but in appeal. “I have become a cause of shame to myself. I will support you to the limit of my strength.”

  With one touch, he drove home the linchpin of my resolve. And with that touch, all my thoughts concerning him turned. A moment earlier, I had determined that I would reject him, though he had saved my life. Now I made promise to myself that I would not risk him.

  “The matter is mine to hold or let drop, Mage.” I said, speaking at once in kindness and severity. “Whatever the outcome, the realm will have need of you. Do not intervene here. Only do as I command you—and stand aside. That will suffice for me.”

  His gaze sharpened; be regarded me as if he were unsure of what I had become. Then he turned his head aside. so that I would not see how he took my words. “As you will, my lady,” he said. His frown was black and lost— the ire of a man who had been denied restitution for his faults. But I said nothing to case him. Only by refusing his service could I hope to save him if I failed.

  Because of his pain, I left him and moved toward the door. Midnight was drawing near, and I did not mean to miss it. The coming day would give time aplenty for regret or forgiveness, either in life or in death. Therefore I nearly did not hear the words he uttered after me:

  “I have spoken with King Thone.”

  Almost I stopped to demand an explanation. His soft statement sent implications hosting at my back, dire and imprecise. Did he seek to warn me? Had he given himself new cause for shame? What role did he intend for the lord of Canna in my last crisis?

  But I had no time, and I feared that if I halted now I would never move again. I had come to the last of my questions—to the one upon which all others depended. Though my stride faltered and my head flicked a glance backward, I continued on my way.

  Unattended and unannounced, I entered the great Ascension hall, where the high Seat of the Regals stood empty.

  The place had a stark majesty which consorted ill with the festive apparel and conflicting dreams of the gathered guests. The hail itself was round and domed, its ceiling beribbed and supported by the most massive timbers of Lodan. The light came from many wide, flaming censers, where the perfumed oils of Canna burned over the wrought metals of Nabal. Some sophisticates thought such things barbarous, but I considered them fit accompaniment for the grandeur of Creatures. Around the walls stood the spectators of my crisis in their anticipation. The floor had been formed of large but irregular slabs of basalt polished to a fine sheen and then cunningly fitted like the pieces of a puzzle, their cracks sealed with a white grout like tracery. It was said that these white lines across the basalt had a pattern which could only be discerned from the Seat. Some averred that the pattern was the image of a Basilisk, the first Regal; others, that the lines depicted the Creature which would be the last of its line, the end of the rule of Magic in the realm. But Ryzel had scoffed at such claims. He asserted bluntly that the floor of the hail was neither more nor less than a map of the Three Kingdoms.

  And from the center of that floor rose the Seat.

  Upon a stepped base of white marble—itself nearly as tall as I was—stood the heavy and rude-timbered frame which held the Stone. This frame was not properly a chair, had neither arms nor back; it had been built so that it might be approached from any side. But the frame itself was of no importance. All that mattered was the dull Stone of the Seat—the Magic slate to which nothing could be touched which was not also Magic. Upon occasion in the past, Ryzel had shown me that the Stone made no actual contact with the frame which supported it, but instead floated slightly among the members of ordinary wood that composed the Seat.

  Upon that Stone I must place my hands or die.

  Fully human and fully Real.

  I had already made the attempt once and failed.

  Count Thornden stood with Brodwick and his adherents not far from the door by which I entered the hall— and Mage Ryzel behind me, though he did not presume to move at my side. The lord of Nabal had taken his place because it was across the hall from Queen Damia and her entourage, Kodar among them, his arms pinned at his sides by two guards. But Thornden took the opportunity of my nearness to speak.

  “You lied to me, girl,” he growled, making no effort to conceal his anger. “My scouts report Cashon riding wildly away into Canna, with no other thought but flight.” He seemed not to care how widely he was overheard. With a mounting tightness in my throat, I observed that he and all his men were now armed.

  “I have sent out my orders,” he continued. “You are lost.’

  I understood him. The heat of his scowl was plainer than his words. He meant that his armies had begun to march on the manor. I should not have attempted to provoke him. But I knew now that he had spurned Ryzel’s support; and that thought gave my heart a lift of audacity. Also I was angered—though not surprised—that he and his men had come armed to my Ascension. So I turned on him a gaze which would have withered a wiser man, and I said, “No, my lord. The loss is yours. Until now, I have striven to spare you from the cost of your own folly.”

  I held his glare until I saw that at last it occurred to him to fear me. Then I swept past him with all the dignity which my slight form and uncomely face could convey.

  Moving directly to the base of the Seat, I set myself before the three rulers.

  Instantly, the murmurs of tension and curiosity and speculation in the hall were stilled. Every gaze and glance came to me. I had become the center of the night. Obliquely, I noticed how few nobles had brought their wives and children to witness my Ascension.

  With Count Thornden and Queen Damia standing opposite each other, I expected to see King Thone somewhere equally distant from them both. But he was not; his party was beside Thornden’s, so close that the two were almost intermingled. Thone’s stance was turned toward the lord of Nabal rather than
toward me.

  A sizable number of Canna’s courtiers had also procured weapons for themselves.

  At once, I seemed to fall dizzy as a whirl of inferences passed through my head. Count Thornden had already set his forces into motion. Therefore he no longer cared for Ryzel’s support. Or Ryzel had informed him that my Ascension must fail. And the Mage had spoken to King Thone. Deprived of Cashon’ s power, had Those now been persuaded to cast his lot with Thornden as the lesser evil, so that Queen Damia would not gain ascendancy? The prospect affected me as if it were a form of vertigo.

  But I had come too far for retreat-and was too close to fury. The truth I would disentangle if I lived. If I died, lies would lose their significance. Therefore I faced the assembled doubt and hope and hunger of the Three Kingdoms as though I could not be moved. And when I spoke, I did not quaver in any way.

  “People of the realm,” I said clearly, “the passing of the Phoenix-Regal has left a time of-trial upon us all. The future of the peace which the Regals have wrought has been uncertain—and uncertainty breeds fear as surely as fear breeds violence. It is tempting to took upon those who are our foes and believe them evil, avid for our destruction. Therefore they must be slain, before they slay us. And no reason can put an end to this bloodshed, for how can we dare to set aside our fear when our enemies fear us and remain violent? For that reason do we need Regals. A Regal is a Creature and has no need or fear of us—and so is not driven to violence. Rather, a Regal’s power gives us peace, for it frees us from the fear of each other which compels us to war.”

  To one side, Count Thornden’s men watched each other and him tensely. King Thone made a studious portrait of a fop immersed in the contemplation of his manicure. Queen Damia breathed deeply, but gave no other sign of her expectations. One ringed and immaculate hand rested on Mage Scour’s shoulder. Kodar glared murderously at her, but she did not deign to notice it.

  I was a plain woman, alone, and powerless; but my enemies had lost the capacity to make me afraid. “This night,” I said as if I could hear the fanfare of trumpets which had never been sounded in my name, “I will put an end to uncertainty.”

  Thus I brought down upon my own head the crisis of my Ascension. Without hesitation or haste, I turned to the Seat and placed my feet upon the marble steps.

  If I had spoken less clearly or appeared more frail, the rulers might have withheld their hands, awaiting the verdict of the Seat as both wisdom and caution urged them to do. But I had foiled each of them in turn, giving them cause to estimate me more highly. And I went to meet my Ascension as if there were no doubt of its outcome. In that way, I inspired them to risk themselves against me. If I succeeded, how could they believe that they would survive the punishment for their recent actions?

  I knew that I was still some few moments early, that midnight had not quite come. But I had set my decision in motion at last. Better to hazard myself in advance of the time than to be made late by any delay or opposition.

  Before I gained the second step toward the Seat, I heard Count Thornden’s harsh command—and felt Wind begin to gather at my back.

  Brodwick’s image appeared to leap from nothingness to the force of a Banshee during the space between one heartbeat and another. And the hall erupted in a clangor of shouts and iron.

  Involuntarily, I started to turn. A mistake: the mounting gale came upon me without my feet planted. Flame from all the censers gusted toward the timbers of the ceiling. I made a small pirouette like an autumn leaf in the air and fell to the basalt.

  Somehow, I regained my feet—and lost them again. I stumbled heavily against the base of the Seat. The edge of the first step hit sharply across the center of my back. Wind pulled my robe away from my legs. I saw that both my knees were split and bleeding.

  Then Brodwick’s blast became so strong that I could hardly hold up my head. But I saw Kodar twist his arms from his surprised captors and break free. With a wrench, he sprang beyond them. His cry rose over the tumult:

  “Kodar and freedom!’ To me, rebels!”

  At once, all the doors burst open, letting a dozen men into the gale. They were dressed as servants; but they bore swords and pikes, and they fought the Wind toward Kodar’s side.

  He did not await them. With a single blow, he struck down one guard; he snatched a long dagger from the man’s belt. Slashing that blade about him, he kept Damia’s defenders back as he hurled himself toward the lady of Lodan.

  Her hand on Scour’s shoulder pushed the Mage away, out of Kodar’s reach. So great was Scour’s concentration that he simply pitched to the floor, unconscious of his own fall. Damia’s smile did not waver as she met Kodar’s assault.

  One flick of her wrist and a gleam of metal stopped him. As his knees failed, the Wind seemed to take hold of him and lower him gently to the basalt, blood spurting from his cut throat.

  In the air above them, Scour’s Dragon appeared.

  Leaping into existence, the image pounded its wings and struggled for size as though it were already hot upon the spoor of its prey. At first, it was too small to advance against the buffeting Wind which Brodwick hurled from across the hall. But Brodwick’s force was focused on me, not upon the Creature, and Scour did not need his lady’s blandishments to impel him. Surely he understood as all in the hall did that he could not afford to fall now, either to Thornden’s Mage or to me. Lying as if he were as lifeless as Kodar, he put all his soul into his magery, and the Dragon let out a blast of flame which defied the Wind halfway to the spot where I cowered. The heat touched my sore cheek and was torn away. Laboring tremendously, the Dragon began to beat forward in the teeth of the gale.

  I could not move. My limbs felt pinned and useless, as if my spine were broken. All Brodwick’s exertion centered on me—and he was a master. I had known that this would happen—that my enemies would attack me here in all their fury—but I had not known that I would prove so weak. The simple effort to turn myself so that I might crawl up the steps surpassed my strength. The blood running from my knees appeared to carry my will away; the courage drained from me as from a cracked cistern. The Dragon was lovely and terrible; even the Wind seemed as beautiful as it was savage. I was no match for them. In all truth. I had no reason to move.

  Mage Ryzel could have stilled both Wind and Dragon,. but he did not. In the end, he betrayed me.

  I had commanded him not to intervene.

  And still I had not entirely understood that the iron clashing which punctuated the shouts and passion around me was the sound of swords.

  Forcing my face into the Wind, away from the Dragon, I saw Count Thornden and his men fighting for their lives— and for Brodwick’s protection—against the guards of the manor and King Thone’s courtiers.

  An awkward melee was in progress. Cudgeled by the gale. Thornden’s men and Thone’s and the rebels and guards hacked at each other in confusion. The lord of Nabal’s party was large and heavily armed, but was hampered by the necessity of defending the Mage; it could not gain the advantage.

  To my astonishment, I beheld King Thone deliberately block Count Thornden’s path toward me. Thone’s decorative blade could not withstand Thornden’s huge sword; but the lord of Canna used his point so adeptly that Thornden was thwarted—prevented from charging forward to assail me personally.

  I have spoken with King Thone.

  Ryzel had not betrayed me. He had persuaded Thone to this defense—for what hope would remain to Canna now if Thornden were victorious? And the Mage had not stilled the rising magery because I had commanded him to withhold.

  Perhaps after all I would be able to move. The life at issue was my own—but in the end it was not mine alone. It was also the life of the realm. While I remained in my weakness, blood was being shed; and that killing would give inevitable rise to the warfare which I abhorred as a matter of birthright. Surely I could at least move.

  But when I had shifted myself so that my hands and cut knees were under me against the force of the Wind and the hammerin
g approach of the Dragon, I understood that movement was not enough. If I held true, I might perhaps gain the top of the marble base—but beyond question I would be unable to stand erect in order to place my hands upon the Stone.

  This state is not easily attained. It may be reached one way, by the touch of Stone to one whose very blood and flesh are latent Magic. And I had already failed once. I required help.

  I demanded it as if it also were my birthright. In my extremity, I cried out through the battle and the blast and the roar:

  “Ryzel! Your Scepter!”

  Again, he obeyed. Without hesitation, the one true man in the Three Kingdoms flung his Scepter toward me.

  The Wind bore it so that it sailed in a long arc to the base of the Seat. Bounding upon the steps, it struck like a whiplash against my side.

  But I felt no pain; I was done with pain. Wildly, I slapped my arms around the Scepter and hugged it so that it would not slip away.

  I had always failed in my efforts to grasp the rough-barked Wood. It was Real, not to be handled by ordinary flesh, yet it was simpler and less perilous than the Stone. The Stone could not be touched by anyone who was not Magic; but the Scepter required only the capacity for magery. Therefore Ryzel held a Scepter though he could not claim the Seat. And therefore I clung to the true Wood for my life.

  Its nature transcended my own. Even with my arms about it, it seemed to ooze from me as if it were fluid rather than solid—a Scepter composed of a substance I could not comprehend. Brodwick’s Wind cut across the hall, yowling like lost hope through my heart. And the Dragon—! Surely it was near to its full size now, its natural power and fury. All the air was fire and roaring. Those people who had not joined the melee either cowered against the walls or wrestled with the gale-kicked doors.

  Yet I held the Scepter. Cupping one hand about its end, I kept it from slipping away. Then I began to crawl and squirm like a belabored mendicant up the steps.

  The Wind was brutal to me, battering my head upon the marble, clogging my limbs, tearing my vision to shreds; In fear that I would lose my eyes, I kept my face turned from Thornden’s Mage—turned toward the Creature beating like a holocaust against the blast to devour me. Its great jaws fountained flame in tremendous exhalations; heat slapped repeatedly at me, scorching my cheek, spreading black stains down the side of my robe. Only Brodwick’s force as he strove to prove himself stronger than Scour preserved me from incineration.