Sword and Illusion

by Nancy S. Brandt

  Then, after a final blessing said in the language of Paradise, Janico and Lorelii left her, and the candles in the room blazed brightly again.

  Chapter Four

  Varian hated days like this. He had only arrived back on Tellan late last night, and before he'd even had a chance to have some breakfast, he was assaulted with numerous complaints from various parts of his kingdom.

  He sat at his desk in his office. The sun shone through the huge, iron-framed windows behind him. He'd removed the massive draperies his sister Gloriana insisted were necessary to keep the light from fading the upholstery.

  The big desk seemed to loom over the delicate love seats and spindly-legged tables, but Varian had put his foot down when she had tried to have the desk removed. It had belonged to the rulers of Tellan since they first came to this world and made it habitable.

  Varian had memories of both his father and grandfather sitting here, and he wasn't willing to put such an heirloom aside just because it offended his sister's decorating sense. This was his office, not hers, and he was Prince.

  Several of his advisers hovered around his desk as he read proposed bills and proclamations.

  Suddenly, he stopped shuffling papers. His hands shook as he saw a petition from one of his nobles who wanted to have his wife declared dead.

  "Where is Lord Julian Maurice?" Varian asked, looking at his councilors.

  "He is on World Afei, home world of his wife, comforting her mother."

  "How long has his wife been missing?"

  Councilor Lianuin glanced at the other men, then faced the Prince. "The Dragons took her seventeen years ago, Sire. Before you ascended to the throne, and he's spent his entire fortune, and more, traveling all over the Known Worlds searching for her."

  Varian swallowed. He could say nothing else. Lord Julian had waited longer than he had when his wife had gone missing, and spent more… He shook his head and signed the petition.

  He handed it to a servant. "Please see that this is conveyed to Lord Julian with our condolences. Tell him that if he needs anything from us, we will do all we can to help him and his family."

  "Yes, Sire." The servant left the room.

  "It was the right decision," Councilor Lianuin said.

  Varian wasn't sure if Lianuin was referring to what he'd just done or what he'd done five years earlier, in declaring his own first wife dead, and he didn't want to pursue it. He merely nodded and went back to his work.

  After he'd signed everything that needed signing, he sent the advisers away.

  When he was alone, he pulled out a scroll from a locked drawer at the bottom of his desk.

  He didn't want to open it, but time was running out, and he had to face what it said.

  Stoically, he untied the fragile crimson ribbon and opened the scroll. It wasn't the first or even the tenth time he'd read this scroll, and just a year ago, he'd believed he'd never have to look at it again.

  Today the words pierced his heart like shards of ice.

  Rulers of Tellan, now be cursed, Dragonslayers,

  for your death we thirst,

  Unless by your loins an heir is born,

  then from your flesh we'll take our fill and your house's blood will be our swill,

  Unless by the mother a Dragonmark is borne,

  we'll burn your people's very bones,grind the flesh and smash with stonesFire and ashes, dark and pain,

  Until on Tellan the Dragons reign.

  He'd failed the people of Tellan, but not for lack of trying. He'd married two women, both bearing Dragonmarks, and, if Violetta could be believed, he'd sired two heirs.

  His only remaining hope, and it was a slim one, was that the child Violetta had abandoned might still be alive.

  He stared at the scroll. There had to be something he could do. The Dragons would be returning in seven months.

  A yellow velvet bell pull hung on the wall, and with a sigh, he gave it a tug.

  This would summon the Mystics, an order of religious wizards who had been studying the Dragon Curse. Varian prayed to the Holy One that the Mystics would have some answers.

  While he waited for them to respond to his summons, he wandered down to the kitchen and sat at the small wrought iron table in the breakfast room. A kitchen maid brought him a cup of coffee, and he looked out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the ornate gardens that had been his mother's pride and joy.

  She'd taken such pleasure in consulting with the Weavers about colors and flower patterns.

  The garden looked a little ragged now that his mother was gone. None of his sisters cared about flowers as much as Queen Donnotta had.

  Well, he thought, that isn’t exactly true. Christabel, he was sure, cared about the flowers, but as a Weaver, she probably didn't have time to worry about her mother's garden.

  Of course, if the Mystics couldn't find an answer in their studies of the scroll, the garden wouldn't matter. Someone else would live in the palace, and Varian would be dead.

  As he finished his coffee, Anthelme hurried into the breakfast room.

  "Are you expecting a delegation from Andarnnon this morning, Sire?"

  Varian nearly choked as he looked up at his friend. "King Rillaur has sent a delegation?" The Prince stood up.

  "Yes, Sire."

  "I didn't receive word of this. Where are they?"

  "They have just come through the Portal, Sire." Anthelme followed Varian, who rushed toward the stairs.

  He had to get dressed and be ready. They would arrive before the midday meal if they were at the Portal just now, and Varian suspected that some time had passed before this news had reached him.

  "What is Rillaur up to?" he asked as he threw open the door to his chambers. "He knows about the curse being fulfilled in seven months. What would make him send people here under his banner now?"

  "Is it possible they are only here to offer condolences on the death of Violetta?" Anthelme asked, setting to work pulling out ceremonial garments from the closets. "After all, she was his sister."

  Varian stared out of a window that overlooked the road leading through the gate to the palace. "No. That's something his father would have done. Since Rillaur took the throne, he has declared war on weaker worlds in an attempt to increase his own coffers. We both know he's had his eye on Tellan for some time." He pulled on the shirt Anthelme offered.

  "Are you ready to meet the Andarnnon party?" the valet asked after the Prince was dressed.

  "I don't think I'll ever be ready."

  ****

  When Varian arrived in the audience chamber, he stopped and stared at the group of visitors, who should have been in an antechamber.

  King Rillaur was leaning against the door to the Throne Room. He wore a pair of dark blue velvet trousers that were fastened at the knee with a diamond-encrusted buckle. His boots were freshly polished and showed no signs of wear.

  When he turned to look at Varian, the Prince noticed that the king's black hair had developed a sprinkling of gray, and the dark brown eyes didn't seem as sharp as they had the last time Varian had met with him, at his wedding to Elizabeth Louise, his second wife.

  "Ah, Prince Varian, how nice to see you again." King Rillaur straightened and took a step toward him. Varian thought he noticed a bit of fat on the previously athletic, trim body. Also, the king seemed to limp somewhat.

  "I wish I could say the same," Varian said as he walked past the king into the Throne Room. "What brings you here?"

  "Well, of course, first of all I am here because of our mutual loss."

  Varian stopped and spun to face the king. "What have you heard?"

  Rillaur sighed. "Let's not play any more games. Of course, the monks informed me. After they contacted you, I assume."

  So, he didn't know Varian had seen Violetta before her death. His disguise had kept him hidden.

  "I'm sure you were as surprised as I," Rillaur continued. "After all, it seems you married Princess Elizabeth while your wife still lived."

  "
No one knew what had happened to Violetta," Varian said, turning to walk to his throne again. "You said so yourself when I told you I was having her declared legally dead."

  "And, as it turns out, I was right to object to your decision." Rillaur narrowed his eyes. "I always thought you were too hasty to find another woman to warm your bed."

  "I waited thirteen years, King Rillaur. For all those years I searched and never found any evidence that your sister still lived. The Dragon Curse demands an heir, and I had a duty to my people."

  "Unfortunately, my sister is gone, and you still find yourself without an heir. Perhaps we would not be grieving the loss of a dear princess today if you hadn't given up so quickly."

  "Is that the only reason you're here?" Varian asked. "If so, I accept your condolences and wish you a pleasant trip home."

  "That is not all. I have come because of the Dragon Curse, of course." Rillaur motioned to one of his servants, who brought a copy of the same scroll Varian had been looking at earlier.

  "I know what the scroll says," Varian said, still walking. "However, the Dragons do not return for seven months, and unless I misread something in the curse, it's my problem. It really has nothing to do with you."

  "Well, that's where you're wrong," Rillaur said. "I've come with only the best intentions, and with an offer that will help you."

  Varian sighed. "What could you possibly offer that I would be interested in?"

  "Well, as you may not know, my wife, Kellin, bears the Dragonmark. Brighthill, the Dragon of Andarnnon, selected her for me when I was just a youngster."

  "That's very nice for you," Varian said as he climbed the platform to his throne. "I still am a bit unclear as to how your wife's pedigree affects me." He sat down and folded his arms over his chest, pretending not to understand what Rillaur was implying.

  "Let me make it clear for you. I'm just offering to save your life, Prince Varian. When the Dragons come, you're going to have to pay for the sins of your predecessors. The Dragons won't care that you've had two wives who bore the mark, and had an heir who died."

  Varian watched the king of Andarnnon and wondered what he'd say if he knew there might just be an heir who lived. Immediately, he knew he had to do all he could to find out if his daughter was alive.

  Rillaur continued. "If the person sitting on the throne of Tellan had a Dragon heir, all these problems would dissolve like the bubbles in that sparkling wine your restaurants in the North serve."

  He tried to hide an expression of dislike, and Varian wondered if it was the wine he didn't like or the fact that Tellan wine was renowned throughout the Known Worlds.

  "And you're suggesting that person should be you?"

  Rillaur bowed. "It is the perfect solution."

  Varian tilted his head as though considering the other man's words. "Perfect. Except your people tried to have my people killed, and regardless of your father's interest in peace, I'm not about to hand the lives of wizards over to you."

  "That war was long ago. Our people no longer bear any ill will toward yours. I think you realize, however, that you'll have to give me Tellan. If not now, then the night of the Dragon Moon." Rillaur smirked.

  Varian gripped the arms of his throne and slowly took a deep breath. The King of Andarnnon was getting more enjoyment out of this encounter than was appropriate.

  The Prince stood. "Perhaps you will get your wish. Until that time, however, I think you'd better go home and take care of your own people."

  "As you wish. I merely came to offer you my assistance," Rillaur said as he gathered up his cloak and riding gloves.

  ****

  Twenty minutes after the announcement of the arrival of the procession from the Fountain of Infallible Light, Moonrazer paced in front of the huge fireplace in her bedchamber.

  Above the mantle hung a red banner, embroidered with the crest of the Exalted Warrior, five intertwined golden rings surrounding a stylized representation of a Borromean thistle.

  Moonrazer considered the banner as she paced.

  Why was Whiteshadow here? Moonrazer’s headache had grown worse since the morning, but much of it came from the tension of this meeting.

  She'd had to dispense the swift, fatal judgment on the murderer earlier, as she had done on other occasions, but always before she'd had a chance to be alone afterward and empty her heart out to the Holy One.

  Today, that chance had been denied her, and the burden of her duties as well as the impending arrival of her sister had destroyed any calm that might have been hers.

  A knock on the door told her that Oakgold had returned.

  The younger Sarl entered the room with courtly warrior garments draped over her arm.

  Moonrazer stopped her pacing and faced the young woman. "I wish I did not have to wear the ceremonial garments just to talk to visitors." She watched as Oakgold carefully laid the clothing on the bed.

  "They make you look like a mighty warrior princess," came a voice from the doorway, "or some avenging angel."

  Moonrazer turned her head and saw Adazzra.

  "I heard you were planning to go riding. However, it looks as though your plans have changed." The Tree Woman walked over to Oakgold and fingered the velvet fabric visible in the pile the young girl tended. "So what's the occasion?"

  Moonrazer sighed. "A procession from the Fountain of Infallible Light is approaching."

  Adazzra gasped and faced her friend. "Your sister is on her way here?"

  Moonrazer nodded. "Her banner has been seen."

  "Why would they come, now?"

  "I do not know, but they are visiting dignitaries and are deserving of respect." She motioned toward the garments and said to Oakgold, "Help me dress."

  Immediately, the servant set to work, stripping the Exalted Warrior of her outer garments. Then she handed Moonrazer a pair of long trousers made of a kind of velvet in blood red. The legs of the pants were wide, making the garment look almost like a skirt when on the body. A border of white thistles was stitched along the hems.

  Moonrazer left the trousers unfastened so she could tuck the undershirt in.

  The undershirt was white with long flowing sleeves gathered at the wrist. Once the shirt was settled on her body and tucked in, she fastened the pants with a complex set of knots and loops made of red satin cord.

  Over the undershirt went a black leather vest that was closely fitted to her body, showing her figure. A stylized copy of the thistle was embroidered on the right side.

  The next thing Oakgold handed Moonrazer was a heavy cuirass. The armor was silver, hand hammered by Sarl workers in the southern mineral mines in Blackmont Barrens, and decorated with red garnets and blue agates.

  Once the armor was fastened securely, a silver gray cape, trimmed in ermine, was placed on top.

  "This cape was given to Exalted Warrior Elderheart the First after she saved the daughter of King Emmuby of World Pham," Oakgold commented over her shoulder to Adazzra as she fastened the elaborate onyx clasp with a smile of satisfaction.

  The final touch was a crown placed on her head. Moonrazer rarely saw this crown and even more rarely wore it.

  "This crown was made for Pikethruster the Third by her lover and was fashioned from the highest quality silver," Oakgold said.

  The elaborate swirls and arches were covered with diamonds and accented with large rubies. A closer look revealed images of Dragons and fire woven into the structure.

  The crown was the only part of the ceremonial garments Moonrazer felt reflected her.

  She was the queen of the Sarl, but in her heart, she was just a simple warrior who'd been at the right place to find the Sword of Justice and the Ruby Medallion. She'd done her best to rule her people wisely and justly.

  When she had all the garments on, she strapped on a black leather weapon belt which held ceremonial daggers and other knives whose handles were bejeweled and intricately carved out of large precious stones.

  "Will you wear the Sword of Justice?" Adazzra asked.
>
  Moonrazer nodded. "If Whiteshadow is here, she will have the Sword of Mercy with her."

  "Sword of Mercy? I have never heard of that."

  The Exalted Warrior took her sword out of the red leather sheath and examined it. "The first Exalted Warrior," she said, looking at Adazzra, who was clearly curious, "the one who had been given the Sword of Justice by the Holy One, knew that dispensing justice was only one part of being a strong leader. She went on a pilgrimage to the highest mountain on World Carrick, Virgin Cauldron Peak, and spent days in prayer. She knew that she would need mercy to dispense justice. The Holy One told her it was important that justice and mercy go together, but it was more important to know that Janico was the definition of mercy. He said the spiritual leader of the Sarl would need to understand mercy more than justice, and the Sword of Mercy would be the mark of her office."