Protector of Thristas: A Lisen of Solsta Novel

by D. Hart St. Martin

  Lisen implored Korin with sad eyes; they’d made no such promise.

  With a sigh, Lisen replied. “I said we’d do our best to set things right, but we’re just two people against a desert of thousands.”

  “But you have magic—you know, the push and all.”

  Lisen shook her head. “Which I must use with caution, if I use it at all.”

  “We’d best be going,” Korin whispered in Lisen’s ear, and she nodded, grabbing Nasera and then Insenlo for one last hug. Then she mounted her horse, Korin and the commander both following her lead. Korin took the reins of two of the pack horses, and Kopol took the third’s, and the three of them rode out of the stable, soon to leave Avaret behind as well.

  But as they made their way down the path through the park—Lisen, then Kopol, then Korin himself—he heard a small voice say from the confines of the stable “Safe journey.” He turned and saw Insenlo waving slowly. He smiled and waved back. And asked himself, How do you choose one child over another? It was a question for which he had no answer.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  SO LITTLE TIME

  After setting his pack down in the Tuane quarters in the old palace, Nalin straightened his tunic, took a deep breath and prepared himself for whatever news awaited him in the Keep. Lisen had sent him a letter so vague, so nonspecific as to leave him wondering if the request to come to Avaret as quickly as possible contained within it was actually an invitation or just part of the letter’s odd ramblings. He and Bala had disagreed soundly over his coming, and he’d found himself torn between Bala’s argument, wherein she barely stopped short of questioning his love for her, and his loyalty to his Empir. His Empir—and, admittedly, his curiosity regarding the urgency of her appeal—had, in the end, won out, and he could only hope that Bala would find Lisen’s cause worthy when he knew what had occurred and could explain it to her.

  The afternoon sun warmed his back as he hobbled his way from the old palace to the Keep. In the next day or so, Bala and all three of their children would head out via boat to join his mother for Greatdark in Casille, while he would celebrate here with the two younger Ilazer children, but only if invited to do so, of course. And all he could think as he pushed his way up the mountainous steps to the great doors was this had better be the best reason ever to get me to abandon my family.

  “Have Commander Tanres meet me in the Empir’s office,” he said to the two guards at the entrance to the Keep, and the young corporal took off as Nalin navigated past the door to the Council chamber and around the corner to Lisen’s office. The guard at the door blocked his way. “Step aside,” Nalin ordered.

  “You should know that the young Heir is in there,” the guard said, then moved out of Nalin’s way.

  “Thank you,” Nalin replied, opened the door and entered the room. Indeed, Nasera sat at his mother’s desk. He looked up as Nalin stepped in but made no attempt to move or even try to look contrite at being caught there. “Nas.”

  “Nalin. It’s about time you got here.”

  “As grateful as I am that you’ve been watching over things until I arrived,” Nalin said as he stepped towards the desk, “you can stand down now.”

  Nasera rubbed his hands over the warm, polished surface of the desk. “One day this will be mine. Maybe sooner rather than later.”

  Nalin winced at the boy’s egocentricity but allowed it to pass without comment. “Up you go, Nas. Whether she’s here or elsewhere, your mother is still the Empir, and I am still her Will.”

  Nasera rose abruptly and flounced out without another word, maneuvering past Tanres at the door without so much as a hint of acknowledgment. As the door closed behind the boy, the former commander looked back, then stepped smartly towards Nalin who’d sat down in the center chair in front of the desk.

  “That boy needs discipline,” she remarked. “I say we recruit him for the Guard while his parents are gone.”

  Nalin smiled. “Maybe not this time. The Empir would have my head. Now, her letter said you could enlighten me?”

  Tanres handed him a folded piece of paper bearing the Empir’s wax seal. “Most of it is in there. What isn’t, I’ll try to explain. I don’t know everything either.”

  Nalin broke the seal, unfolded the letter with hesitation and read.

  My friend,

  I dared not send any of this to you for fear the message might fall into hands other than yours.

  Upon her return to Thristas with her father, Rinli was arrested for using hermit magic to protect herself against Tinlo Randa when he threatened to kill her. If the Elders determine she’s guilty, the penalty is death.

  How can I not fly to Thristas with Korin, who brought me the news himself? How can I abandon her to such a fate? After all, it was I who sent her to the desert to begin with.

  When you can, please read the new version of my will. I left it with Chesa. I’ve inserted a new clause. You’ll recognize it when you see it.

  You may tell Bala whatever you must, but I implore you to remain vague in the details unless you can speak with her directly. Do tell her, however, that any anger she may harbor should be directed at me, not you.

  Forgive me.

  Lisen

  Nalin stared at the words, unable to see any of them individually but understanding their message.

  “Creators,” he mumbled.

  “I agree,” Tanres said softly.

  “And the children? Nas and Insenlo, I mean.”

  “Well, as you saw, Nasera needs some reining in. He’s expecting to be named Empir in the next month or so.”

  “Such a sweet, loving boy,” Nalin said with derision.

  “Personally, I think it’s his way of avoiding the fear.”

  “Understandable.”

  “Insenlo,” Tanres continued, “is hiding out in her room, comes out for meals and then retreats immediately back upstairs.”

  “This is not what the Empir envisioned. I mean, she knew—we all knew—there were risks, but…” He paused, lost in the unspoken. “Perhaps we should send a few more guards to bolster the ranks at Pass Garrison.”

  “Excellent thought, my lord. Anything else while I’m here?”

  Nalin rubbed his forehead. It ached. Stress did that to him. “Not at the moment.” Tanres rose and moved to leave, but Nalin spoke up again. “Oh, and are the damn crevix flying yet?”

  “The last run, which ended right after I got here, was perfect. The handlers want one more test before they call the training a success.”

  “Good. We may need them. And I will need a messenger to take a boat down to Casille once I’ve written to my spouse.”

  “Aye, my lord,” Tanres said, and after waiting a moment in case Nalin had more to say, which he didn’t, she left him there, alone. He stood up, went to Lisen’s desk, grabbed a sheet of paper and inked a stylus.

  My beloved,

  I dare not put the details down on paper, but here’s what I can say until I can tell you in person.

  Lives are in danger where I feared, and only one possesses the possibility to make all safe again.

  Give my mother my love and to you and our children, enjoy Greatdark and bring the light back for me.

  N

  Damn it, Lisen, he thought as he folded the paper and sealed it with wax without stamping it. Nobody can fix everything. And yet, I continue to think I can. So whose arrogance is more tedious? That of the woman with the power, both functional and magical, or that of the man who keeps struggling up the hill? He didn’t know and didn’t care. Somebody had to fix this, and if anybody could, it would be…

  Only Lisen could calm Korin. A soft moan escaped from her lips as she leaned against a rock with him, bundled up in a blanket together, a large fire crackling less than a foot from their feet, and he was, momentarily, content. Here they sat at the mouth of the Khared after only five days. They had reached the caves well before nightfall and now allowed themselves to enjoy a brief respite before setting off again at their bone-wearying pac
e in the morning. Commander Kopol had already fallen asleep, leaving her Empir and Korin to enjoy this moment in the midst of their unrelenting ride out of Avaret and on to the desert. A journey that normally lasted two weeks looked likely, thank the Maker, to take only nine or ten days. He didn’t know how he kept going; he’d been on the road close to a month already. His body ached, and he needed sleep he couldn’t get. He wouldn’t be able to do this much longer, certainly not at the pace he maintained at the moment.

  “The stars are magical,” Lisen said.

  “They are,” he replied.

  “I wasn’t happy when you announced we’d be coming this way, you know.”

  “I know.”

  “My memories of this place are…”

  “Distressing?”

  Lisen nodded. “More like they stir up the Destroyer in me. All that anger and frustration that made it possible for me to do what I did.”

  “I can well imagine.”

  “It was wrong.”

  “You couldn’t know I was coming.”

  “Even blind I had the advantage over them, and they had no idea.”

  “Ondra should have taken more care to inform herself about the full effects of the gryl,” he commented as he gazed at the sky and noted a star fly away from where it had appeared anchored.

  “Yes. Gryl.” Lisen paused, and Korin suspected she was considering something she knew she shouldn’t consider.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Hmm. Just a thought.”

  “About gryl.”

  “I said it was just a thought.”

  Korin sat up and turned to look at her in the firelight. Her eyes were clear, the color of the sea in a squall. Why would she want to blind herself again? And who knew how many times the sensitivity of one with her gifts could withstand such an onslaught?

  “Why?”

  “It’s a tool.”

  “For what? Your destruction?” He wrapped his arms around her. “Don’t. Please. There are enough dangers without adding to them.”

  “What’s the alternative? I need to get in to see her, be with her, one on one. This isn’t a thing I can do from a distance, and the Elders aren’t going to give me permission to see her. And on top of that, I can’t even allow myself to be seen in the mesa, right?”

  Korin nodded. “Right.”

  “So what must I do? I must push everyone in every tunnel as I pass through. I have to push those Defenders you spoke of. How did they choose them? Did they choose them for their physical prowess or for their ability to fend off a mental onslaught? What if they can see me even if I push them not to?”

  “And gryl would enhance your powers.”

  “Yes.”

  Korin closed his eye, took a deep breath and leaned back onto the rock. “It’s not safe.”

  “Rinli’s not safe. Don’t you see? I have to make up for all the mistakes I’ve made. I’ve got to get this right.”

  “Why? What have you done that’s so horrible? All I’ve ever seen is you struggling to stay honest and fair in the midst of dishonesty and injustice.”

  “Really? What about Ariel?”

  Her question came down between them like a stone curtain. She was right, but what she did to Ariel, though he condemned it, was such a small part of the entirety of her life. It had loomed large at the time because she’d done so little before, but now she had years of experiences between her and that awful night. When was she going to forgive herself? He’d forgiven her; he wished that was enough.

  “You did what was necessary,” he offered in an attempt to break through the stone. “I’ve accepted that.”

  “And so many others, before and after.”

  “It’s the price a leader pays.”

  “And now it’s our daughter.”

  “So let’s make a plan. A plan without gryl.” He hoped that this would draw her away from her guilt, the burden that sometimes bore down so heavily upon her she could barely move.

  “Should I go with you all the way to Terses right away? Or should I stay, say, in that cave right beside the path down the Rim? You know, the one you told me no Thristan ever stays in?”

  He heard her turning her story around, heard the hope in her voice, and knew he’d succeeded. So they spent the next hour or so going over various responses to various situations. After all, they had no idea what they’d find. Although the one thing they didn’t consider, not once, was Rinli already gone. Neither of them brought it up or even hinted at it. Because they needed no plan for that; they’d simply turn around and head home, back to Avaret. But that was an unacceptable outcome, and as they spoke, Korin recognized one of the reasons he’d been drawn to Lisen from the beginning. Like that moment in the mudslide when all seemed lost and then all was found, her faith in a favorable outcome was insurmountable. Let that guide us, he offered to Mantar. Please, let that guide us.

  The storm raged without, but Nalin sat by the fire in the sitting room behind the Empir’s office in the Keep. He’d taken up residency here in case Lisen’s children needed him although they spent most of their time with their mentors. It was Greatdark, and Nalin thought of his own children and Bala in Casille with his mother and hoped that everyone was enjoying the celebration. For himself, he expected a servant to soon serve him dinner—the traditional meal of heavy meats, gravies and bread—and he would eat alone. No invitation had come from the children, so he assumed they planned on lighting the lights to welcome the return of the sun without him.

  He wondered how Korin and Lisen were faring this night. How close were they to the desert? The storm had only come up this afternoon, so it wouldn’t hit them for a day or two. And if they were in the desert by then, it likely wouldn’t hit them at all. The Rim had a way of stopping nearly all water from reaching over its peaks.

  A flash of light and the boom of thunder right behind it, and the door to the sitting room blew open. Nalin thought at first the wind had done it until two young people ran in and pounced on him.

  “Uncle Nalin,” Insenlo said, “why aren’t you in the dining hall? We want to do Greatdark with you.”

  It had never occurred to him that these children of another union might want to actually celebrate a family holiday with a stranger. Not precisely a stranger, true, but someone whose traditions might not echo their own. Or did they even care about that? It warmed him in a way the fire never could; they wanted him. How could he not comply?

  “All right, all right,” he said. “Let me put my foot on.”

  “I used to laugh at your wooden foot,” Insenlo admitted, “but now I understand and I don’t laugh anymore.”

  “It’s all right to laugh,” Nalin replied as he buckled the wooden leg in place. “Sometimes I laugh, too.” He rose from the chair, grabbed his cane and turned. “Now, where do we begin?”

  “With dinner,” Nasera said. “It’s all ready.”

  “And then the lights,” Insenlo added. “We always light the way for the sun after dinner.”

  “All right, then. Let’s go.” Nalin led the way from the sitting room, around the Great Hall and into the family dining room where the servants had set the table for three. And as Nalin took his seat, he thanked the Creators silently for the blessings of this past year and this night and sent supplications for the safety of all those absent from this table.

  Arms entwined across her chest, Lisen stood at the mouth of the cave and looked out on the desert night. She could see Mesa Terses clearly, its Kolii bonfire joining with the bonfires on the top of the other five mesas. She, Korin and Kopol had already attended to the horses, and now it was time for Korin to move on alone. As they’d traveled and used up their own supplies, leaving packs empty, they’d collected grass in the hope that they could get the horses through the wait here. Korin had saddled one of the pack horses, changing it out for the one he’d ridden over the Rim, and Lisen heard him step up behind her.

  “We’ll get her out, I promise.”

  Lisen turned and looked at
him. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep. We all mean well when we reassure each other, but the truth is we have no idea how this will turn out. Creators, they may have already executed her.”

  “In that, I trust Hozia, so I’m hopeful.”

  Eleven days on the road. A record, except for Korin’s of nine days. Which included the trip across the desert floor from the mesa to the Rim. Terses was at least a day away, but they had shaved two days off the usual two-week journey. And the waiting to get here, to this place, had worn on Lisen to the point where she wanted to break something. She didn’t know what, but Korin’s neck was available. No, not Korin. This isn’t his fault. It’s mine. If I’d forced Rinli into training… It was a thought she couldn’t bring herself to finish. It was over, done, and she had to deal with reality where it stood, now, at this moment.

  “Horrible excuse for a holiday,” she said.

  “Garla cheers the return of the sun, while the Thristans mourn the night’s recession. It’s the way of it.”

  “And each looks down on the other and thinks itself superior.”

  “You, my Liege,” Korin whispered in her ear, “are the only person in power who has ever understood that.”

  “You taught me.”

  “I offered the opportunity to learn; you opened your eyes to the truth on your own.”

  Lisen’s eyelids half closed in response to his warm breath in her ear. She wanted to turn and take him, here, damn Kopol, damn the horses. She didn’t care. She felt the seconds ticking away from her and didn’t want to waste one more. But Rinli called and Lisen couldn’t delay the arrival of her father.

  “Go,” she said softly. “Go, before I lose all reason and keep you here.”

  Korin nodded, pulled his horse forward, then turned back to look at her before he left the cave. “I’ll be back in two days with whatever news there is.”

  “Prepare the way,” she told him.

  He nodded, then pulled his horse onto the path leading to the road down the desert side of the Rim. Lisen struggled against tears and finally won. So little time. So. Little. Time.