The Sun Sword - The Broken Crown Part 57

"Who are you?" Kiriel whispered, as Sigurne drifted closer.

"Sigurne," the white-haired woman said. "And when you wake, I will be watching; none will pa.s.s the guard I set." Her hands met Kiriel's chest.

The girl froze a moment, and then her face clouded, its lines folding before they stiffened into a mask behind which she could hite. "I don't want to sleep," she said.

"I know," Sigurne replied, catching her in arms that seemed, to all who watched, too frail to bear such a burden. Awkwardly, she pulled the girl against her, while the Ospreys watched.

Who, after all, would consider Sigurne Mellifas enough of a threat that they would raise either hand or voice against her?

No one. Not even the Lord of the Compact. "Member Mellifas," King Cormalyn said, "Will you sit with the girl?"

"I cannot carry her," was Sigurne's quiet reply. "But if you wish her to remain in Avantari, I believe it is best if I retire with her. She will sleep, I think, for many hours, and she will wake hungry." She gestured to Cook, and he rushed to obey the request that she did not put into words; he held out his arms and caught Kiriel.

"And that is it?" the King said softly, staring at the hushed court. "Twenty-seven men and women are dead at the hands of a creature that only she was fast enough to stop, and in the end, the answer we are to derive from her is either nothing or sleep?" Sigurne made no reply.

"No, Majesty," The Kalakar said, her voice quite loud compared to Sigurne's. "Because the creature was not sent to kill the twenty-seven-although they are dead, unjustly, regardless-but to kill the Tyr'agar. Valedan kai di'Leonne.

"We have seen creatures of this kind before. Sixteen years ago, they almost destroyed us, and they came within an hour of shattering the city's spirit. I can still hear the screams when I close my eyes in the daylight."

"Enough," the Cormaris-born King said, flinching. "There is not a man or woman here who cannot."

"Very well. I believe you know the point I wish to make."

"Make it," the King replied.

"There is no Tyr'agar in the Dominion of Annagar. But if we do not interfere, there will be one in seven short days. The Festival of the Sun, Your Majesty. And that man is a man who has proved, at least twice now, that he is willing to use these creatures.

"We have faced this threat once before, and if it failed, it was partly because Kalliaris chose to smile." She drew breath, settling her shoulders into a more comfortable- and stiffer-position. "Only a fool or a desperate man depends on that Lady's smile. We don't even know if the man who will claim the Tor Leonne is human at all. Lord Cordufar was not."

"If a man will be declared ruler of the Tor Leonne, it will be in nine days, at Festival's close, and not seven, at its start," the King said neutrally.

The Kalakar nodded.

"And there is no guarantee that the kin who arrived here is working in the employ of the man who will be crowned. We know, certainly, that that man has much to gain from the death of our hostage-but perhaps the kin wish to consolidate power under a p.a.w.n, and that man is unaware of just how far their efforts extend. Remember, Kalakar, that Lord Cordufar was under the auspices of The Darias. I believe subsequent events proved clearly- to all of The Ten's satisfaction-that The Darias labored in ignorance of Cordufar's nature and mission."

She shrugged; it was clear that, as far as Annagar was concerned, she did not believe this to be the case. "I rode," she said neutrally, "to the Dominion's border when the father of our hostage declared war upon the Empire. It would not only not surprise me to see the clans use the Allasakari, it would surprise me if they didn't."

"Unfair," another voice said. Princess Mirialyn. "The clan Leonne would not, for weight of both history and blood, use the Allasakari. Nor, in my opinion, would the Radann. And they are not the only forces within the Dominion."

"The clan Leone is not a force at all; the Radann are puppets; they serve no true G.o.d." The Kalakar, as always when she felt her case strongly, made it bluntly.

"It seems to me," King Cormalyn said softly, "that you are advocating war."

The Kalakar lifted her chin. "No, Your Majesty. There will be war. We cannot prevent it. Averda and Mancorvo are already dedicated to that fight, and they are the Ter-reans which border us." She drew breath. "But I know the Annagarians. Valedan's a boy, and an untried one at that, but he's the bloodline. If Callesta and Lamberto will declare themselves for his clan, many of the clansmen will follow."

" 'Many.' "

She had the good grace to wince slightly. "Majesty," she said, "we believe that it is clan Marente -or possibly Ser Alesso di'Marente-that hopes to benefit from the slaughter of both the clan Leonne and the Imperial hostages. But he will do so without the benefit of the Sun Sword. And that will count against him in the war.

"If Valedan wins, we can be certain that it won't be because of Allasakari magic. If he rules, we know that his reign starts without the taint of that G.o.d. If we turn our backs, it is not just the Dominion that will suffer. The Empire will suffer as well. When the Allasakari ruled two centuries ago, the southern half of the Empire was raided and preyed upon by the Priests and their summoned cohort. The countryside still remembers, and while it remembers that the Twin Kings eventually rode to war to end that threat, they remember the time that it took, and the losses. Let us not repeat that history."

"And you would suggest?"

"I would suggest," she replied, as neutral in tone as the King, "that the decision to wage a war is a political one; the decision to join a war, equally political."

King Cormalyn's smile was a rare one. "We have already requested a meeting with the Averdan Try'agnate. But I believe that The Ten are not united in their views on this subject."

Ellora shook her head grimly. "They will be," she said, "after today."

"Very well. The Ten will be informed of the outcome of that meeting." His gaze narrowed. "But, Kalakar, we need the information that your young Sentrus has."

"Yes, Your Majesty," she said.

Duarte's expression was singularly stern, but he kept his silence.

"Meralonne. You've been avoiding me."

"I? Avoid Sigurne Mellifas?" Pipe smoke curled in the air beneath his chin like the tail of a

ghostly cat. "If I wished to avoid you, Sigurne, I would hardly have agreed to meet you in this healerie.""Matteos," she said dryly, "is most persuasive. It was Matteos who delivered the message?"

Meralonne winced.

"And it will be Dantallon," she said, "who will provide you with a bed of your own in the healerie if you don't douse the tobacco in that pipe."

"I feel, as I grow older," Meralonne replied, running a crooked finger around the pipe's black rim, "that the entirety of the Empire conspires to rob me of the few little pleasures that remain to a man in his dotage."

But she had already turned in her seat, and her eyes were upon the quiet profile of a young woman in sleep's thrall. "Allasakar," Sigurne said, her voice a whisper.

Meralonne made no reply, although his confederate spoke a name that was not spoken in the Empire.

"It is said that the Lord of the h.e.l.ls cannot father a G.o.d-born child," she continued. "It is impossible." She reached out, and her hand hovered above the pale girl's mouth, as if catching the air that she exhaled. "And yet the evidence is here, and mounting.

"Do you think the Kings would suffer such a child to live?"

"You heard King Cormalyn. A G.o.d-born child is not held responsible for the actions of his parent."

"Yes. But you know, as well as I that he might not have spoken so freely if it were not accepted

wisdom that the Lord of the h.e.l.ls cannot breed."The platinum-haired mage shrugged and set about carefully emptying the bowl of his pipe. "It is accepted wisdom that the progeny will not come to term," he corrected.

"Meralonne. That woman. Evayne. Did you not once have a student by that name?"

"I always regret the fact that you spend so much of your time in silence," Meralonne replied

softly. "Until you speak, Sigurne." He began to fill the bowl of his pipe. "Compared to you, my gentle lady, Dantallon is not to be feared." She waited in companionable silence until he'd pressed the fresh leaves down and lit them with a spark and word.

"Did you understand what she said?"

"Pardon?"

"Did you understand what she meant when she referred to the mantle of the Lord?"

"Sigurne, is this another test?"

"Of your background? No, old friend. It is completely as it seems: A question. Hide behind your

answer as you like; I often do."

"And today?"

"Today I will tell you that I understood what she meant by it. And the fact that she knows of it,

and the fact that you thought to interrupt the King himself when he sought to offer this child rea.s.surances-and that, Meralonne, I consider somewhat ill-advised-tells me more than I wanted to know."

"And you a member of the Order of Knowledge," he said, his tone gently mocking.

"And I, a member of the Magi, and the governing adviser to the magisterial guards. There are arts

that have been forbidden, Meralonne, and no one has spoken against them with more force than I.".

"With more force? I can think of any number. With more heart, none."

Were she a younger woman, she might have blushed. She did not, although she looked pleased at

the offered compliment. Her face was lined with age and time; even her hair seemed fragile and delicate. Yet the steel was there, and Meralonne thought, as he watched her, that as long as that steel survived, she would.

"Very well," he said, and he bowed almost gallantly. "Yes, Sigurne. I know what she spoke of. I will trouble you not to repeat that confession, and I will take the trouble not to repeat yours.

"When the Lord took the throne of the h.e.l.ls there were no humans-or so it is said. He could pa.s.s freely between that world and this, and until the Covenant of Man was made, he ruled two domains: a mortal domain, and an immortal one.

"Upon this world, his followers were legion, and when the Covenant was made, they were offered a choice: To stay in this world, diminished and hidden, or to accompany the Lord of their choosing.

"They chose Him, although there was little doubt that they would make such a choice-and little understanding of the choice so made. But the divide itself was not meant to be breached by those born of this world. And the kin," he added softly, "were born of the G.o.ds and the wildness of this world, whether they will it or no. He did not-and I believe does not-have the power to bring his followers, in flesh, to the h.e.l.ls of his making. And his followers lack the immortal shard that humans call soul.

"He refused to agree to the terms of the Covenant, and although he was weakened greatly by the fall of his City, he was not without power. The G.o.ds spoke, and at length, because of the Mother's intervention, they joined their powers and, thread by thread, they wove the mantle of which Kiriel di'Ashaf spoke.

"Allasakar had no hand in its making," the silver-haired mage continued, staring past her, although his eyes seemed to be upon her upturned face. "And it is said that the mantle was a wondrous thing; a thing beyond compare. That the mortal eye was too impoverished to perceive its beauty.

"It matters not. The mantle was given, by the G.o.ds, to their unloved brother, that he might take his followers- who were also ill-loved-with him, instead of leaving them to trouble the human world. When he donned the mantle-if donning is the correct word-the kin became as one with him. Which had the rather fortunate effect of making the kin subservient, whether they willed it or no, to his will, like parts of a body. Although they served him in this world because he defined power, they served willingly. The mantle's creation-and use-robbed them of that patina of dignity." His smile, a sudden flash of teeth too perfect for a man his age, was cold.

"If it were merely donned," Sigurne said softly, "then it could be removed. The kin are creatures who know no quest but the search for power."

"Indeed," he replied, still distant. "They are not the only ones. But the mantle is donned, and it may be removed or displaced. The G.o.ds created well, Sigurne. Even if the kin could indeed overpower and destroy their Lord, no one of the kin could bear the mantle's weight without paying the ultimate price. They could not wear that mantle to gain dominion over their own. For that matter, no mortal could, either. It was made for Allasakar, and it knows its master. Or so it is said."

"Meralonne, I sometimes wonder just how deeply and how completely your knowledge runs." The words were cool. "I believe you have now said more than I knew."

"Have I? How foolish of me." He exhaled a thin stream of smoke into the air between them. "Only a G.o.d can wear the mantle, Sigurne." He smiled. "Although I'm certain that the kin would be happy to support any mortal attempt to steal such a cloak as the Lord of the h.e.l.ls wears. If there is more to know, I do not know it; nor can I be certain that this knowledge is indeed fact."

She nodded almost absently. "I know how I learned of that mantle," Sigurne said quietly. "I won't ask how you did. You are of the Magi, Meralonne, and the past has scarred you.

"This one-this girl-she seems so young to me, and yet so deadly." She turned to meet Meralonne's steel-gray eyes. "I will be honest."

"Are you ever anything else?"

"Meralonne, please.

"If the Kings had ordered her death, I would have done what I had to do to aid them. And I do not think I would have been displeased.

"But I saw something in her, and that something-it underlined the truth of the words King Cormalyn spoke in his ignorance of her parent. She is not all that he is, or rather, he is not all that she is.

"These ones are always the dangerous ones," Sigurne continued, looking away again. "Because when we hope, we can be so blind and foolish."

Meralonne nodded quietly. "In youth," he said, speaking as if from a great distance, "we believe, and the death of belief forces us to disavow all belief. But that disavowal, time softens, and if we do not believe, we hope. Belief is easier to kill, somehow, and its death easier to bear."

Sigurne did not reply.

"She had no right to promise that." Alexis was pale and spoke with a soft, soft voice. Always a bad sign. Duarte was pleasantly surprised to see that her dagger remained in its sheath; it often did not when she paced in anger across the worn fragments of what had no doubt been expensive carpet. "The Ospreys-h.e.l.ls, the House Guards-don't have to speak of their past when they make their oath. The past is forgotten, Duarte. Or don't you remember your vows?"

He knew that Alexis' temper was a reflection of the rest of the company's. He also knew that Cook had come close to unforgivable insubordination-as opposed to the customary forgivable type that the Ospreys were famous for-when Kiriel di'Ashaf had been summarily remanded into the care of the Kings' healer. He'd demanded to be left as a guard. That had been tricky.

But most of the Ospreys didn't understand politics. Or strategy, if it didn't involve battle.

"Duarte?"

He shook himself. "I remember my vows."

"You were conveniently silent."

"We were in the Hall of Wise Counsel. The only Osprey who hadn't already humiliated House Kalakar was Sanderson. If I'd spoken another word, the Ospreys would have a new leader."