by Ru Emerson
“Mind you do, Kalann!” Erken shouted back. “Leave Jersary in Nalda in any event, your decision whether to leave Hever with him. Right?”
“Sir!” They'd had it out five times the night before; poor Kalann would repeat the orders in his sleep the next month running. There was nothing to add. Grewl, temporarily at least Father to the Nedaoan Chosen, stepped forward to bless the boats and give a short prayer. Ylia blessed them after her own fashion. And then the ropes were cast off and they were swiftly gone.
The folk disbursed rapidly as the last of them vanished around the point: it was too cold to remain outside, and there was a watery porridge in the kitchens. Scarce filling, but at least hot. Ylia stared down river; she was barely aware of Marhan's rambling assurances, Erken's hand against her shoulder.
“They will return.” Lisabetha spoke in her ear; she jumped. “Don't fret what you can't alter, you told me that. There is food and Malaeth is fussing. You've lost weight.”
“I can afford it”
“Nonsense. You can't afford the argument with Malaeth, in any event.”
“I—well—”
Lisabetha frowned. “You look unwell this morning, are you sleeping?”
“Sleeping? Mmmm. Yes. Enough.”
The girl hesitated. “Not—dreaming, by chance?”
“No.” Ylia searched Lisabetha's face then. “You're not, are you?”
“Once. Nothing much. Only the once.” Lisabetha shook herself, shook Ylia's shoulders. “You need food, go on now! Wait—” She stepped forward, straightened the thin gold band across her Lady's forehead. “Now go!”
“You,” Ylia grinned suddenly, “are spending entirely too much time with Malaeth, you sound more like her than anyone has the right to!”
“I got a dose of it myself just now, for letting you go outside without food,” Lisabetha replied tartly, but her eyes sparkled, “and I see no reason not to share. Go on, now, did you ever eat anything worse than wheat gruel cold?"
“Yes.” Ylia nodded energetically. “Golsat's smoked fish, remember it?” Lisabetha grimaced. “All right, then,” Ylia added, with a sidelong eye at the cliff, ‘I'll race you, come on!” And she took off at top speed for the bridge.
There was an indignant shriek behind her, and footsteps pounding the path. Ylia sped across the bridge, drew a deep breath and plunged up the steep trail. Left—right—left and the trail took a brief dip, pointed even more sharply upward. The breath was burning her throat and lungs, but the upper ledge was almost in reach. Lisabetha passed her moments later and stood waiting as she staggered up the last few steps. Both of them were red-faced, gasping for air and giggling like children. It was several minutes before they could help each other back across open rock into the Caves. Ylia fell back against the stone wall; Lisabetha collapsed onto a flat shelf.
“Haaa!” She brushed the damp hair from her brow and grinned. “You forgot, didn't you? I can even beat Brelian!”
“I shall never—forget it again!” Ylia gasped. She was still laughing. “But anyone else would have let me win, which of us is Lady here, after all?”
“Good for you,” Lisabetha giggled. “You begin to give yourself airs.”
“Hah. We'd better go, my food is congealing.”
'Ylia.’
'Nisana?’ Ylia shoved aside the near empty bowl. It was absolutely impossible, hunger notwithstanding, to finish the stuff. Nisana sniffed at it gingerly, stepped back with a look of distaste on her dark face.
'Search. You will lose your edge, do you not keep at it.’
'I know, cat.’ She sighed. ‘Time! There just isn't enough of it—’
'There won't be, if things come upon us unseen,’ Nisana remarked pointedly. ‘And you create time for practice, you do not wait for time to present itself, you know that!’
'All right. Here, or where?’
'Well.’ Nisana considered her gravely. ‘At least in that much you improve! I recall a time, and not so long ago, when you would no more do search among your Nedaoans than—’
'Circumstances change, cat,’ Ylia remarked dryly. ‘Ledges. The sun's up by now, it may be warm.’
'A wager on that?’
'No. Come on!’ She scooped the cat into her arms, slid the dish in a pile so Malaeth might not mark it as hers and slipped from the chamber.
'Have you seen anything, Nisana? Sensed anything?’
'Anything? You mean of course Mathkkra or Thullen, or other of Lyiadd's sendings?’ Direct—however unpleasantly—as ever, Nisana. ‘No. Nothing of that sort. But it is a vast place, this, and a tiresome search.’
“I know, cat. I'm sorry.”
'Don't be, it gives me a task. I am no longer a kitten, interested merely in a ball of twine or the hunt, you know.’ And as Ylia opened her mouth, ‘No insult intended, either way. Now. Search. Far vision first. A tight circle, all around us. Good. You've stopped closing your eyes to initiate a search, that's even better. I still think you need to use much less of your strength. However, we will not argue about it! All right. The touch now, try for more distance.’ Silence. ‘More than that, this is not far vision, you should have much greater range with touch!’ She shifted. ‘Better.’
'Nothing, cat. Save ourselves, our herds, our kind. Odd, though. As much trouble as we had coming North, it seems unlikely we should not be attacked. Consider the herds, if nothing else.’
'That's so. The Folk said they were in-gathered to the south. If that is the case, even if Lyiadd is dead, and his creatures scattered, it would take them time to return North to harry us.’
'I—I'd think so.’ She would not argue that matter with Nisana again, she kept the thought locked firmly away. Lyiadd was dead, damn his soul to the Black Well! She was aware of the cat's gaze on her, kept her eyes closed. Nisana caught considerable of her thought at inopportune moments, but if she'd done so this time, she made no comment.
'Which might account,’ the cat went on, ‘for our temporary safety here.’
'So it might.’ “Enough,” she said loud. “There is nothing here. And no,” she added sharply, “I see your next thought as clear as I see the rocks around us, I have not tried to bridge, and I will not!”
Nisana sighed, ‘If you only—’
“No.”
'But you could—’
"No!"
'All right!’ The cat scowled at her. ‘Just remember, though, all the other times you said no, and were proven wrong!’
“Hah! They were different. And you know how it affects me, it makes me ill and faint. There are enough things in this world to make me ill, I need not add to them deliberately.”
'All right.’ Silence. ‘I am taking a look out East this morning.’
“Why? We can't live that way.”
'Probably not.’
“And you have brought in all the animals that were abandoned along the road.”
'Perhaps. I'm not certain. I want to check the foothills, between the Planthe, say, and the Citadel. It will not take long, and it will cause me no danger. Besides, if folk still are lost in the Foessa, where is it most likely they would be?’
“Foothills, of course. But—Nisana, it's over a month!”
'It's no danger to me, no great cost in time,’ the cat reiterated patiently, ‘and it comes to me to do it.’
“All right, then.” It wasn't particularly sense, but if Nisana felt the need in that way, she'd do it, whatever Ylia said. And she was coming to trust that odd sixth sense the cat occasionally had.
“Lady?” One of the ledge guard stood below them.
“Imbrus?”
“Duke Erken wishes to speak with you. No matter of great urgency, he says, but as soon as you are free.”
“Ah.” ‘Nisana?’
'I'll see you after your night meal, before council.’
'Luck, cat.’
'Hah.’ Nisana bounded away from her, bridged out of sight mid-cap. Ylia scowled at the place she'd been. Swaggerer!
“Imbrus, tell Duke Erken I'
m free now, and unless he has a reason to meet indoors, I'd greatly prefer him here.”
“My Lady.” Fortunately, Imbrus's line of vision hadn't included the rock behind her, Nisana's vanishing trick would have left him glassy-eyed.
Ylia was well aware how many folk, like Erken's young guardsman, were unnerved by the magic Nisana used, and were thereby uncertain who to believe: the Chosen who called her evil, or their young Queen, who by strict Chosen Standards was also a servant of their Dark One. Fortunately, the cat's continued presence was easing the tension; Nedao-like, people simply were becoming used to her. As long as she made no show of her Power. And show was not Nisana's way.
The tall Lord of Anasela, Exiled, climbed nimbly up from the ledge, bowed most correctly before taking a seat beside her. Erken was a stickler for such formalities, and it was only with the gravest of misgivings he'd taken her order and so addressed her, rather than using her full formal title. “You're right, Lady Ylia, it's quite nice here. How goes your search?”
Astonishing. Erken had been one of the most sceptical, When she'd first explained her method of searching. “Slowly. Not so slowly as if we'd only foot and horse for it, but not fast. Not,” she added, “fast enough to suit me, either. But I haven't Nisana's particular talent, to think myself elsewhere in the space of half a breath. At least we've only two directions for serious search. That simplifies things a little.”
“Why?” Erken frowned, “You've dropped such hints before. East: anyone could understand why the East is closed to us, and I daresay the North wouldn't be much use; the farther north one goes, the colder and shorter the growing season, but—”
“Not north. South.”
The Duke gazed at her thoughtfully “It's not just you either Golsat said something yesterday afternoon, and Lev shushed him, strongly I thought for a mere misstep of the tongue. I could perhaps be of more aid, if you saw fit,” he added pointedly, “to tell me.”
Ylia swallowed past a suddenly tight throat, blinked rapidly. Almost Brendan's very words. Do I kill another—friend—by taking him into my confidence? But that was stupid; Erken needed to know, and it wasn't fair to keep him unaware of knowledge he might desperately need, and that soon. “All right, I'll tell you. When I've done so, though, you may wish I'd kept silent.” She met his eyes, managed a faint smile. “Last chance, Erken.”
“What, for blessed ignorance? I'll chance it, tell me.”
“Your choice, then. Remember that.” And she plunged into the tale of the journey north after Koderra's fall. A much shortened one, of necessity, but leaving in every odd occurrence, every scent of fear, the growing knowledge that they were not alone and unmarked, that their path was foreshadowed and perhaps foredestined, and that evil lay in wait for them.
“We suspected, Nisana and I, long before we had proof, that someone or something was aware of us, that the cat and I both were recognized as AEldra and therefore at the least an impediment, at most a danger. Either way, something to be—removed.”
“Killed, you mean,” Erken put in quietly.
“Killed. We were two 5-days, a little more, on our way, when we were attacked by Mathkkra.”
Erken's hands tightened briefly on the brim of his hat. “You know this for certain, do you?”
“By their own admission. You would not recognize them as Mathkkra, we did not. I was told so by those who would have taken me for a blood sacrifice.” She shivered. “I was fortunate.”
“Indeed, since you live.”
“The AEldra Power was stronger than theirs, and so I escaped. None of that tribe did. But there are more of them. Many more.”
Silence. Erken moistened his lips. “I know of the Cave-Folk, of course.” His voice was steady, matter-of-fact. “All Nedao do, if only from the figures at Harvest-Fest. But they were evil only by their habits and their mein. They had no magic, that any of the tales tell us.”
“They had none,” Ylia replied grimly. Her inflection was not lost on him; he studied her. “There is—there was a man, an AEldra, of their Fifth House of nobility. A man named Lyiadd. Like most of his House, he was—magician, you would say.”
“Say, if you choose, of the Power,” Erken replied. “I am not so Northern as that!"
She smiled briefly. “He was like most from the lower Houses, not greatly skilled. Unlike most of his class, it bothered him. So Nisana tells me, and she knew him.”
“Nisana. But—”
“Another time.” One odd thing at a time, though I doubt he'll accept as easily as did Golsat that Nisana is twice his age. “He sought marriage with women of the upper Houses, to improve his standing, among them Scythia, my mother. Apparently, such rejection added more fuel to his—whatever was unbalanced about him to begin became even more unbalanced. My mother refused him, of course. Nisana says rudely, at the last, for she'd already pledged to my father.” She drew a deep breath, let it out slowly. Her eyes caught at a small tuft of black cloud drifting across an otherwise brilliantly blue sky, followed it. “He left Yls—at this point, I speak conjecture only, Erken, no one knows for certain save Lyiadd. He left Yls, vowing vengeance on all who had slighted him. Taking with him the Sirdar's daughter, Marrita, who for some reason found in Lyiadd what she wanted in a man. She also nursed a grudge against her House, though just what and why I do not know.
“Again, I speak only what I suppose. They went in active search of an ancient place of evil in the Foessa and they found it: the home, a thousand years ago, of the Lammior.”
“The Night-Serpent.” Erken caught his hand half-way through the Northern warding sign. “My dear Lady Ylia, no! Mathkkra, all right, if you insist, but the Night-Serpent is nothing but legend!”
“He is only myth to Nedao, Erken. In Yls, there is written history to substantiate him! And there is other, more recent proof of the tale, listen! They found the object of their search. A valley, to all appearances only another deep, tree-lined bowl in the midst of great peaks. They settled in, they and Lyiadd's friends and arms-sworn, and he began to work to wrest the Lammior's secrets from the ancient walls.”
Erken shook his head in stunned wonder. “No, I do not disbelieve you. I think I don't. Continue.”
“As you wish. When we came into the mountains, my companions and I, he became aware of us. Not impossible, for one of great Power: he could search with his mind at distance, and Nisana and I made no secret of ourselves, we used the AEldra Power to search, to protect those with us, to ward against evils. For whatever reason, he saw us, Nisana and me, as a threat, and so determined to take us captive.”
“Mothers guard us” Erken whispered.
“And so he did.” Ylia's throat was dry, her voice scratchy, but she spoke with a sense of detachment: It was almost as though the thing had happened to another, as though she had memorized a tale—a terrifying tale, true, but only a tale—and now spoke it from memory. “Brendan—died on the ledges, trying to aid us, but it was no good, Lyiadd's Power was stronger, and he had men and Mathkkra to outnumber us. He sent the others away. That was when I challenged him, and fought him.”
“Brandt's daughter.” A brief smile quirked Erken's face. “So much we'd expect of his heir.”
“Well, Lyiadd did not. I—I killed him. At least, if he was not dead when Nisana pulled me to safety, he was near it.” She drew another deep breath. “But his woman, his armsmen, his Mathkkra, his other creatures still live. The South is closed to us, Erken.”
“Aye. And now a man sees why. But, is there no way you could—that is, no way you could perhaps look to see if he is dead? Or if the others plan against us?” Erken, clearly a man bewildered, fumbled to a halt.
“I dare not search that place myself, it is unsafe. If he does live, I might be snared once again.”
“Not, then, a good idea,” Erken replied gravely. “After all, you are the last of your House and heirless.”
“Not entirely,” she replied as she jumped to her feet.
“Well, there is Vess, of course.” Erken ros
e as she did. “But for all practical purposes, you're Ettel's last.” He sighed, turned away from the lower ledge and the guard there. They strode slowly across the rough, mossy rock toward a stand of scrubby fir. “And I know it's early days, but you need to begin to consider those qualified as, well—” He paused. Ylia laughed.
“As Royal blood stock. I'm sorry, Erken, I've shocked you.”
“Not at all,” he replied stiffly, but his color was unusually high.
“I'm acutely aware of the need for heirs. But that hadn't come up, two months ago.”
“No. I'm sorry, I hadn't meant to offend, or to remind you.”
“It's all right, Erken. If you've lists in that mind of yours, set them down and give them to me. I know the Sirdar has a grandson, but he's scarcely Lisabetha's age and I doubt they'd have me, even if I'd have him.”
“Well—”
“As to an heir in the meantime. I'll speak it to the council tonight but you'd better know now, my Lord Duke. I'm afraid you're for it.”
Erken stopped cold, stared at her blankly. She laughed again. “Who did you think I'd name? Weren't you next in line to Father after Ettel and then Lord Corry?”
“I—but, Lady Ylia, you can't—”
“If he'd lived, I'd have named Corlin. Since he didn't, you're next, Erken. And after you, Bnorn: he's old, but next logical. And then his son, and his grandson. If you'd had a son, of course, he—” She stopped. Erken looked like he'd been hit. “Oh, Mothers, Erken, I'm sorry! I—there's no excuse, I forgot!”
“It's all right, Lady Ylia.” He brought up a weak smile. “I forget, myself, sometimes.”
Not true, anyone could have seen that. Erken's son Galdan, his only child, gone these past four years after a terrible argument with his father, and no one had heard from him since. She moved to his side, clasped his arms. “Perhaps—”
“Perhaps,” Erken said and nodded. “Perhaps anything.” A genuine smile, then, “Nevermind. You,” he said, “had better take very good care of yourself, I have no intention to try to fill Brandt's shoes!”
"You," she replied feelingly.
