by Ru Emerson
One of the house guard was turning up the lanterns; Ysian sagged back against the wall, let her eyes close. The guard got her by the arm and Galdan took her other arm. They brought her back into the royal bedchamber, got her to sit on the bed next to Ylia, who was shivering despite the fur-lined cloak draped around her shoulders. Galdan sent the guard back out for wine and started lighting lamps from what was left of the fire.
“Ah, gods.” Ysian's teeth were chattering, her lashes damp.
“Shhh.” Ylia patted her hands, though she herself looked in no better shape. Nisana walked from one lap to the other and back again. She was trying to soothe them both, without much success. The cat was shaken herself: For a moment, it had almost been as though Ysian's dream was hers, something the cat had never experienced before. Galdan went into the hall to make certain someone was bringing wine. He came back with a bottle in one hand, Selverra on his other arm. Ylia bundled the child under the furs with her and gave her a cup of well-watered wine.
It took Ysian some time to swallow. She was still shaking and her teeth chattered on the cup. “Shhh,” Ylia soothed. “I know. Yslar.”
Ysian nodded; Galdan pressed the cup against her lips, held it there while she drank. She slumped against him, suddenly limp. “I saw it; I dreamed. The Sirdar—”
“I know. I saw, too.” It would make her ill, if she let it, and she desperately hoped Ysian had not seen what she had. The Sirdar had been dreadful enough; Ylia dared not remember how Alxy's father had died. She hugged Selverra close. “Did you have bad dreams?”
“No. I had a funny dream. I saw a lot of water and it was a little scary. But that was all I dreamed, Mother,” Selverra finished gravely.
“Good,” Ylia whispered. However it happened, Selverra had been spared. She took the child's cup and let her nestle down in the warm covers. Selverra clung to her fingers, sighed and slept.
“Ard,” Ysian whispered. “Poor, poor stupid Ard. I saw him—there. In the Council. He's dead by now.”
Nisana rubbed against her arm. ‘He is. But it was quick. He didn't have long to fear.’
“Bendesevorian,” Galdan said. “Did you see him?”
Ysian shook her head. “I never saw or sensed him.”
“I did.” Lisabetha came through the doorway, a cloak wrapped over her nightdress, her baby Brendan in her arms and Brelian behind her. He stayed only long enough to make certain she was all right, then went back out to help restore calm out in the street. She took the chair Galdan brought her but refused wine. Her voice was steady as she told them what she had dreamed.
“He's well protected; he and Alxy will be safe,” Ylia said.
Galdan shook his head unhappily. How could they be, after all he'd seen? And, gods, how did Lyiadd's men stand the touch of those focus brooches? His skin crawled.
Ylia slipped her fingers free of Selverra's, stood swayed and caught at the bedpost. “He said the Three couldn't sense his kind. We have to believe that, don't we?”
If the alternative is that the Three found him, bound his Power and slew him? “Where are you going?”
“Down to my women,” Ylia replied from the doorway. “Many of them won't know what they saw tonight: The Sight is not always specific.” Lisabetha and Nisana went with her.
Galdan closed his eyes. His own mother had been spared that vision, at least. He refilled Ysian's cup and held it out to her, but she pushed it away.
“Drink some yourself, Galdan. I'm—all right.”
“You're not.”
Ysian considered this for some moments. “No, I'm not. My homeland is fallen, my brother dead—my House won't survive him long, you know. Second House, Scythia's House. There won't be two bricks together to go back to, when this is over. My poor brother; he was a fool, and I could never persuade him to see what was coming. Nor Father.” She picked up her cup, swirled the wine and stared down at it. “I feel—I shouldn't have left them. I deserted them.”
“I know. I understand what you feel.”
“Do you?”
Galdan nodded. “I was in the Foessa, living as a mountain hunter when the Plain fell. I had left everything behind: Father, Teshmor, what Father called my responsibilities. If I'd been there instead of deep in the Foessa I'd very likely have died. That doesn't make me feel any better, Ysian, when I think of my friends who did die in Teshmor. I feel I deserted them, I feel guilty for that still, and knowing that isn't sense doesn't make the feeling any less strong.”
Ysian sat a while, head bowed over her empty cup, finally put it aside and stood. “Since I did decide to live, perhaps I'd better make myself useful. I'll dress and go down to the street. Maybe I can do some good out there.”
“Good. Do that.” Galdan watched her go. He stripped out of the long shirt he'd thrown on when he ran into the hall, rummaged through the chest at the foot of the bed for breeches and shirt. He'd better go down to the barracks. The warning system of horns and bells would be inadequate for the messages he'd need to send; they'd need riders. He spared one worried thought for his friend Golsat, bent down to kiss his daughter's damp forehead. At least one of them was sleeping comfortably. He was afraid it would be a long, weary time before he got back under those furs.
No, I cannot be sorry that I do not dream. Though being torn from sleep by the concentrated terror of the woman who shared her pillow with me, the echoing terror that was Ylia's and Galdan's, the horror of women from one end of the valley to the other, that was no pleasant thing.
Nor the certainty—as strong as Ysian's—that the Second House would soon be no more.
16
It was nearly a five-day before the valley returned to something near normal: Women with the Sight woke, trembling, after Yslar's fall for many nights.
Golsat and his company came back across the Aresada to report sudden fog in the valley they were to visit the next morning—fog that later rang with frightened cries. They had remained where they were, and the next morning had looked down upon a stilled village, bodies stacked near the well, stunned silent women. It was late that night before Golsat dared order cautious withdrawal from the overhang where they hid. They had counted only eight armsmen in the village, and Golsat had clearly seen the red-eyed Thullen around one man's wrist.
“We had already visited sixteen villages before we came to that one.” Golsat sat at the head of the table, the silent War Council grouped around him; he was rumpled and grubby, his eyes red-rimmed. Ysian sat at his side, slicing and buttering bread for him. She still wore a haunted look. Golsat emptied his cup, poured wine and more water into it. He took the bread, ate it in four swift bites, washed it down with wine; took the second slice Ysian had ready for him and smiled his thanks. She began cutting an apple into sections. “For all the good it might have done,” Golsat added.
“Why?” Erken asked. “Didn't they believe you?”
Golsat shrugged. “Most did. We had Alxy's written warning, of course, but many of them had to take it on my word what the words said. Only a few of the northern Ylsans can read. No, it wasn't that—thank you, Lady.” He squeezed Ysian's fingers, chewed apple and swallowed. “That attack—I've never seen anything like it. Even if those villagers had wanted to resist, I don't see what they could have done. And if Lyiadd need only send a few men to take villages, it's not like sending out a full company, is it? He'll never be at risk of spreading himself too thin.” Silence. “I'm sorry. That sounds defeated, but it was bad and I'm tired.”
Corlin was turning his dagger over in his hands, staring at it as though that act needed all his concentration. “You have a point. He could hold villages with a man or two each, leaving himself a formidable main force. It may not be possible for us to aid the Ylsans after all.”
Erken leaned forward. “But only four armed men against as many of our armed? We would not be affected by Lyiadd's magic-killing gems, nor would we be frightened into capitulating by loss of our own magic.”
Ylia stirred uneasily. “Lyiadd must have contact wit
h his armed. If they vanish or die, he might take reprisals against the villages.”
“Then we will avoid the villages, lure his men away. Lyiadd intends to come against Nedao anyway,” Erken said. “We know it is only a matter of time until he does. So we should harry the Ylsan border, keep Lyiadd off balance if we can. Let us make the choice of time ours, not his.”
“I think—” Marckl began loudly, but stopped short. His shoulders sagged. “I think Erken's right. Don't like it.”
“None of us like it, man,” Erken replied mildly.
“I know,” Marckl grumbled. “Doesn't make it any better, does it?”
Marhan stirred but whatever he intended to say went unsaid as the doors opened; Bendesevorian and Alxeidis staggered into the room, the former paler than normal, the latter nearly out on his feet. Galdan rose swiftly and pulled out chairs for them. “We had just about given up on you both. Here, Marckl, get that wine down here!”
“We had to stay hidden for so long,” Alxy whispered. “And then—they took Geit's father and mother. We spent an entire day in the old root cave, under the cellars, hiding.” He buried his face in his hands.
Galdan took Alxy's hands and wrapped them around a cup, pushed it toward his lips and saw that he drank. Alxy's blue eyes were very young indeed. “They're dead. My grandfer. Father. All my family except her.” He obediently drank as Galdan pressed the cup against his lip again. “Marrita.” He looked as though he would have wept, if there had been enough of him left to weep. “It's over.”
“It's not over.” Marhan slammed his fist against the table, shaking cups and rattling the knife against Golsat's empty plate. A silent War Council and two exhausted outsiders stared at him in blank surprise. “Nar's still free and Nedao. And Oversea is. Remember that, lad—and all the rest of ye, too! They've taken one land, one unprepared land, less willing to see danger and avert it than Nedao was, four years ago. We fell, we lost. Look at us now.
“Look at Nedao's Lady, young master. Came a time, four years ago, when there were only eight of us got free of the King's City, after the Tehlatt took it, and this same Lyiadd thought he'd have our king's girl for his own, the rest of us dead. Didn't she strike him down? Gave ye—gave us all!—four years to prepare! Gave ye warning, so that now there are men in Yslar preparing against the time when Lyiadd can be overthrown. He's a man, for all his evil! Puts on his breeches a leg at a time, like any man! Think of that when ye would give him all the strengths of the Dark One himself!
“And this, too: Ye in Yls, ye never lost, never a thousand years ago, never until now. We have, and we can tell ye, we Nedaoans. We know. There's tomorrow, or next year. Nothing is permanent, is it?”
“You've allies and friends.” Levren came down-table to stand next to Alxy, and if it cost him, none of that showed on his lean dark face. “They've won a battle, not all. Remember that.”
Alxy brought up a faint smile. “I'll try, sir.” He held out a hand; Levren took it.
“You need sleep, both of you,” Galdan nodded toward Bendesevorian, who had remained silent throughout. “Unless you have urgent news.” Alxy shook his head. “Go, then. We'll talk later. Golsat, go with them, you sent your men for sleep, but I wager you need it more.”
“I didn't keep all the watches myself,” Golsat laughed, and smothered a yawn.
Ysian held out a hand and he helped her up. “I will walk with you. I promised Lossana I'd help her this afternoon.” They left together. Alxy went out moments later, with Erken to see he got up the stairs, into the right room and into a bed before he fell asleep. Bendesevorian followed. There was a long silence in the council chamber.
“We'll take Erken's suggestion as given,” Ylia said finally. “Golsat and Brel are two of the best trackers we have, and they know who to send out, how many armed per company. Alxy can make maps for them, once he's slept. But he must not know where and when the attacks will be. I do not want Galdan involved in that. I do not want to know. The Three are no longer so distant as they were. I fear Marrita's ability to send me dreams may allow her to read my thought—or that of any of us with Power. We won't chance it.”
“That's only sense,” Levren said. “Parameter guard?”
“It's adequate,” Marckl said. “But we'll run an additional spot guard, and I'll change the pattern of patrol on my lands. Ivanha?”
Ifney's daughter nodded. “We'll do the same. Odd hours, different route each time, no set pattern.”
“Good lass. Other matters?” Marckl added sharply to the rest of the table. “I've a long ride and my Lady's been nervous the past five-day.”
“Nothing else, just now,” Ylia said. “We'll meet again tomorrow after evening-meal; they should be slept out by then.”
“Maybe,” Marckl said doubtfully on his way to the door: The boy looked half-dead, and the other one—whatever it took to make an Ylsan Guardian look like that, Marckl wanted no part of it. He quickened his pace: It was a long ride back out to his halls; he had to make it before dark, for Lyva's peace of mind.
Golsat was gone again three days later, twenty armsmen with him. Alxy had fretted at being refused a place in their ranks but he'd already known they wouldn't take him: The last heir of the First House had to be kept alive. Since he was to remain, Lennet made only a token attempt to be included and took the denial with something like relief. Ylia took her aside later. “I'm sorry you can't go, but we'll need you later, Lennet. You're not as good at tracking and hiding as the ones we chose. Save yourself for what you're best at.”
“If you promise me—” Lennet began, but subsided as Ylia shook her head.
“Only a fool would promise anything, just now. I can't, and I won't. Everything's uncertain. I might not even be here to keep that promise.” Lennet looked at her in sudden alarm. “You won't—!”
“I didn't say won't. But no one can say something might not happen to any of us.” Ylia's mouth twisted with grief; she turned away. When she turned back a moment later, her face was carefully blank, and Lennet, tears of sympathy in her own eyes, impulsively gripped her hands. My stupid mouth again, she's only just lost the baby and I remind her of it!
“Mothers, I'm sorry."
“Shhh, don't say it. Please don't. I know. Anything might happen, though; we've all been through it. Go keep Alxy from fretting himself to a shadow; he's raw with loss, don't add yours to his load.”
“Mine?”
Ylia managed a faint smile. “There isn't anyone in the valley can't see it. We'll make him your responsibility, just now. It's a big one, mind that.”
“All right.” Levren was already out the door; Lennet bobbed a brief courtesy and ran after him. Certain of Ylia's words would come back to haunt her later, but at the moment, she was blissfully unaware of that.
There were refugees—one or two at first, shocked and worn folk Golsat had found and sent on to the Aresada. Others followed, until the temporary camp they'd set up beyond the barracks was overflowing, and it became necessary to find additional shelter. Individual families took in what folk they could, Marckl moved his household armed into his own hall and made his barracks available. Erken did the same. Before the five-day passed, however, the number of refugees halved, halved again, slowed to a trickle.
These were all from the border villages, only two women from further south. Nothing beyond that. Since Bendesevorian's return, there was no word from Yslar or the lands around it.
“Lady?” Ylia was in the small dining room, alone, toying with the last of her evening-meal, when her door-warder tapped on the sill and leaned into the chamber. “There's a man here, a hunter. He says his name is Verdren, and that you know him?”
“I know him.” Ylia pushed back from the table and shoved the unappetizing food aside as a skinny old man came cautiously into the chamber, stopped just inside the door and knelt. A fox-head, its forepaws tucked firmly under his chin, bobbed as he inclined his head. “Rise, Verdren.” It was four years since she'd seen him, when he'd helped her small company o
ut of a tight place in the southern mountains—no trail to follow, no food, no fire. The old hunter had brought them down out of the treeless heights, and thereafter vanished. Since then she'd heard from him, but always indirectly: Three years ago, a villager near Mt. Yenassa had come to the Caves, with word Verdren had found them, that he was searching for others. A few more folk had come straggling in after that, bringing Verdren's name like a talisman, and the old man was a legend among the valley folk: An ancient hunter who appeared out of nowhere, set their feet on the right path and then went his way.
“Lady.” Bright eyes darted around the chamber. “Odd, being in walls. Haven't, not in years. Caves, now: Visited the Caves a while since.”
“Any folk hiding there?” She knew already; she or Nisana would have sensed them, or Ysian would have. Verdren was reassured by the simple conversation, though, and noticeably relaxed.
“No. Save myself.”
“Good. Would you like wine?”
He considered this, shook his head. “Nay. Haven't had wine in so many a year, likely I'd make a fool of myself. No, came because of these new folk, these Ylsans. All about the place, these days. Found a few wandering where sensible folk wouldn't and set them on to come here. Trouble in their own lands, seemingly.”
“Bad trouble. We appreciate your aid.” He waved that aside. Nisana padded into the room, leaped to the table and lapped at Ylia's water. Verdren stared at her, brow puckered, then laughed.
“Remember her now. Rode in a bag at your back, didn't she? Queen's cat, magic.” Nisana regarded him gravely over the cup. “I need your aid. Can't manage it myself.”
“Trouble?”
The old hunter nodded. “Just south of the Caves, there's marshes, a stretch, of woods, heights?” Ylia nodded. “There's some shallow caves up there; I use ’em now and again, store grain and dried-meat. Went up there, two—no, three days back now. Children there.”
