by Tom Deitz
“What kind of power?” the old woman snapped primly.
Rann glared warning. “I take it you know about Avall’s gem?”
She nodded suspiciously. “I know some things. Not enough. I always said that thing was too precious to trust to one half-grown boy.”
“It apparently makes its own decisions about trust,” Avall shot back. “I don’t know that it would’ve worked for you even if I’d wanted it to.”
“It worked for Strynn and Rann, so you said.”
Avall studied both warily. “I think that’s because it reacts to people who try to use it based on how those people relate to me. If someone I like tries to use it, it cooperates, if not—”
“What about Eddyn?”
Avall shrugged. “We’ve gone over this before, Craft-Chief. All I can think of is that it also runs on emotion and desire, and maybe some other factors we haven’t discovered—like fear for one’s life. It acts to protect itself, I think. When I thought I was drowning out in the Ri-Eron, it protected me, and when it couldn’t—when the only thing my self wanted in the whole world was to get away from the cold—it took me to the nearest aid. Eddyn wanted away from … whatever he feared would happen to him for yet another crime, and—”
“It doesn’t matter now,” Eellon inserted. “Rann said he had an idea.”
Rann indicated the gems. “We know they can manifest some kind of physical power, though not much about how that power is activated or directed. But we were thinking—especially now that it appears Barrax may have access to the original—that we might be able to counter him if our King had power of his own that really was his power. Gynn’s already used to working with power to some degree, when he becomes vessel of The Eight. We thought that if we could tune these gems to him, he might be able to use that power Avall and I invoked.”
Tyrill’s eyes narrowed. “Assuming this power exists, how do you propose to go about it?”
Strynn took up the tale. “As we’ve said—and proven, I think, to reasonable satisfaction—the gems work to preserve themselves, which they seem to do by serving those who protect them. They also seem to function as foci of desire. So we thought that if we could bond three of these into the new royal regalia, in such a way that they could access Gynn’s blood, and he could access their powers in turn—”
Avall’s face brightened with excitement. “So you think that if you put a gem in, say, a sword, which one uses for offense, it would … read Gynn’s desire for offense and act accordingly?”
“Something like that,” Strynn agreed. “And yes, I know it’s a stretch, but it’s all we have to go on.”
Rann studied Eellon and Tyrill carefully. “Do you think the King would agree to such a thing?”
Eellon took a deep breath. “I think he’d be a fool not to try. That said, he’s very busy. Will he have time to master a whole new set of skills?”
“We can teach him,” Avall and Lykkon volunteered at once. “Someone will have to,” Avall went on, “else he could be at risk. You’re suggesting that he try to master several gems at once, and we’ve no proof that can be done, or that they won’t work at odds with each other.”
Tyrill set down her goblet with a noisy thump. “Power,” she huffed. “I’ve no proof this power of which you spoke exists.”
Avall glared at her, then shifted his gaze toward Rann and Div. “It only happened once,” he admitted. “We were very, very focused—centered on each other to the exclusion of all else. We were just wanting … more and it gave us more the only way it could.”
Eellon interrupted. “You said, however, that you think you reached the Realm of The Eight? The King might be able to verify that, since he has contact with Them.”
“As does Priest-Clan,” Tyrill growled.
“Whom we dare not trust, and certainly dare not bring into this now.”
Avall nodded vigorously. “So, to jump ahead, it sounds like you’re saying he could use the gems as … as portable Wells.”
Rann shrugged. “But the Wells control him, so we think. He has to be able to control this …”
“But if he desired to go to the Overworld—” Avall began.
“And could go there when he would …”
Lykkon, who’d been observing the proceedings with sharp interest, cleared his throat. “I’ve been thinking about that: what Avall said happened. Correct me if I’m wrong, cousin, but you said that you went to another place, and when you started to leave, you wanted proof you’d been there, so you picked up a stone. But when you returned, the stone vanished. Turned to energy, as it were.”
Avall nodded uncertainly. “That’s how it felt. Rann and Div were with me; they can verify.”
“So,” Lykkon went on, lacing his fingers before him, “suppose we’re dealing with a simple inversion here. Two worlds that meet but don’t touch, if that makes any sense. Each with matter and energy, so we assume, because we can’t imagine anything else. So maybe matter in one world becomes energy in the other, and vice versa.”
Avall’s eyes went huge. “That’s a major leap, cousin.”
“It would be worth it to prove. Besides which, if Rann’s right—if we could find a way for Gynn to gather stones in the Overworld and throw them at the enemy here as … fire—”
“It almost killed us,” Avall protested.
Div shook her head. “No, it merely knocked us out—and we weren’t prepared for it. Remember, Avall, the gems look after whoever owns them. They aid healing. In fact, Rann and I enjoyed some of those benefits even after you fell. As though it left some residual power even in us.”
“Healing!” Lykkon mused. “You think … That is … Is it possible it might help Eellon?”
The Chief of Argen looked startled. “From what I’ve seen, it only draws strength—and I have none to spare.”
Strynn gnawed her lip. “But it made my pregnancy less difficult, I’m certain. And I know it speeded my recovery after Averryn’s birth. Enough that we could leave Div’s hold three days later.”
“And Rann and I both healed more quickly after we were wounded,” Div chimed in, less reticent by the moment.
“Well, I certainly wouldn’t complain if I felt better,” Eellon acknowledged, “but I don’t want anyone using what may be finite power to improve my condition. Besides, you said these gems aren’t activated, and you’ve already spoken of using three in the royal regalia. Strynn, I know, also has one, as, evidently, does Rann. What were you planning to do with the fourth?”
Rann looked him straight in the eye. “Give it to Avall, of course.”
“Assuming I want another!”
“Don’t you?”
Avall shrugged. “At this point … I don’t know.”
Rann raised a brow. “Someone also has to try bonding with two. Someone besides the King.”
“Someone more expendable than the King, you mean!”
Rann’s eyes went hard. “I’ve got a gem of my own, Avall. I’m willing to make the effort if you’re not. I thought you’d want the chance. I know what the gems can give you; I can’t imagine that taken away.” A pause. “Think about it, in any case—brother.”
“What about Div and Kylin?”
“We’ve refused,” Kylin said quietly.
Eellon cleared his throat. “There’s still the matter of the regalia. If I recall, only one piece might possibly have been finished: the sword Strynn was going to make. Can someone give me a report?”
Strynn nodded. “I still have a bit of engraving to do—and honing, of course—but not so much I couldn’t finish fairly soon, depending on what we do with the gems. The pregnancy threw off my schedule, and since Averryn was born …”
“I assume you brought the helm?” Tyrill inquired archly.
Strynn regarded her levelly. “I did. Avall can either fix it or duplicate it. If it comes to that, we could always use something that already exists, except we’ve come to think that the gem might sense its own … magic at work in whatever we make, and …
resonate with it better.”
“In any event, I’d like a go at finishing the helm,” Avall conceded.
“Which leaves the shield.”
“Which Eddyn was working on.”
“Did you bring it with you?” Lykkon asked innocently.
Strynn shook her head. “We didn’t have access. But I heard-yr’s subchief say he was going to bring it with the trek. From that, I assume it’s safe at Argen-Hall. But it needs someone to complete it, someone who’s a master. Without Eddyn—”
“It is safe at Argen-Hall,” Tyrill announced unexpectedly. “As you surmised, it arrived with the trek some days ago. I … I suppose I should have told you, Clan-Chief,” she added, with uncharacteristic humility. “But it was Eddyn’s last work—and his finest.”
“Then you can finish it,” Eellon retorted. “I’m too sick, Avall and Strynn are already busy, and Merryn isn’t to hand. I don’t trust anyone else. But a Craft-Chief as accomplished as you should have no trouble collaborating with her protégé.”
Avall started at that, listening carefully for any trace of sarcasm. He heard none. It was true, anyway: Rivals Eellon and Tyrill might be, but the Clan-Chief had never had trouble bestowing either work or favor where it was due. If anyone could complete the shield properly, it was Tyrill. If nothing else, she ought to know by now how Eddyn thought.
“Are you up for it?” Eellon inquired.
“I … am,” she replied faintly, still looking more than a little shocked.
“Well, then,” Eellon grinned, “I suggest those objects be retrieved and work begun as soon as possible—in the royal forges, because the King wants us under his guard.” A pause, while he eyed the assembly. “I expect quarters can be found for Rann and Div nearby. You, too, Tyrill. Lyk, you’d best stay on as scribe. Someone needs to watch these people.”
“Speaking of which,” Avall inserted. “As interesting and important as all this is, I’d like to spend some time alone with my wife.”
Strynn raised a brow and sniffed pointedly. “Not until you’ve had a proper bath, and I’ve had a nap—which sounds like somewhere around dinner. Rann, you and Div come by later. Kylin, I’d love some music if you feel like a bit more playing.”
Avall looked briefly startled, then caught first Strynn’s eye, then Rann’s—and finished his wine at one draught. “Well,” he announced smugly. “I think my life may finally be moving again.”
Eellon started to reply, but all he could do was cough.
Avall shook his sodden forelock out of his eyes, but continued teasing Rann’s chest, where he lay a step below him in Gynn’s—and the Citadel’s—second-best steam chamber. He’d already given Rann release, and now they simply sprawled there, amid a wonder of mosaics and colored tiles neither of them noted.
Rann sighed gratefully and reached up to stroke Avall’s arm. “I wish you’d let me—”
Avall stopped the hand’s advance. “I wish there were two of me, brother. Truly I do. But I’m married to Strynn, I owe her the best I have, soul and body. Certainly I owe her that much tonight, when we’ve been apart so long. You, on the other hand, have had Div for days uncounted, to relieve—”
It was Rann’s turn to interrupt. “You’re making an assumption there.”
Avall propped up on his elbow and regarded Rann curiously. “How so?”
“You’re assuming Strynn’s been celibate.”
“Hasn’t she?” A pause. “Granted there was tension between us. Granted, more to the point, that she knows you come before her in my affections. Granted she knows me well enough to know I wouldn’t protest overmuch if she and someone—”
“Kylin.”
“Do you know this?”
“Not with my eyes or ears, but with my heart. I know she needed comfort. I know I couldn’t give it to her. I know Kylin would’ve been willing. I know they’ve been a way down that road if not to the destination.”
Avall flopped onto his back and folded his arms across his sweaty chest. And sighed. “Why does that bother me, Rann? It’s no more than fair turnabout, for you and me and Div and me—especially now that she doesn’t have Merryn. And I like Kylin a lot—enough that I’d share with him, I think—if you and Strynn consented. But—dammit, Rann, I’m not supposed to love Strynn this much. It was supposed to have been a marriage of convenience. I don’t need to fall in love with her. I’m not good enough for her, because she truly is good, and she deserves someone who’ll treat her that way.”
“Who better than you?”
“You’ve already answered that question: Kylin.”
Rann sat up abruptly, which let him look down at Avall. “Forgetting sex, which is only a small part of any relationship. Forgetting that—do you think she’d ever find a better match? She and I can talk about a lot of things, so can she and Div. But it’s making where your hearts are joined more surely than any meeting of the flesh. If you lost that—either of you. Well, I’d be very sorry.”
“Maybe.”
“No, think, Avall,” Rann went on urgently. “Even with this wonderful bond between you and me, there’s a place where you and I can’t go, because I’m not so much a maker as Strynn is. That’s what you need to treasure.”
“And I do treasure it. But she’s given me so much— indulged me so much on this madness about the gem, and all. This once I have to put her first. Oh, she’d understand if you and I shared tonight, but tonight of all nights I have to give her the best I have.”
Rann chuckled softly. “You’re right, dammit. As much as I’d prefer otherwise, you’re right. From an absolute sense, she has first claim on you.”
“I’m not dreading it, Rann. And please believe me when I tell you that adding something to my life doesn’t diminish what’s already there. This is in-addition-to, not instead-of.”
Rann sighed dramatically. “That much more I can give Div, I guess.”
“I doubt she’d complain, no matter how much—”
“Watch it!” Rann warned. But his face was merry.
Avall shifted again. “I have a suggestion, if you’re feeling adventurous.”
A brow lifted. “Oh?”
“Lykkon. He needs closeness, Rann. He needs what he could get from a bond-brother now—if he had one. I can’t give it to him; we’re too close kin. But you and he—”
Rann chuckled wickedly. “Devious, aren’t you?”
Avall shook his head, sending droplets flying. “That just occurred to me, but I think he’d welcome it, especially if you told him it was my idea.”
Another chuckle. “Well, he’s certainly not hard to look at. I like him a lot. And there are definitely worse ways to stay warm.”
Avall laughed in turn—loudly. “Oh, and I just had a really great idea. When you’re finished with him, you could pass him on to Div. The three of you—”
“I can think of worse things,” Rann repeated. “If nothing else, I suppose I could ask her.”
“Which only leaves Kylin.”
“Not for long,” Rann laughed in turn. “To judge by the way Krynneth was looking at him!”
Avall rose and started toward the door. “Strynn should be awake by now,” he said. “And I’m hungry, and not just for food.”
“Well,” Rann observed, as they headed for the cold-pool, “it should be an … interesting night for all of us.”
“And all because of the war,” Avall replied darkly.
“The war,” Rann echoed. “But you know, at this very moment, I’m not even sorry.”
CHAPTER XXIV:
SMITHING
ERON: TIR-ERON-NEAR SPRING: DAY XLI-MORNING
For all that High King Gynn had been raised and trained as a smith, the forges beneath the Citadel were rarely used. Indeed, excluding Gynn’s private forge, they hadn’t been touched, save for routine cleaning, in more than a generation. Even Avall, who’d been all but incarcerated in the Citadel since his return, hadn’t been there, and had no good expectations for what he might find. Such structures w
ere typically designed and built by architects, not by those whose crafts were actually involved. As such, they tended to be triumphs of form over function.
He’d said as much, too, as he and Strynn made their way there at far too early an hour—after a night’s lovemaking had kept them up far too late. Still, the helm, the sword, and the shield should be there even now—transported in the night by trusted Smithcraft minions under royal guard. It would be strange, Avall thought, to work so openly on what he still considered a masterwork. And while there’d still be opportunities for privacy, he and Strynn would probably be sharing a forge for the first time since their wedding, and for the first time ever as adults.
“I wonder where Tyrill is,” Strynn murmured, as they strode along corridors in the depths of the Citadel—the same level that housed the dungeons, had they known. The walls were straight, and smoothly hewn from solid rock, but completely unadorned. The same for the floor, though the texture was rougher there, to improve footing. Even the ceiling was plain, arching in a simple barrel vault a span above their heads. Other corridors intersected at precise right angles. The main difference between analogous spaces in other holds was the fact that the light came from more and newer glowglobes than Avall had ever seen.
He tightened his grip on his tool kit as he strode along—sure token of an anxiety he was trying to mask. “I don’t know,” he yawned. “She could as well be wildly early as wildly late, depending on what suits her.”
“She’s old, Avall,”
“Not as old as Eellon, and he gets around decently.”
“Not without those braces he thinks no one knows about. But you’re right, it’d be just like her to lie in wait for us with a list of criticisms of our work ready to go.”
Tyrill was in fact lying in wait, but with a hot cup of cauf clutched in her gnarled old hands instead of the much-feared list. Indeed, she was sitting calmly in a leather-cushioned chair to one side of the master bellows, having drawn two more seats to join hers around a small refreshment table. Still, Avall almost missed her amid the splendor of the forges. Forging was dirty work, that was a fact. It depended on fire, which produced smoke, ash, and noise. These were utterly clean. Fresh coats of gleaming whitewash covered every stone surface save the floor, and there was plenty of light, both from glow-globes and a bank of glass-brick windows giving on a light well that must be in the very back of the Citadel. As for the forges themselves, none had yet been fired, but Avall already knew they were a minor matter to ignite.
