The Sun Sword - The Broken Crown Part 72

He drew his sword. "You fight pretty well," he said.

"Better with daggers than a sword," was Valedan's reply. He bowed and Sanderton sheathed the

weapon.

Fiara stepped forward. "We buried two thirds of our own," she told him, "in the Averdan valleys."

"And how many of ours did you bury?"

"None; we left 'em for carrion."

"Then the winds took them; the Lord pa.s.sed them over. That was then; what will you do now?"

"I'll follow the Ospreys," she told him, and she drew her sword. "Besides, I always root for the

underdog, and you don't stand a chance in the South."

"Oh?"

"He stabbed you. He's still standing."

"Perhaps I didn't think I'd survive his death."

She laughed. "See what I mean?" she said, although it was to the Ospreys, and not to the Tyr, that she spoke.

Alexis nodded. "I see it. And I don't. You're right. He's too honest and he's got honorable notions -but he's still standing, and Auralis should've had him for breakfast. I think he's got a chance." She had the grace to look almost embarra.s.sed. "I don't believe that you spared Auralis' life because you thought we'd kill you if he died. You heard her; he heard him; you knew the fight- beginning and end-was yours and yours alone." She met Valedan's eyes for the first time, and found them unwavering. "We're not all killers."

"Just mostly!"

Duarte turned sharply, but the voice fell silent before he could attach it to a face. He stepped forward, although Valedan had not yet called him.

"Service," he told the younger man, "means giving what we have, as we have it. We're not clansmen. We'll never be clansmen. And we're not cut out to be Tyran. We're not Imperial soldiers, not in the usual sense of the word, but we don't serve under a Commander; we serve beside one. The Kalakar is one of us. Looks like today you set your foot on the inside of that same circle. Two thirds of the Ospreys died in the service of Commander Ellora AKalakar- protecting her banner. If necessary, all of the Ospreys would have.

"Today-tonight," he added, as he saw the crimson of the sun, "all of the Ospreys would die to protect yours." But he grimaced. "Just try to be certain that yours and Callesta's aren't standing within thirty yards of each other, or it could get tricky."

Valedan nodded. "If you don't mind," he said, his voice a shade quieter, "I think I'd like to see the physicians now." Only Kiriel was not surprised when he collapsed.

Baredan di'Navarre was beside himself with rage.

What made it was worse was the quality of the anger. It was almost completely silent; it showed in the pale line around the edge of his lips and the clipped, even tone of his voice. The women would not leave, and it was not his station-although it was obvious that he would dearly have loved it to be otherwise-to order them away; it was Valedan's, and Valedan, abed in the healerie of the Queen's court, did not see fit to accommodate him.

And only partly because he wished to avoid what Baredan would, no doubt, have to say the moment the last of the women's skirts had brushed the dust clear of the doorframe. The healer's touch had not left him, and although the healer himself had claimed the touch to be a light one, it lingered every time he closed his eyes. He felt vulnerable; he felt empty.

He felt, for a moment, that he was eight years old again, and the brothers and sisters-the sisters, especially-of his life in the Tor Leonne had come and gone, offering their formal, tearful farewells. He had never been allowed to visit, and he would not see them again, although he had never accepted that fact until the moment the Imperial merchants had arrived, bearing their tales of death.

His mother had come with him, and he was glad of it- but there was so very much that he'd left behind that he'd learned over the years not to miss. It was not that he missed them now-but that sense of hollowness, of loneliness, had returned to him with a strength that memory alone could not contain.

And he did not wish to be alone with a man of the clans, for if the women were as sharp, they were not as unkind in their judgment; they were used, after all, to seeing the weakness of the men they had been chosen by, if only in the privacy of the harem. Among themselves, the men did not make their vulnerabilities known.

"I ask you again," the General said, through teeth clenched so tightly his jaw barely moved, "how you were wounded."

It wasn't a question, of course; it was a demand. "General," he said quietly. "The wound was my wound. It has been dealt with."

Silence. Five minutes might pa.s.s before Baredan di'Navarre began again, his temper growing more sour, rather than less, as the sands ran. Valedan thought- although he was never certain- that the Serra Alina found the General's ill humor vastly amusing. The doors opened.

Standing between them, attended only by two Tyran, was Ramiro di'Callesta. The cus.h.i.+ons and the hard back of a bed meant for royal injuries prevented Valedan from sinking out of sight; the expression on the Tyr's face made Baredan's seem cheery, although if pressed, Valedan could not have easily said why.

"Tyr'agar," the Callestan Tyr said, offering perfect- and quick-obeisance. His face was smooth as Northern gla.s.s when he rose. The Tyran to either side offered supplicant bows that were longer and more formal; they did not rise as he did; they did not possess his rank. Nor did he wait for the Tyr'agar's permission; having the Tyran in this room was a matter of social grace, not necessity. "Tyr'agnate," Valedan said, nodding. "I see that reports of your health were not exaggerated."

"Tyr'agnate," Serra Alina said, leaving her quiet place by the foot of Valedan's bed, and kneeling a moment, in deference to his rank-and his importance to Valedan di'Leonne's cause.

Ramiro di'Callesta frowned, the movement a pa.s.sing ripple of lips. "Serra Alina di'Lamberto."

"I attend the Tyr'agar while he rests in this foreign hall, and unfortunately, while he rests here, I answer to the healer, Dantallon, for his rest and his recovery. If you-"

"Serra Alina," Valedan said, raising a hand. "Dantallon will not-"

"He most certainly will." They all turned then, to see the pale-haired, somewhat haggard healer as he cast a shadow in the door. "Permission was granted for the Serra-and only the Serra-to attend the Tyr'agar. I see that the Southerners are as disappointingly obtuse as their Northern counterparts when it comes to such rules.

"Or perhaps, gentleman, you are not familiar with the language of the court; Weston and your tongue have similar roots, but are certainly divergent languages. Let me speak more clearly, the hour being late, and your time no doubt too precious to waste on longer explanations.

"Get out."

The Tyran, still kneeling, rose as one man; their hands curved round the hilts of their swords, but they did not draw them.

"You are bold," the General said softly, "for an unarmed and unescorted man."

"He is not unescorted," a new voice said, and the Princess Royale, Mirialyn ACormaris, stepped into the light his lamp cast. "And were I you, I would not pit my blade against the blade of your Tyran, no matter how often battle has tested them." There was no bragging in her voice; there was almost no inflection.

"Valedan?" the Callestan Tyr said.

The younger man smiled amost ruefully. "He means it. If I were one of the Kings themselves, he'd have come with the Queens as escort. He's valued here. But more important, he's obeyed.

"I take no insult from it; it is the custom of the North, and if not for Northern customs, the clan Leonne would not be a clan." But he silently thanked the healer, wondering how he'd known.

And knowing.

The healer's touch still bound them together, after all.

Serra Alina sat by his side once the healer had satisfied himself of Valedan's improving condition. The Princess stopped only for long enough to formally ask if the difficulty were a difficulty that required the intervention of the Crowns; she accepted his polite refusal with much better grace than the men who had pledged to follow his rule. Of course, she accepted it with a grace and ease that implied that she already knew who had been responsible for the injury, and what the outcome of that injury was.

Valedan knew that she probably did.

I am seventeen, he thought idly, as the lamplight played against the face of his only attendant. The Serra Alina was not lovely, and he thought that she never had been; her face was too sharp, and the line of her lips too tight, for that. Her eyes were not large enough, and nowhere about her was the pleasing vulnerability, that lovely mix of modesty and grace, that made a wife so highly prized.

Yet she had about her other things that wives were highly prized for. How old are you? She turned, as if the words were spoken and not merely thought, and he met her eyes as if the shadows between them were a bridge that could be crossed.

It occurred to him to wonder, for the first time, how she had felt when she had been chosen and sent as a hostage to this land. She had always seemed happy here, if sharply spoken, and she treated Ser Fillipo with courtesy, although Mancorvo and Callesta were bitter enemies.

"Serra," he said.

"I'm here. Are you thirsty?"

"No." Silence. Then, "Did you-did you leave anyone behind? I mean-was there anyone you, you cared for in the Dominion?"

He thought she would laugh, and in laughter, no matter how soft, she could be unkind. But although he tensed, she offered him no cause for caution.

"1 left Lamberto," she said softly. It was late. Valedan had rarely understood the importance of the night to the Annagarian court, but he knew that he was seeing its fact in the softening of her face; hearing it in the quiet folds of her voice. "But Mareo and I seldom saw eye to eye. He is a proud man, Valedan, and as just and honorable a man as the Dominion is likely to produce-but for the sake of his scruples, he would weaken our clan.

"We argued, often, about this. Let me say, beneath the Lady's Moon, that although he bears great enmity for the Empire, it is in the Empire that he would find his truest home--in this court, among these people.

"Oh, his honor impresses the clansmen, especially those who are young and have never seen battle; it impresses the serafs, for their life is an easier life beneath his rulers.h.i.+p. But it does not impress the Tors, nor the Tyr'agnati-for they see in his scruples another weakness to be exploited.

"And Callesta has exploited that weakness. The Empire never did."

He was silent a moment. "Kyro di'Lorenza would follow your brother," he said at last, in defense of the Lambertan Tyr.

"Yes." She fell silent, and when she spoke again, it was with a hint of tartness. "Valedan, think. Why is Ser Kyro here, and not in the Dominion where he belongs?"

Valedan had the grace to blush.

"Yes. Because he is an honorable man-too honorable for the politics of Lorenza. For the politics of Annagar.

"The only man here worthy of rulers.h.i.+p in the Dominion is Ser Fillipo di'Callesta. And perhaps young Mauro; it is not clear to me that his interest is power, but he is canny enough when he chooses to be." She turned her back to him, away from the scant light. "Callesta and Lamberto were required to surrender hostages of value to the Kings.

"Only Ramiro di'Callesta chose to take the threat seriously. Ser Fillipo was the Captain of his Tyran, and much trusted; there is affection between the two, and if Fillipo was ever asked to choose between you and his brother, Fillipo would always choose Ramiro. Do not forget it."

"You're wrong," he said.

"Wrong, am I? I know Fillipo, Valedan. I know-"

"You're wrong. Lamberto surrendered someone of value."

She did not turn; she did not speak for a moment, and he wondered if she would. But at last, she brushed her hair back and over her ear; he saw that her hand shook slightly. "You are too true to your Northern experience," she said at last. "I am a woman, Valedan. My role as hostage was meant to be-was, by the standards of the clans-an insult. What you've just said-you may say it here, in this room, to me. Never say it anywhere else. Valedan-" She turned, her face pale, no hint of pleasure at all at the compliment he'd offered coloring her cheeks. "If you are to be Tyr'agar, you will have to convince clansmen-the lowest to the very highest-that you are fit to rule.

"Say this, say only that you think that I was so worthy, and they will turn from you, or against you." She rose.

"Wait." He lifted his hand. "Serra Alina," he added, as she continued to walk toward the door. "That was not a request." She stopped, turned, and knelt in the full supplicant posture.

It annoyed him. "Serra Alina," he said. "You taught me how to use the daggers that saved my life tonight. Everything I know about Annagar has been your gift.

"You've saved my life twice now-and I know that what you've taught me-and what you teach me-will save it again and again.

"You are Lambertan; you do not owe me this honor. Your brother has not declared himself for me. And if the Imperial army aids my cause, he may well refuse to join it."

"That would," she said carefully, "be Mareo."

He wished there were moonlight in the room, but the room had been chosen for its security; the windows were small and poorly lit.

"I don't want to fight this war without you."

"Valedan-"

"And I don't want to fight with you about this war."

"Valedan, don't-"

"You told me," he continued, his voice as low as hers, "that a wife could be many things-but

above all, she should be trusted. That a man chooses his wife not merely for her looks, but for her wisdom and her cunning and her loyalty."

She did not speak; did not attempt to interrupt him.

"You're the wisest person I know, except for the Princess. If you would have me, I would be

honored if you would accept the position of wife to the kai Leonne."

"And am I ordered to accept?" she asked, and her voice was wooden, but not-quite-cool.

"No." He felt the strength ebb from him then.

"And may I rise?"

"Yes."

Watching her, remote, the lamps lighting her poorly in the evening's dark, he felt his heart sink

more surely than the sun did each day.

"I am flattered," she said, as she made her retreat to the doors. "But I do not think I can tender an answer, Valedan. Not tonight; not when the offer is so unexpected, and so large."

She was gone before he could ask her what she meant. Gone before he could think, with pride,