by Kirby Crow
There's so much I don't know about him, he thought. And not for lack of asking. Why does he guard his past so closely, and what is he afraid of?
Some way into the corridor, they came to a group of soldiers dressed in warm wool with fur ruffs around their collars, much like the one Scarlet had first seen Liall wearing at the Kasiri camp. They were very well-armed.
Liall seemed to grow even taller. He took off his right glove, and Scarlet saw the glimmer of silver in the torchlight. It was a ring made of silver and sapphire, one that Scarlet had not seen Liall wear before. Liall held his right hand out to the hard-faced soldier who approached him, speaking in commanding tones, words that Scarlet did not understand either in sense or intonation. He wondered where the ring had come from and why Liall had kept it hidden. Scarlet watched as the soldier's stolid expression changed to one of uncertainty and shocked respect. The soldier bowed his head to Liall.
Scaja was right, Scarlet thought in awe, not only well-born, but well-known. Liall's family name must carry a lot of weight here. That must be what the ring is for.
The astonished soldier stepped back and another, younger man pushed forward. He was not dressed like the soldiers, but wore fine robes of blue accented with silver, and some kind of sunburst badge or medallion of office on his shoulder. He had a kind face and handsome features, evident even through his surprise.
"Jochi,” Liall said with perfect calm.
The young man went to one knee and bowed low before speaking rapidly and intently.
Liall acknowledged the kneeling man's words with a single, curt nod of his head. “Come, Scarlet,” he said in Bizye, his words a cloak of quiet dignity. “Transport awaits us."
On his feet again, the man Liall had addressed as Jochi gave Scarlet a startled glace and looked like he was going to make trouble. Scarlet heard the word lenilyn again and there was a surge of hostility from the soldiers surrounding them. Liall said something sharp, his voice like the lash of a whip, and got another bow from the soldiers before Jochi led them through the rest of the corridor. They stepped out into the snowy twilight again, but the wind was less. That was a great relief to Scarlet, whose feet and hands were quite numb. The healing scar on his cheek throbbed with the cold.
Their transport was a strange contraption, like a child's sled, only made larger and with a body like Scarlet had seen on carriages in the capital of Byzantur. This one had real glass in the carriage windows, not shutters, and it was all agleam with polished black wood and bright brass runners.
"What is it?” he asked Liall quietly, thinking how much Scaja would have liked to have seen this thing. Being the son of a wainwright, he was no less awed than Scaja would have been. Scarlet wanted to share this with Liall, but the man was far away, his expression distant.
"It is called a sleigh."
"Slain?” Scarlet ventured, but Liall shook his head with annoyance.
One of the tall soldiers opened the door to the carriage and bowed. Liall nudged Scarlet's shoulder, indicating that he should go first, ignoring the surprise on the soldier's face.
The interior was luxurious with furs and cushions piled high on a sort of bed or couch against the rear housing. The door closed and the sleigh began to move forward. Now that they were alone, Liall drew Scarlet close to his side and began to pull the furs over them both.
"We have a long way to ride,” Liall explained softly. He rubbed Scarlet's arms, and then took his other glove off to touch Scarlet's face. “You are so cold."
"Where are we going?"
Liall ignored the question and rubbed Scarlet's hands through the gloves. “How do your toes feel?"
"Numb,” he confessed. “Stop fretting."
Liall frowned, but obeyed. Between body heat and the furs, Scarlet was soon much warmer. He did not recognize what kind of beast the furs might be taken from, but they were silky soft and obviously costly. Some were black and some were of a bluish gray that he had never seen before, and very large. He could not imagine the animal it had once graced. “Where are we going?” Scarlet asked again.
"To my home."
That was not informative, but again, Scarlet reckoned with Liall's demons and began to poke around the inside of the carriage. There was a door on either side of the contraption, and he leaned forward and peered through the little window on his side. It looked like they were passing tenements and warehouses, very like to what one would see in the port of Ankar, but sturdier and much cleaner. Huddled figures stood bunched around small fires near the waterline, their hands held out for warmth. Workers, no doubt.
The sleigh was moving with astonishing speed, far faster than any cart Scarlet had ever ridden in. It jolted suddenly and he drew back from the window with a hiss.
"Do not be afraid,” Liall said, and for a moment he was back all the way, his eyes focused on the present, not looking into whatever memories possessed him. “It was a bump in the snow. We shall not overturn, these are balanced well."
"I'm not afraid,” Scarlet said with dignity, which was partly true, “Only startled. We're moving so fast!"
Liall nodded and sank back into his thoughts. He ignored Scarlet after that, and Scarlet settled into the far side of the seat and looked out the window. They had moved past the tenements and into an area of small shops crowded together in tall buildings. He watched and noticed that everyone went heavily dressed in woolen coats and boots and none neglected to wear some manner of hat or head covering. He stared at the conical fur hats that most of the people wore. They had long flaps to cover the ears and odd little flaps on the top, which folded down and were decorated with many kinds of stitching and beads. Mostly, Scarlet was amazed at the lights: torches, lamps and candlelight were everywhere, a glittering city of light. He wondered at his surprise. Obviously, the winter darkness would necessitate the need for light even in the hours that were marked as day, but these folk seemed to love light and revel in it. He saw that in the way they decorated their lamps with colored bits of glass and dressed up their street lanterns with wrought iron and cut crystal and panels of painted paper. Scarlet had a hundred questions about the city, but Liall brooded silently on his side of the couch and Scarlet did not want to risk treading on whatever was haunting him.
They traveled so quickly, it seemed hardly any time at all until they were in a wealthy part of the city. Sleighs passed them on the road, some open and plain, with men and women bundled in wool and sheepskin. But most of the sleighs were closed, the exteriors richly painted and decorated. They left the city soon after that, and the heavy traffic gave way to almost none as they moved into the countryside surrounding the port and began to pass great mansions fairly glowing with light, and surrounded by snowy expanses.
Scarlet could not see what lay before them on the roadway, but after a time, he noticed that nothing but snow and trees filled the landscape. And such trees! No plain brown or black trunks here, but pale like the petals of white roses, or Linhona's clean linens. The tall, slender trees, barren of leaves, were all of a ghostly white color, whip-stroked here and there with black. They were nothing like the weather-blasted junipers and pines he was familiar with in Byzantur, and the lack of familiar plants just seemed to highlight how alien this land was, and how alien he was in it.
Scarlet turned to Liall to ask him about the trees, but he seemed to be dozing, his eyes closed and his arms crossed over his chest. It occurred to Scarlet that he might try to do the same, not knowing what awaited them or how much energy he would need, but the landscape, the new sights and smells, fascinated him so. Despite all that, in less than an hour he was fighting to keep his eyes open. The movement of the sleigh lulled him until it finally won and he slept.
* * * *
Scarlet woke with a start some time later and found he was lying curled on the wide seat under a layer of furs, his cheek against Liall's shoulder. Liall was peering out the window. “We are nearly there,” he said without looking at Scarlet.
"Liall?"
Liall gave Scar
let an unconvincing smile. “What is wrong?"
Scarlet hesitated. “Nothing,” he said finally.
Liall sighed. “Do you remember when we sparred on the deck of the Ostre Sul? It is like that with me now. I am only remembering. It happens to the best of soldiers."
Scarlet was not reassured.
"Please do not worry,” Liall said. “Whatever comes, I am with you."
Scarlet squeezed Liall's hand, his heart going out to the man. “Don't vex yourself on my account. I'll be fine, like always. Just do what you have to do."
Liall nodded absently.
The sleigh turned sharply, and Scarlet gasped at the new vista beyond the window. He had thought the city was beautiful, but the castle fortress before him was ten times that. Blue light from lanterns of the same color, lights and spires and towers, all laced with icicles and snow, beautiful carved domes of blue and silver, and battlements that seemed to reach into the very sky, all twinkling with that luminous blue light.
"My home,” Liall said. “The Nauhinir."
Scarlet stared, his mouth dry. Before he could summon the wits to mouth the questions drumming in his brain, the sleigh began to slow.
"Take off that coat,” Liall said, meaning the heavy overcoat he had found for Scarlet on the ship, now frayed and white-patched with salt. Scarlet removed it, keeping only his red pedlar's coat on, which was also travel-worn but still better than the coat. The crimson color was fading from exposure to the salt air, but it was still deep and brilliant.
"And the cap, and your weapons,” Liall added, drawing off his own coat and pulling a long cloak from his pack. It was deep blue with some sort of curling silver design splashed over it in long slashes. It looked very fine. Scarlet wondered where he had gotten such a cloak. Such a garment would have spoiled fast at sea if Liall had worn it on the ship.
Scarlet removed his Morturii knives from his belt with misgiving, pulled his cap off and tried to comb his tangled hair with his fingers. It had grown longer on the voyage. “Where'd you get that cloak? It's grand."
Liall did not answer, and before he could ask again, the sleigh came to an abrupt stop and the door opened.
Liall rose and stepped out, whipping the blue cloak around his body, and then turned to hold out his hand for Scarlet. It seemed an odd thing to do, helping him out of the carriage as if he were a lady or invalid, but he was in Liall's land now. For all he knew, this was a proper custom. It was not until they were standing in the snow under the blue lamplight that Scarlet saw there were men and women outside the great fortress, waiting for them on the wide steps of a stone gatehouse that was larger than the army barracks in Patra. Everyone here was taller than him by yards and yards, it seemed.
"What is this place?” Scarlet whispered.
"The Nauhinir, as I have said,” Liall answered tightly out of the side of his mouth, which told him nothing more than a name.
The people were dressed in furs and bright fabrics, as if they could deny the bleak landscape simply by the colors they adorned themselves in. Brilliant jewels glittered on the ears and throats of both men and women, and many wore the same kind of conical fur hat Scarlet had seen in the city, though richer and more heavily decorated. He stared at the broad stone steps that led upward, intimidated by the sheer size of everything, and the men and women surrounding him were like pillars of gold, tall and unapproachable. He smoothed his hands down his red jacket, knowing that his boots and shirt were mended and he looked poor and uncouth beside Liall.
Liall took his arm. “Now I must ask you to remain silent until we are alone together. If I nod at you, deliver your best bow."
Scarlet nodded, painfully aware of the many pale eyes on him. Never more keenly had he felt the differences between him and Liall. Liall turned to the men who waited. They bowed to him. Liall did not bow back, but kept hold of Scarlet's arm as he guided him up the stone steps that were so deep that Scarlet's legs ached by the time they reached the top.
Two enormous iron doors—gates, really—opened inward, pulled by several men in blue and silver livery. Scarlet wondered briefly if they were servants or soldiers as Liall swept him in, past the great gates and past glittering folk in silks and heavy velvets and furs, into the largest hall Scarlet had ever seen. The gates closed behind them with a muffled, booming noise that rang throughout the hall like muted thunder, and Scarlet thought that this place must hold great treasures indeed, for surely not even an army could breach those gates.
Liall continued to lead them forward. Scarlet had to practically bite his tongue to prevent more questions from falling out, but he decided that to mimic Liall was probably the best course of action. From the edge of his vision, he could see everyone bowing low, men and women alike, but Liall strode with his head high and his eyes forward, not returning the proffered respect. Suddenly, though he had always been at ease around strangers and new surroundings, Scarlet was frozen into some inner stillness and fear. There was something here that he did not understand.
A man dressed as richly as the rest approached and bowed low. Liall spoke to him clearly and loudly. The man flicked a glance at Scarlet, and Scarlet immediately sensed danger. The man spoke a few words in the rapid Sinha dialect, and Scarlet looked up at Liall.
"He is only greeting me,” Liall explained. His dislike of the strange man was plain.
"Who's Nazheer.. Nazur...” Scarlet's tongue tripped on the unfamiliar sounds. “What he said?"
"Nazheradei,” Liall supplied. “It is me, it is my name. Prince Nazheradei. Now be silent."
Scarlet stared at him, frozen in that odd stillness. He heard nothing but a rushing sound in his ears, felt nothing but the cold.
Liall led him forward again and Scarlet allowed it, moving woodenly. A set of tall, carved doors opened and they entered together.
Dozens of delicate lamps made of gilt and glass hung from chains suspended from the ceiling, scattering golden light on the walls, which were covered with large panels of polished, inlaid woods. An older woman with pure white hair sat at the far end of the high-ceilinged, opulent room, jewels glittering at her throat, her gown like a cobweb of silver. She wore a circlet of clear crystals—surely they couldn't be diamonds!—binding her brow. Though she was a woman and much older, the angular shape of her face was very much like Liall's, and Scarlet realized with a shock who she must be.
A crown, he thought numbly, and stopped when Liall stopped. Behind the crowned woman was another, younger, woman: the coldest, most beautiful woman Scarlet had ever seen, with pale gold hair and eyes like chips of ice. Her name, Scarlet learned later, was Shikhoza.
His gypsy chief was a prince. The prince and the pedlar. If Scarlet could have made any sound at all, he would have barked laughter like a madman.
8.
Nazheradei
Liall pointedly did not place his foot on the lowest step of the dais, claiming a prince's status, but instead stayed on the main platform, watching and waiting.
"Welcome home, my son."
"I thank you, my mother."
There were no courtly speeches. Rshan greetings are swift and to the point. This saved time for later, when Rshani are disposed to better carving each other up. At Liall's side, Scarlet had gone deathly still, and he gripped Liall hand tightly, as if afraid he might be eaten by all these giants. Liall drew him forward and presented him to Queen Nadiushka.
"This is Scarlet of Lysia."
Her silvery eyebrows under her diamond crown rose slightly.
"My t'aishka,” Liall finished, and her eyebrows went higher still. Liall nudged Scarlet with his elbow. The pedlar jumped and looked at Liall with round, frightened eyes. “Bow,” Liall muttered, knowing the boy had forgotten. Scarlet could hardly be blamed for that. A surge of guilt nudged his conscience.
Scarlet took a deep breath and looked up at the mistress of the Nauhinir Palace, the Queen of Rshan na Ostre, then put his hand over his heart and sketched a brief, old-fashioned bow.
Liall glanced to Nadius
hka and saw the corners of her eyes crinkle with amusement. When had she acquired those wrinkles? Ai, my mother, despite your vow, you have grown old after all.
The amusement that rippled through the glittering court was less kind, for Scarlet's greeting was far less than should be rendered to a Queen, but Scarlet was oblivious to all of it.
Liall, however, was not. He lifted the edge of his cloak and draped it over Scarlet's shoulders along with his arm, then pulled the Hilurin closer to his side. Now there would be no mistakes, since he had publicly claimed Scarlet. Liall could feel his trembling through the cloak, though he hid it well enough.
Then his mother did something that surprised Liall. She rose from her throne and descended the three steps down to where they stood. She looked at Liall for a long moment, and from this distance there was no mistaking her age. No amount of powder or jewels could hide the deep lines around her mouth and the dull, gray strands threaded carefully through her hair. Rshani do not age in quite the same way as the other races, but she had grown elderly in his absence. He saw it in her skin and in her hands and most of all in the tears that glimmered in her pale blue eyes, so like his own. And Nadei's, a silken voice seemed to hiss in Liall's mind.
She put her hands on Liall's shoulders and placed a kiss in the center of his forehead: an extraordinary greeting from a Queen. Liall thought nothing she could do now would astonish him further, but then she turned to Scarlet and kissed him in the same manner, and he, knowing no better, briefly touched her arm in return. She was not offended, though well she might have been once. Liall, too, had a prickly sense of pride, and he had learned it from his mother. Liall had never known King Lindolanen, his father, for the young king had had been killed hunting a snow bear while Nadei was still toddling. Nadiushka had been pregnant with Liall that year, and he had been born to a widowed mother, a matter thought to be an ill-omened thing in Rshan.
Well, Liall thought, they had not been wrong.
She turned and motioned, and from behind the throne came a sturdy boy of fourteen or so with a look of her about his mouth and eyes. Liall had had no reliable news from Rshan in ages, but he could guess who the boy was. He was tall, handsome, but not overly so, and he looked at Liall with wariness and more than a little suspicion. Liall found a moment to be desperately thankful that the boy resembled Nadei not at all.
