by Ru Emerson
The air was still throbbing, pulsing with Malaeth's laboring heartbeat, and there was a faint, unpleasant giggle just at the edge of hearing. Berd stirred, whimpered. It was harder for Malaeth to move than it had been, just flexing her fingers took all the strength in her. Hard to remember she must be strong. She touched the baby's cheek. ‘Shhh. Rest, Berd. Rest, my heart, my little love, my sweet. I won't let them harm you, no one will hurt you while Malaeth is here.’ A velvety soft little arm rubbed against her hand, tiny fingers clutched her thumb and held. The baby subsided again. Malaeth swallowed, closed her eyes. She could retain the least contact with Berd, still. There wasn't much else she could do, save wait. Red stained the insides of her eyelids, pain flared across her skin like fire and she bit back an outcry. Old bodies could still feel pain. Be strong, old woman, the babe needs ye strong. Wait.
Lisabetha had built a fire down in the small dining room and was cuddling Selverra. Ylia lay flat, a fur pulled up to her chin. When Galdan came, he took his daughter and sat against the wall on the nest of sleeping furs and cushions where Lisabetha had been sitting. “She hasn't spoken. I don't know if she's still unconscious, Selverra needed all my attention.”
“It's all right. You'd better go back home, Lisabetha, you'll catch your death like that.”
“I'm all right. There's wine by the fire. I'll return.” She had to pause just outside the door until she could stop trembling. She'd felt that horror when it struck, had left her startled mother with the baby and run as she was, knowing only that something was desperately wrong, that Ylia needed her. Ylia's baby—it could have been my baby! She flew across the hall, pushed through the still crowd gathered in the square and ran down the avenue for home.
Galdan's foot was going to sleep. He shifted carefully, leaned back against the wall. Selverra, wrapped in her father's cloak, slept in the crook of his left arm, fingers still twined in his. Ylia slumped against his left shoulder, eyes closed.
“Why did Ysian run like that? Why did Nisana?” Ylia's voice, a cracked whisper, broke a long silence.
“Shhh, don't waken Sel. I told you, I don't know.” Another long silence. “Father will come to tell us at once if there's change, If it retreats.”
“If it—” Ylia swallowed, buried her face in her hands. Galdan's arm tightened around her shoulders. “She told me. Marrita did. I should have known, should have—”
“Should have what?” Galdan demanded as her voice broke.
“Known that gift wasn't the one Ysian sent? How? You've touched it daily, and so have I! We've slept in the same chamber with it for months and until tonight it never gave any sign it was evil, that it was their focus.” Silence. “They can't maintain that spell for much longer, Ylia. Not at such a distance.”
“They can hold it long enough to—”
“Don't endow them with strength they don't have, lady wife,” he interrupted her gently. “Despair can defeat us also, you know. They tried to reach Selverra; they couldn't. They tried to trap me, tried to kill you, and they couldn't.”
“She won't kill me,” Ylia said bitterly. Her voice was muffled by her hands. “She said that, too: You'll all die first. All of you. Then she'll kill me. I should have tried again.”
“You still could have died in there. I remember what it did to you. You're not thinking clearly, beloved.” He leaned down to kiss the top of her head. “You can't trust what Marrita says, and you don't when you're able to think.” Silence again, a long one. The fire burned down until it was a bed of coals; the room was overly warm. Neither of them noticed the heat. “They can't hold it forever, when Father tells us it's fading, we'll break it.”
“They'll be dead by then,” Ylia whispered.
“No. Don't think that, you're giving in to fear and misery, they want that. Maybe it even feeds that field, up there. Rest. Be ready when our chance comes.” Ylia's head came slowly up. Galdan kissed her brow. “Will you?”
She closed her eyes. Nodded. “I'll try.” A tear ran down her cheek; Galdan caught it with a gentle finger and blotted it on her shirt.
“Then so will I.” He settled against the wall, shifted Selverra's slight weight to a more comfortable position. Ylia's breathing slowed and became more regular, and he thought perhaps she slept. He made himself relax. But his thought ran wild. Ylia. The nursery. The missing AEldra. Poor Ysian! But Nisana. What had it done to them? Or—or had it? Something deep down stirred, a fragment of a thought. He wouldn't pursue it, it might not be safe. But suddenly he was not quite as worried about them as he had been. Because just perhaps he knew where they had gone—and why.
Nisana cast about for direction. It was like walking through fog, like trying mind-search with blocked Power. But it seemed—she could only act on what she felt. ‘North again, Ysian.’
“I can't.” Ysian knelt, head even with her knees, breathing deeply. Everything had gone black after this last bridging. But even after her vision cleared, there was nothing to see but trees, everywhere trees. Moonlight slid between them in narrow shafts, but gave no clue to their whereabouts. Nisana willed her a tiny burst of strength, all she had to spare.
'Again. We can rest then, I'm certain of it. Now.’
'We'll have to rest, there's nothing left in me to bridge again, after this.’
'We'll rest,’ the cat assured her. Ysian brought her head up carefully, flailed for a handhold and scraped her palm against harsh bark and the thorns of a low-growing berry bush. ‘I'm sorry for this, Ysian, but there isn't time to waste. It has to be now.’
“I know. Go, I'll back you.’
Every candle, every lantern in the lower hall had been lit, throwing the upper end into even darker gloom. A faint ruddy glow still pulsed in the nursery. The guard was nervous, silent. Erken strode from watcher to watcher, moved back now and again to gaze down the empty stairway.
“M'Lord! Erken!” He turned back from one such tour to see Eveya, who had the far post, wave at him urgently. “Look, it's fading!” It was, beyond all doubt. Erken ran up to her and gave her a shove toward the stair. “I'll take your place, go, get Galdan!” Eveya was already on her way.
Malaeth choked. It was harder to fight air into her old lungs, to force it out again. Berd's mind-touch was nearly gone and her own was fading. Tiny fingers tightened on her thumb. ‘I know, shhh.’ She could have wept, but there were no tears left, no breath for it. He was frightened, a void lay before him and he feared it. She couldn't let him die like that, trembling with terror. ‘It's not so bad, dying. It's a pity you should have had so little life first.’ She wrapped him in love, all the love in her, felt it shield him from the fear. ‘I'll be with you, sweetest, only precious, I'll stay with you, don't be afraid. I won't leave you, not ever.’ The room was fading, the pain fading with it. For one glorious moment, it was gone: pain, warped Power, exhaustion, fear. Malaeth inched forward with the last of her strength, gathered the baby close and fell back, her arms and body curled protectively around him. Berd let out one final, long breath and his tiny body went limp, but his fingers remained clasped around her thumb.
'Ysian?’ Nisana's fur was warm against her cheek. Ysian could feel that warmth and the cat's fear; there wasn't enough strength in her to so much as move a hand. Even the mind-touch was mostly gone.
“I'm sorry, cat,” she whispered, it was a fool's notion. We've lost.”
Nisana rubbed against her again. ‘It was a good idea. We can't stop, Ysian. They're near, I know they are, they must be!’
Golden light flared over them, over the tiny meadow. Ysian blinked, rolled over and pushed herself partially upright on shaking arms. Someone there...” By the Nasath,” she whispered in sudden awe. Bendesevorian knelt beside her, one hand on her shoulder, willing her strength.
“I felt your fear and the urgency in you, even across the barrier. I am here. What is your need?”
Ah, gods of my ancestors, that I lived to see such a night! Would that I could believe in Fate and not torment myself even now with the certaint
y that some act of mine might have prevented what passed. Malaeth, friend of my childhood, companion of so many long years, the One bless you for such unswerving devotion, and tiny Berdwyn, may your mother and father hold you again, a long day hence.
9
Galdan came up the stairs two at a time, Ylia close on his heels, but half-way up the hall, Erken blocked the way; he and Galdan held Ylia back when she would have forced her way past them both. “Father? Eveya said—”
“It's still there, son. But much less strong than it was, I think.”
“We'll wait. Ylia,” he spoke gently against her ear, accompanied it with a little shake. She came back from a long inner distance, blinked at him. “We can't go in there yet. It's fading.”
“I know,” she whispered, and pulled against his grasp again. Galdan's fingers tightened, she subsided unwillingly against them.
“We'll wait here.” One of the armsmen brought a wooden bench over for them. There was uneasy silence in the hall. Outside, in the street, they could hear worried voices muffled by distance and closed shutters. One of Ylia's women crossed the hall below with a click of heels, vanished into the small dining room where two of the others sat with the sleeping Selverra.
“How long?” Ylia's whisper broke the silence; a near guardswoman started, drew a disapproving glare from Erken. Galdan shrugged, she slumped against him, closed her eyes. Berd, ah, my baby, I can't sense you, can't touch you at all! It tore at her: He'd be terrified, and she could do nothing, nothing, to ease that fear. And Malaeth—she was so old, so frail after the past two winters. Her Power had never been strong, never much but mind-speech. How long could she hold out against that? Galdan's arm was warm around her shoulder, she could feel his worry, his fear and a rising grief, the attempt he was making to hide it from her, to reassure her. His child, too. His son. She couldn't even console him. She turned, buried her face in his shoulder.
She sat up suddenly, the hairs on her forearms tickling with the least of presentiments: “Galdan, something's happening.”
“Something—?”
“There—look!" She pointed toward the south balcony now shrouded in gloom. The air was eddying there.
“I don't—” Whatever he intended to say was cut off by a blinding, golden light and the powerful surge of an inbridging. The Elite Guard stumbled away from this sudden new threat. Erken shouted a warning. “Wait, all of you!” Galdan topped the older man's wordless cry. “It's all right, they're ours!” In the fading glow were three: Nisana, Ysian and a man taller and more fair than she. The light seemed to cling to him even as the balcony went dark again. Ysian swayed; Nisana toppled from her shoulder into her arms and lay there unmoving. Bendesevorian touched Ysian's hand, passed them swiftly. He slowed at the nursery, stopped before the royal bedchamber. Ylia had already slipped from Galdan's loosened fingers. She caught at his sleeve, opened her mouth but no words came. Bendesevorian gripped, her arm in turn, pulled her into the chamber with him and gestured Galdan to follow.
“Come with me, both of you. The Lady Ysian told me what is there. I may not be able to destroy the thing myself.” They vanished into the gloomy chamber. Erken started after them, stopped in the doorway. Ysian laid a hand on his forearm, shook her head as he would have followed. Her face was drawn and white, and there were faint lines around her eyes he hadn't seen before; what she'd done had taken a toll from her. Nisana was a curl of still dark fur in the crook of her left arm. Ysian shook her head again. “Stay here, Lord Erken. It's not safe in there.”
Erken shook his own head impatiently. “I know that. But they can't—”
“They have protection you do not.” Ysian leaned against the doorframe for support. “It's faded, hasn't it? It was much stronger when we left.”
“You went to find him?”
“Say that we hoped we could.”
But who is he?” Erken was peering into the darkened chamber; the air about the Yderra pulsed, a dull ruddy fog spiraling slowly out from its brow. To one side, hands extended, fingers tinted the color of an old wound, stood the one Ysian had brought. He was like no man Erken had ever seen, and even Erken, pragmatic Nedaoan that he was, could tell the difference went beyond height and coloring; he had felt something as that other passed him.
Ysian shuddered, closed her eyes. At the moment, the chamber beyond was fairly crackling with opposing Powers. “Who? He is Bendesevorian, of the Nasath.”
“The Ylsan Guardians—?” Erken's voice trailed away, and he stared in astonishment. "To our aid?"
“He assisted Ylia once before, did she never tell you?” Erken shook his head. “I knew. Nisana told me, else I had never thought to try and find the Guardians. Who would?”
“Who would?” Erken echoed blankly. “But—you did find them!”
“Bendesevorian found us, and left his own kind to do it. I fear I've done him irreparable harm, seeking him out, bringing him to the Peopled Lands. Well, it can't be turned back. And I would have done more or worse, if he can save them.” Erken glanced at her, went back to watching his son, his joined daughter, their companion. Ysian wasn't making much sense, but he didn't have time or energy to try and sort it out.
She turned away, her eyes worried indeed as they sought the nursery. The least ruddy glow still spilled out into the hall and darkened the doorsills. If he can save them. Faced with the focus and the malice in its spell, she felt her hope falter. Against Three who could contrive such a spell, who could reach from the Great Isles to Nedao with it; who knew my gift to Ylia and found a way to substitute that horror for it—what chance has even one of the Guardians?
“You speak in riddles, Lady Ysian.” Erken's voice roused her. She came back to the moment with a jolt, smiled a wan apology up at him. “I am sorry. I am too worn even to think, just now. Pray your gods and ours we were in good time.”
Erken merely nodded; but his face was bleak and Ysian remembered with a sudden pang that this was Galdan's father and the babe in that small room his only grandson. She would have spoken again but his attention was all for the three in the chamber beyond.
Bendesevorian studied the Yderra in silence for a long moment. He detached Ylia's fingers from his arm, gently pushed her back. “Let me try to break it alone, first.”
“All right.” Galdan drew Ylia toward the bed with him; they watched, scarcely breathing. For an even longer time, there was nothing to see. Bendesevorian's hands were outstretched, fingers spread wide, the muscles of his bare forearms corded, but whether he was attempting to destroy the Yderra by main strength or by some knowledge of his own, he made no headway. He let his hands fall to his side, finally, and walked slowly around the thing again. Baleful, smoky eyes watched him.
“You can't, can you?” Ylia said. In the still room, her low voice echoed. “Not alone.”
“No. It's too well formed, too carefully set. But there is another way.” He gazed at her thoughtfully. “Perhaps, with your help—”
“Tell me what to do and I'll do it,” Ylia said flatly as he hesitated.
“The sword. It may have the necessary Power.” Ylia silently drew the blade, set Galdan's hands aside and walked across the room. Galdan came up behind her. “I will do what I can first; wait. I will tell you when, and you must behead it.”
Ylia stared at the statue. She could feel the pain where her bloodied fingers gripped the hilts, If even he was unable to breach that shield, how could Shelagn's sword better him? She could still feel the pain in her fingers from when the statue had exploded with Lyiadd's Power; still felt the shock of its touch in the nursery. It might kill me, this time. “Behead it. I shall.” To her surprise, she sounded calm, almost as though she believed what she said, and somehow, that helped her actually believe it possible. Perhaps, a little. I can do that. For Berd, for Malaeth. I must.
Bendesevorian touched her arm gently; warmth coursed through her, almost reaching that core of ice that held grief and fear at bay. She fought that; she dared not let herself feel, not yet. The Nasath seeme
d to understand, for he withdrew his hand at once. “There may be backlash. I will try to protect you, but I am not certain I can. Know that.”
“I know it,” Ylia said. “It doesn't matter, the choice is mine.” Galdan made a faint, protesting sound deep in his throat.
Bendesevorian closed the distance between them. “My Lord, I am sorry. There is risk here, you can see that. If the focus breaks the way I intend, its Power will turn back on those who sent it. But we all know such things do not always go according to plan. If this does not—” He spread his hands wide. “One of you must survive, if only for Nedao's sake. The sword is our greatest hope, and only Ylia can wield the blade.” His hand touched Galdan's. Galdan gazed back at him in sudden astonishment as Bendesevorian's strength touched something deep in the center of his own untappable strength. “Yours is the hardest part, to wait and not know. I am sorry.”
Galdan closed his eyes briefly. Nodded. “I—I understand. I will wait.” He brushed a kiss against Ylia's cheek, clasped her close as she turned to cling to him momentarily. It took all the strength in him to back toward the door as Bendesevorian turned his attention to the Yderra and brought his hands up once again. Erken was waiting for him. “What chances in there?”
“They're going to destroy it.” He looked around; the guard was clustered behind them. “There may be backlash, and this doorway will not be safe, if so. Father, move the guard back.”
“And you? If you were sent back to safety—”
“I'll follow. In a moment.” But as Erken drew the Elite Guard down to the main stairs, Galdan moved toward the nursery. He stopped half-way between the two chambers. Ysian, her face a pale blur in the dark, pushed away from the wall to join him. Nisana stretched as tall as she could up his breeches leg, delicately extended claws until he became aware of her and bent to pick her up. “I won't go any nearer the nursery. If they break the Yderra, I want to be close.” His face was grey in the half-light.
