"You have no right to be wearing so much star-metal. Whoever made that armor for you should be arrested."
"I made it." Emrillian nearly laughed when Kayn gaped at her. "And since I am queen here, I won't have myself arrested, because I heartily approve of the wisdom of making this armor."
Chuckles and muttered comments arose from the warriors, who surrounded the prisoners. She suspected several besides Shalara and Karstis had had dealings with Kayn in the past.
"In fact," he continued as if she hadn't spoken, "report to my ship right now and explain to my team how you refined that much star-metal without incinerating everything around you for fifty kilometers."
"No." Emrillian stood again and took a step toward him. She made the light shimmering over her take on a purple hue, with red streaks.
"Now see here, if you know what's good for you, you'll do what I tell you."
It was almost funny to realize she had been right. Kayn did spit when he was flustered and upset.
"You're facing multiple charges of treason." He waved the scanner in her face. "Cooperate with my team, and you'll be forgiven quite a bit. I'll put in a good word for you with the authorities."
"I am the authorities, you blithering idiot," she said, fighting for calm in her voice. She slapped her flat hand against Kayn's chest, stopping him when he lunged toward her. Raising her other hand, she halted the warriors, Baedrix first among them, who leaped forward to stop Kayn. The deep purple light enveloped the man and his eyes went wide as she paralyzed him with just a tiny yank on the Threads.
Emrillian reflected that she could get drunk on the power now available to her.
"I am queen until my father, Athrar Warhawk, High King, returns to claim his throne. In fact, you face charges of treason. I am the granddaughter of King Pirkin, ruler of Goarlotte. I am niece to King Pol, his son, who held the throne of Goarlotte after him. I am the granddaughter of Queen Glyssani of Welcairn. I am the niece of King Markas, ruler of Welcairn. I am your sovereign, and my patience with your petty demands ends now!" She shoved him hard, releasing him from the grasp of her magic, ending his paralysis. He stumbled backwards, dropping his scanner. It hit the pebbly shore with a satisfying crack.
A single pair of hands clapping, encased in metal and leather gauntlets, broke the silence that spilled across the shore, as if every person held their breaths, and the wind itself waited to see what Emrillian would do.
She turned, following her ears, and tipped her head back to see the top of the bluff. Her knees tried to buckle for a moment, when she saw Mrillis and Graddon looking down on them. Standing between the two enchanters were Ynfara and Athrar, dressed in royal clothes as she had always seen them in her memories. Athrar wore black armor trimmed in silver, and Braenlicach burned blinding bright, light spilling from the scabbard at his hip. Ynfara wore silver and blue, and her crown of star-metal set with sapphires sent out a corona of blue light that cascaded down over her like a cloak.
Emrillian wanted to say something heroic and grand, for history to record. Her throat closed up and tears pressed at her eyes.
"Hail Athrar Warhawk!" Baedrix shouted, and went down on one knee, facing the bluff.
His friends followed suit immediately, and only a heartbeat later, the Archaics echoed them. Not a single prisoner tried to flee. Several went to their knees, wonder making their eyes wide. Emrillian wrapped her arms around herself, fighting tears and laughter mixed. Ynfara blew her a kiss and opened her arms wide, beckoning her to join them. She felt like a little girl as she ran to the pathway that led up to the top of the bluff.
A warbling, discordant wail pierced the silence after the shouts of acclaim died away. Shalara snarled something under her breath, and from a pile of equipment confiscated from both ships, she snatched up a heavy-looking pack with multiple straps that looked like it was made to wear on the back. She braced it against her hip and caught up with Emrillian.
"What is that?" she demanded, as her friend accompanied her up the sloping path.
"It helps to have dated someone who knows how to jury-rig remotes. The controls of both ships are slaved to this," Shalara said. She stumbled and concentrated on the path until they reached the bluff. "I overheard someone gabbling about needing to get their data and get out before they were attacked by some other ships heading our way, so I linked in the sensors."
"We have company coming?" Emrillian guessed. "Grandfather, we're being invaded!" she called, and sprinted the last few steps to the top.
"Not quite yet," Athrar said, meeting them at the top of the path. "My little Emmi--not so little now, are you?" He laughed and enfolded her in his arms and pressed kisses on her cheeks and forehead. She clung to him, fighting not to cry, as he spun her off her feet, circling once before setting her down. Then Ynfara was there and the three pressed tight in an embrace. Emrillian was sure that everyone on the shore could see them, but she didn't care.
"I'm sorry, lad," Mrillis said. He grasped Athrar's shoulder with one hand, Emrillian's with the other.
"Give us a moment." Athrar stepped back, holding Emrillian at arm's length. "My little bird, so tall and strong. So fierce!" He tried to laugh, and the sound caught in his throat. "What need do you have for me? You made me so proud, to stand there and watch you deal with our enemies."
"The Science Directorate isn't our enemy, Papa." Emrillian gestured for Shalara to step up to join them. "How many ships? Does it show weaponry?" She helped her friend turn the pack over and hold it flat so they could look at the display.
"Don't worry, Emmi." Athrar bowed his head over the screen that had expanded to fill the entire face of the pack. "Amazing, to see what we have been listening to all this time." He let his hand hover over and follow the movements of the images of ships displayed on the screen, with color coding and insignias for six different enemy nations.
"Listening, sir?" Shalara asked. She very carefully didn't look Athrar in the eyes, and Emrillian choked, trying not to laugh.
"The interference in the Threads is partially from the communications equipment of all those ships, trying to jam each other," Mrillis said. He sounded just amused enough for Emrillian to feel a flash of irritation. "If they aren't sending out distress calls, they're threatening each other, blaming everyone around them for your little...temper tantrum last night."
"Grandfather, you hush," Ynfara scolded, slipping an arm around Emrillian's shoulders. "She was brilliant. I can't think of any better way she could have dealt with Edrout, or awakened her father, or crippled our enemies with one blow."
"What matters is that they're busy repairing damage and dealing with each other," Athrar said. He beckoned for them to follow him to a large tent set up only a dozen steps away from the edge of the bluff.
Emrillian looked around and realized an army had taken over the bluff while her team had been busy facing down the Directorate. She saw Carious directing a group of men in Warhawk livery, raising a long pavilion that made hers look like a child's play tent by comparison. Obviously, his party had met up with her parents, and he had brought hundreds of Valors and servants and nobles from Quenlaque. Tents were being erected, dozens of horses picketed in lines, and men in armor moved about everywhere. On the surface it looked like a massive gathering of Archaics, but there was a serious intensity that hummed in the very ground under her feet.
Athrar led their party into the tent, which was only partly set up with a long trestle table and many folding camp chairs. Baedrix, Karstis, Grego, and Eleanora climbed the path and joined them as they gathered around the table. Emrillian hurried to introduce everyone to her parents. She introduced Baedrix last, and that peculiar clutching in her chest occurred again when he went down on one knee, head bowed before Athrar.
"Oh, well done, Regent. My thanks to you and your father and his fathers before him," Athrar said, bending down to grasp Baedrix's shoulders and raise him to his feet. "You have my undying gratitude. Never kneel before me. Your grandsire was my beloved brother, and we are family.
" He gave the younger man a single shake to emphasize his words as he released him.
"I hope he listens to you more readily on that account than he has listened to me," Meghianna said, appearing in the doorway of the tent.
"After all these years of boys refusing to listen to your common sense and wisdom, why are you still surprised by it?" he retorted, and hurried around the table to meet her. They were both laughing, with tears in their eyes as they embraced. "Now," he continued, dropping into the chair at the head of the table. "Our enemies will be busy at least for two days, if I interpret their communications properly. The Estall has given us that much breathing room. What shall we do with it?"
"Forgive me, Majesty," Baedrix said slowly. He hesitated to take the seat Athrar gestured him into, next to Ynfara and Emrillian, who sat at the Warhawk's right hand at the table.
Mrillis, Meghianna and Graddon sat at his left hand, and Emrillian was fascinated by the way her aunt and her grandfather stared at each other, moving slowly as they took their places. She knew they had been in communication through the Threads since the moment she entered the Stronghold's tunnel and the guarding spell had awakened Meghianna. So why did it seem that they were meeting each other for the first time in years, and were afraid to speak?
"How can you understand the modern talk and technology of our enemies?" Baedrix continued, gesturing at Shalara's equipment, which had been set up on the table before Athrar.
"We can thank Lord Grego, ambassador for the Warhawk," Athrar said. He nodded to Grego, who colored and nodded stiffly back. He was grinning so wide Emrillian thought the corners of his mouth might touch his ears. "All his knowledge, all his understanding, has been transferred to my mind. It was like awakening from a fever dream, my head jammed tight to bursting with a head cold, but that knowledge is invaluable. I thank the Estall for you, Grego Cavvon, that you are a friend to my daughter."
"It is my honor, Majesty," Grego managed to say.
"That saves us invaluable time," Mrillis said. "No need to teach you. Now, to decide how best to put to use the time we do have."
* * * *
"Help me, quick!" Emrillian begged, gesturing for Eleanora and Shalara to follow. She raced into the tent that had been assigned to her.
"What's wrong?" Shalara said, stepping into the tent after Eleanora, and pulling the door flap closed.
"I need to wash and change and look like a princess. Help me out of my armor, please?" She tugged off her helmet and tossed it to Eleanora, and dropped into a folding camp chair to bend and start untying her boots. "Do I even have a dress? I suppose I need jewelry." Her fingers tangled. "If only I could go to Court dinner wearing my armor!"
"Your parents didn't seem to care how you were dressed." She exchanged a glance with Eleanora and went to her knees to work on the boots.
"We have to face the Court nobles tonight. They're worse than that contingent among the Archaics who insisted that women never went into battle, never even rode horses. Remember them, at that tournament three years ago?" Emrillian grunted as she leaned forward in the chair and pulled her mail shirt up over her head. The links caught on her hair. She wished she had cut it short long ago. And wouldn't that scandalize the Court, showing up to dinner with her hair shorter than a boy's?
"Oh, ugh." Shalara grimaced. "I don't envy you at all, then. They actually determined rank by how many jewels a woman wore, how many dances she mastered, if she commanded the language of the flowers, the colors of her clothes, and how fancy her hair was. As if that would have any impact on the fate of the world."
"Unfortunately, there are too many people with that sort of mindset in Court," Ynfara said, stepping into the tent to join them. "From what I have seen, the Court has become insular, so petty things are even more important to their sense of power and worth than in my day."
"Mama." Emrillian leaped from her chair and ran to Ynfara. Her arms ached to hold her mother and not let go. She relived that moment when her mother had chosen to stay behind in the Vale of Lanteer, to be the conduit of knowledge to Athrar.
"My darling." She laughed and kissed Emrillian's forehead and cheeks, and held her face between her hands, gazing long into her eyes. "You have quite broken your father's heart."
"How?"
"You grew up. Your aunt used to tell Athrar how their father, Efrin, would scold her for growing up. He thought it was silly, until he stood looking down on you in your amazing armor, shredding your enemies with mere words. Now he understands. He didn't believe me, when I told him you were all grown up, tall and beautiful and strong." She choked on a bit of teary laughter as she guided Emrillian down into a chair and took the bench facing her. "He quite looked forward to telling you bedtime stories and tucking you into bed."
"We've all been robbed." Vaguely, she was aware of her two friends leaving the tent.
"We are of royal blood, and of those who have been entrusted with much, whether it is skill or wisdom or talent or power, the Estall demands much in return." Ynfara looked around the tent. "Now, we must armor ourselves for a different kind of war."
"Court."
"You say it as if the very concept is a curse." She patted Emrillian on the shoulder as she crossed the tent to a pile of leather travel trunks. "Grandfather's training, I'll wager."
"I almost would rather face Edrout again, than paint and decorate myself to please a crowd of fancy-dressed schemers."
"Not please them." Ynfara untied the closures for the first trunk and flung back the lid, revealing gowns in bright shades of blue and green and yellow. "Confound them. Confuse them. Deceive them. If you appear before them as they believe a princess should be, glittering with jewels, fluttering with delicate clothes, projecting an image of deceptive weakness, they will mis-read everything you say and do. Too many women of the nobility allow themselves to be nothing but decorations and pliant tools in the hands of their menfolk. They raise their daughters to be witless and completely loyal to them, even after they give them into the households and beds of their political enemies. They will expect you to be witless as well."
"Eleanora isn't like that. She says there are many women in Court like her."
"Ah, now you understand." She brought the vivid, deep green gown over, gestured for Emrillian to stand, and held the dress up to her shoulders.
"Understand what?"
"How men believe the world is, and what they tell each other. Compared to how women know the world really is." Ynfara met her gaze, expression neutral.
"Mama..." Emrillian hated the little shudder that worked through her. Then she caught the twitch of Ynfara's lips and realized at least some of what she said was in jest. "You..." A sputter of laughter escaped her.
"Oh, my little bird." She dropped the dress and wrapped her arms around her daughter. "So many things I needed to teach you, over your growing years, and I must cram it all into an hour as we dress for dinner. Grandfather taught you many wonderful, essential things, but he couldn't teach you to be a woman of royal blood."
"Teach me, Mama," she whispered, and clung to her mother, wishing, just for a few moments, that she could be small and curl up in Ynfara's lap.
* * * *
Grego had seen Emrillian dressed up for the pageantry of the Archaics tournaments, but none of the glitter and glamour could compare to the stern elegance and gleaming power that spilled over Athrar, Ynfara, and their daughter as they strode down the narrow aisle between the gathered nobles, and into the three-sided pavilion that night. The king and queen wore rich black, embroidered with gold thread. Their crowns were thick gold studded with emeralds and sapphires. Emrillian wore white heavily embroidered with silver threads, with royal blue lining her sleeves and high collar, and showing through slits in her long skirt. The gleaming contrast of her dress highlighted the red and gold streaks in her pale hair. Her crown at first glance looked like a simple wreath of white roses. Then the torchlight glinted off those roses, and Grego realized they were diamonds, and the stems and leaves were likely emeralds
.
Carious had mentioned Baedrix had entrusted him with the key to the treasury of Quenlaque, and he had brought the crown jewels. Grego had never imagined so much wealth. Then again, he admitted, he had always cared more about the weapons and battle skills and minstrel lore during Archaics tournaments, and not the pageantry that so many enjoyed.
Most of the nobles of Quenlaque had followed Carious here to the shore. Grego had been relieved when Athrar had ordered the Archaics as well as the Directorate people sequestered, so no one could interrogate them or threaten them before the feast. They had been provided fresh clothes and baths and an opportunity to rest and regroup. The men in his tent had kept him busy talking, explaining what had happened from the moment their groups split up. The Directorate's people were in their tents under guard during the feast. The Archaics, however, were honored guests, seated near the high table. Whatever happened tonight, Grego was sure of a good view and being able to hear most of what was said.
Even more important to him, Brysta had been given festival clothes and was allowed to sit with him. Whatever she had done or said during her short time in the Stronghold, Meghianna trusted her. She was quiet, still somewhat pale when she came into the tent with the Archaics women, but she smiled at him and blushed when he bowed and kissed her hand. There was too much Grego needed to say to her, and no privacy or time for it. He hoped she would understand and not hold it against him later.
Athrar stayed standing after Emrillian and Ynfara took their seats. The whispers and mutters that had rippled over the crowd at their entrance dropped to echoing silence, so the crackling of the torches sounded loud. Meghianna walked down the aisle, dazzling in pure white, in rich contrast to the midnight blue robes of Mrillis and Graddon on either side of her. Baedrix followed them, a few steps behind, austere by contrast in his usual black and silver. Eleanora and Ectrix walked with him, each holding his arm, dressed all in blue. The adults were all seated at the high table, and Ectrix proudly took his place before the table to serve them.
The Rift War Page 20
