by Ru Emerson
There was a fest within the Midsummer Fest with Galdan's return: He had been well known in the North and very well liked.
Ylia called him into the reception the last day of Fest, and gave him a small, hurriedly embroidered patch with her house arms. “For your sleeve. When there's cloth and opportunity, you'll have full colors.” She dropped down on the top step, gestured him to sit. He did, taking a place two steps down from her at what he clearly considered a proscribed distance away.
He shrugged. “What I have won't wear out before spring.”
“No, but your father considers it unsuitable, and he's not the only one.” Galdan made a face and she laughed. “All right, I happen to agree with you! But it's not only my say, and certainly not yours.”
“You're supposed to rule Nedao!”
“Yes, but even so, the people want certain forms to be followed. I told you, I don't particularly like it, but when Erken says they want things just so, I listen. He's usually right, you know.”
Galdan sighed. “I know it. Damn, anyway!”
“My words exactly. Keep your leathers, by all means. You'll be out hunting and tracking and you'll want them for that.”
“Too kind of you—”
“We are not,” she overrode him ominously, “going to argue the matter, in any fashion, if you don't mind! New clothing, and soon. So prepare yourself for it. But that wasn't all I wanted to tell you. Since you're once again Erken's heir and since he's mine—”
“Is he?” The Duke's son let his head fall back and laughed loudly. “No wonder he's so cautious of you!” He sobered abruptly, eyed her narrowly. “That had better not make me next in line after Father!”
She shrugged. “His choice. If you're dead against it, tell him.”
“I wouldn't dare, we'd kill each other arguing it. Why?”
“Why what? Erken? I told him, who better? Except Corlin, who was still thought dead when I named Erken. When we found him, he wouldn't allow the change.”
“But Corlin's Second House—”
“And as stubborn as you or Erken. Don't interrupt me. It's not proper,” she added tartly. He shook his head, laughed again. “Anyway, until I have an heir myself, he's it.”
“You mean, until you marry some foreign noble or another and present Nedao with babies,” Galdan replied bluntly. Hardly a safe thing to do at a time like this, is it? Since you follow King's rules and fight with your armsmen. Then again,” he mused, “if I'm so near the succession as all that, perhaps I'd prefer if you—”
"Nevermind," she broke in sharply. It irritated her, the whole matter did. “We're getting far afield again. Dammit, listen to me and then answer, all right? Erken's part of my council, you know that. As his son and his heir, I'd like you to be part of it also.” Silence. He gazed at a spot on the top of the step of the dais, clearly surprised by her request. “You know the mountains from here to Nar and here to Yls. We can use that.”
“I—” He considered the matter for several long moments. Sometimes I think she doesn't like me at all, or care for my presence, and then she makes me her knight, takes me to her council, and why? Ah, well. Since it's her, and no fancy court lady, it's all for the reasons she names, no doubt, he concluded gloomily. He eyed her covertly from under his lashes, looked away as he realized she was watching him. That I have weapon skill and that I'm Father's heir. Well, if it's what I have to give her, at least I have that much: At least I have it to offer, and—and at least she asks it. He finally nodded. “As you choose. If you wish it.”
“I do. Thank you.” With his beard trimmed up, and his hair pulled back in proper Nedaoan fashion, he looked a different man: younger, more handsome, and though neither as tall nor as broad of shoulder as his father, he was a near match for Erken. He'd gone polite on her, too, which was an odd change—at least, sometimes he was. She preferred when he forgot protocol and manners both, as he frequently did, and argued with her as though she were simply other people and not a title and a figurehead. Few enough people did that, anymore, “That's settled. Brel tells me you, he and Golsat have a hunt planned. When?”
“We thought so, if there's no objection. We could still use the meat, and the shoemakers need the skins. And since Nar sends more horses, we'll need harness. They can't supply the kind we use.”
“No. They've offered more leather, but yes, we could still use the meat and we'll need all the hides we can get together, for boots for the winter. When do you leave?”
“Day after next.”
“Have an eye out for Mathkkra—but you'd do that anyway.”
“Well, yes, now you mention it.” Mildly spoken indeed for Galdan. “Anything else—Lady?” he added, as though just recalling his manners. She laughed, shook her head. “By your leave, then. I'm helping Golsat with the young swords this morning.”
“Brave man,” she replied gravely He grinned briefly, strode rapidly from the hall.
Matters settled slowly back to normal: The Narrans installed their embassy in the small house provided for them on the square and went back down-river with a load of goods. More wool came to Marckl's new docks and went to the work house, where twelve long looms were set up, and steam rose continuously from the color vats at the open far end. More looms were built, large-wheel spindles constructed, and looms and spindles were never empty, seldom untended. Lossana spent most of her daylight hours in the cool shed, overseeing the dye pots, weaving her own complex pattern into dark blue cloth; helping the older women to teach girls how to spin.
Lisabetha; too, was spending long hours at the looms, and she had become Malaeth's chief gatherer of dye plants. Evenings she spent in the women's chamber in the Tower; she now had more silver thread for her wedding dress, and she and the other household ladies were hard at work on the embroidery. Brelian had somehow found the time to construct her: bride-box, as was his right and obligation, and with the wedding set for the Tenth of Fruiting, Lisabetha labored long hours to make certain it was properly filled by then.
New paper came with the wool, and Ylia delivered that personally to the Chosen. She enjoyed Grewl's company; now that he no longer had time to scribe for her and her father's man had taken over that position, she missed him.
The commune was flourishing their crops were high and weedless, their sheep fat, and there were new twin kids. Within the walls, the Chosen women had their own looms going to run out cloth for themselves and for trade, and Grewl had begun to reorganize the scholars to the painful task of reconstructing the histories lost when the Tehlatt razed the Citadel. He received the cloth-wrapped bale with a good deal of pleasure.
He took tea with her in the large open hall, where several others were already eating a small afternoon meal or drinking a cup of chilled, watered wine before returning to late tasks.
“Do you know, there's an idea I have I'd like to put before ye,” he said once they were settled. His Nedaoan was surprisingly unaccented, save for the touch of Northern in it that told who'd taught him.
“As you wish. I have no say here, though. You know that.”
He smiled, sipped the clear red, tart tea. She took a taste of her own: odd combination of herbs, and what, she wondered, contributed that bright color to it? Remember to ask. “No say—well, perhaps not. I would not say that we live here on sufferance, certainly. But we are a foreign order residing on land granted us by you. But,” he forestalled her, “that was not my need, to have your permission for the task as Nedao's Queen.” He sipped again. “Do you like that?” She nodded. “It's an Osneran tisane, modified for what grows here. I'll see you get a bag of the dry to take with you.”
“Thank you.” Sage—there's definitely that. Wild rose hip for the tartness, but that doesn't account for the color—
“No. It occurs to many of us that history isn't all ancient days. And we've folk here who can tell us the tales we had copied before. They'll hold, so as to speak. We've begun recording the fall of the Plain. And with your permission, I'd like the right to set down the tale of
your own escape from the King's’ City, and your coming to Aresada.” She stared at him over the rim of her cup, surprised. Grewl spread his hands. “Of course, if you'd rather not—”
“No.” She stirred. “No, I'd-I'd like that. I'd prefer it were you.”
A movement at her elbow brought her around. “The Lady prefers—but I interrupt. I hope nothing, of too private a nature?” Jers stood beside her, his body inclined to a proper bow; his face set in a servile smirk. His eyes were pale blue, cold and hard as ice. Ylia opened her mouth, closed it again and to her anger felt red wash her face.
“The Lady and I were speaking of the histories and my copying of them,” Grewl said placidly. If he saw her sudden flush, he ignored it. “It is not forbidden us to welcome outsiders and to give them refreshment, Jers.”
“Not under old rule, no, it is not?”
Grewl eyed him with mild curiosity. “Under current rule, unless I am gravely behind on my understanding of such things. The Lady brought our paper, it will be possible, for us to begin the writing once more.”
“I am glad,” Jers smiled, and it was a chill smile that matched his eyes, “that you will have occupations for your failing years, should you choose to remain here.” Something crackled; his hand had tightened convulsively on a roll of thin Osneran decree-paper. Ribbon quivered across the backs of his fingers.
“Should I—? Oh, yes. I think I shall do that. These are good people, and the histories well worth the copying. And the Lady tells me there will be children to teach their letters this winter.”
“Perhaps so. They will not he taught by you.” He unrolled the crumpled paper, shoved it forward so it nearly touched the older man's nose. Grewl caught at the edge of it, gave Ylia a look across the other edge that said caution and silence as clearly as if he'd been AEldra. He held the paper steady—Jers was apparently incapable of it—and read. “The Heirocracy has set full seals to the bottom see that, old man! There will be no trifling with such a ruling, not on your part!”
“No?” The old man eyed him mildly indeed, but Ylia let out a held breath. Whatever was happened here, this young fanatic was not simply going to walk over the elderly scribe: There was a core of hard metal in Grewl.
“Read it again!” Jers shouted. There was a murmur among those scattered about the room, annoyed looks from several; two women looked in through the archway that led to the weaving room, then disappeared. But they were back moments later, with the rest of the weavers filling the hallway behind them. She doubted Jers saw them; he had eyes only for Grewl. “A ruling—an order!—from the Heirocracy! You are mentioned only insofar as you are given the right to remain here, if you so choose, to direct the scribes’ chamber and to oversee the work undertaken there. See?” A trembling hand shot out and stabbed at the paper. “That is all it says of you, old man! Beyond that, read for yourself! See how the Heirocracy has decreed for us here!” He stood back, folded his arms across his narrow chest and stared balefully down the length of his nose at the older man.
Grewl took the document unhurriedly, and perused it. He looked up finally. The hall was becoming crowded, as more and more Chosen came from the fields, from the hen-coop, from the kitchens. Jers had eyes only for Grewl, and Grewl turned to Ylia as though he was aware of no one occupying the hall at all but the two of them. “This isn't pleasant news, Lady, I daresay you won't care much for what the Heirocracy orders.”
“She won't—!” Jers exploded. “This witch has no say—!”
“Ah, brother?” Grewl leaned forward and tapped his arm. “If you recall, there are lands where such a remark against a crowned ruler would cost you your tongue, if not your entire head. It has happened, and I doubt, Jers, that you're ready for martyrdom. Are you?” Silence. Astonished silence: “As I was saying. They intend that the house here take again a firm line against—”
“Against witchery in all its forms?” Ylia put in as he paused.
“Even so. They suggest that young children can be taught better than elders, and that therefore an emphasis is to be placed upon schools for the young, to bring Nedao eventually to the true way. No overt move is to be made against the House—Jers, you wished to say something? No? I do not think he intended I read this to you, but perhaps Jers is learning a lesson of his own, today.”
“You cannot—!” Jers made a grab for the paper; Grewl shifted his weight so his back and shoulder caught the younger man's body. He held the paper just out of reach. “That ruling gives me control of the Order in Nedao! I am Father now, and I tell you to give that back to me!” Silence. Grewl met Jers’ furious glare with a mildly quizzical look of his own. Jers drew a deep breath, let it out hard and fast. “Destroying that will not change matters, Grewl. Give it to me.”
“But I have not yet finished reading it,” Grewl replied reasonably, and turned away to bring his attention back to the document in his hand. “I'll tell you what I sense here, Lady,” he went on.
“I'd—appreciate that. Ylia spoke past a dry throat. This was not the kind of situation she could handle, and even if any of her own that could were here—Corlin, Erken, Joffen who'd been her father's man in charge of delicate negotiations—even they couldn't help with this! She felt acutely uncomfortable and definitely in the way. And Jers had transferred that chill gaze to her now. He hates me for how I was born, what I had from my mother, for something I can't control! How can he think like that? She swallowed, sending a sudden wave of anger down: Manipulate Children! Well, Jers would be good at that, wouldn't he? Look what he'd done to Lisabetha, who'd been schooled by him as a child to hate AEldra, and all that it implied. To hate and fear her own foreseeing which She could not help!
Not her fight. No. But now she knew all too well what Marhan had felt, when she'd pushed him away from Vess.
Grewl drew her attention again, but not before she noticed the hall was quite filled with silent, intent Chosen, and that a number of these stood behind Grewl. “What I think is, our young friend Tevvro managed to reach Osnera, and perhaps spent some of his father's coin—and your cousin's, if he still had any—to buy what he could there—”
“You dare suggest,” Jers spluttered, “that the Heirocracy would accept bribes?”
“I've seen it, and the result, of it, and so have you, young brother, Grewl replied evenly. Unless your eyes are too blinded by ardent belief to see that the members of the Heirocracy are also men?” Silence. “No, that is what I see. Now, either the coin was not sufficient, or the Heirocracy has greater plans, and a depth to them that will not reveal itself for a time to come. Else Tevvro himself had been here, with full papers and an escort of inner house guard to see that the changes in policy were properly adopted. To send a paper, stating such outrageous things as it does—”
“Outrageous? Outrageous?"
“—well, that simply asks for trouble. As well we know. To attempt such a policy, in such times, and with the ruling house headed by one who wields the Power—”
“He was right; she has besotted you,” Jers hissed. One of his own followers caught at his arm and whispered against his ear; Jers shook him off in a fury. The man retreated a few paces to confer worriedly with three of his fellows.
“He?” For the anger that was twisting her gut, she managed to hold her voice steady. “My cousin Vess, you mean.”
“Your cousin,” Grewl agreed, forestalling whatever remark Jers intended. The younger man attempted to override the older, then subsided momentarily. “Now, as I see it, they are driving us into a box from which there is only one exit: Surely they do not believe Jers will have the free assent of a majority of they house here. Tevvro would have had a better grasp of numbers and leanings when he left than that! No. He sees that one of us—I fear he thinks me, and I fear he is correct in that—will take Jers’ right from him and give him choice, to remain under the new order or to leave for good. Then, when Tevvro and your cousin have consolidated their gains, and when Nedao again flourishes, they will return. And this time, the Heirocrat will send
full guard.”
“They—they can't do that!” Her voice did tremble, this time.
“It won't stop them trying, of course,” the old man said unhappily. And I resent being pushed into this position, knowing that is what they are doing. I am not a piece on a board game, to be moved—but then, board pieces do not have wit. I hope I have. My friends, he raised his voice as he stood, and turned slowly to take in all the crowded chamber. I have spoken with a goodly many of you, and doubtless you know what has passed here, and what this paper contains!” A worried murmur of conversation buzzed through the hall. “We can deal with this at evening-meal if you choose. But I would greatly prefer that we do so now, at once, in the Lady's presence. She has granted us this place to live, and at expense to her folk, both in land and grain, men to help us roof, beasts and paper. I personally would prefer, very much so, that she not go back to her own halls worrying how much of the Order in this document will be carried out!”
A man nearly Grewl's age pushed forward; be climbed to the bench at the scholar's side, held onto his shoulder for balance. He waved his free arm for silence and got it. “Brother Jers. We have discussed this matter before. We know you have adherents. Brother Grewl has adherents among us also. It has always been the case that in distant lands, the Heirocracy may command, but the Order itself had final say as to its actions, since the Heirocracy and its members may not fully understand the political situation under which the House exists. Or other such matters as can only be understood by those living in that foreign House.”
“This is not such a matter,” Jers shouted. Twenty other voices drowned him out.
Silence!” the old man on the bench bellowed. He got it. “We are not children, fighting over a toy here. We will discuss this as reasonable men and women! This land is ruled by a woman who uses sorcery among her weapons. I personally do not believe as Grewl does, that there is no harm at all to this, but that is not my business, to see to the ordering of Nedao's ruling House! Nor to subjugate its children. Many of the Nedaoan women have the Sight. Would you cleanse that from them?”
