"Oh?"
"As you know, the ban of exile has not been lifted," Thero replied with a briskness that undoubtedly masked discomfort. "You're being allowed a special dispensation at the queen's request."
"I understand that." Seregil sat down on the edge of the bed, hands clasped around one up-drawn knee. "What's it to be then? Branding me on the cheek, or just a placard around my neck reading, 'Traitor'?"
"No one's branding him!" Alec exclaimed, alarmed.
"I'm joking, tali. All right, Thero, lay out the terms."
The wizard clearly took no pleasure in his task. "Your name is still forfeit; you'll be known as Seregil of Rhiminee. You're forbidden to wear Aurenfaie clothing or any other clan marks, including the sen'gai."
"Fair enough," said Seregil, but Alec saw a muscle tighten in his jaw. The sen'gai, a traditional Aurenfaie head cloth, was an integral part of Aurenfaie identity. Its color, patterns, and how it was wrapped denoted both clan and status.
"You are banned from all temples, and from participating in any religious ceremony," Thero went on. "You will be accepted as a voice of council on behalf of Skala but have none of the common rights of a 'faie. Finally, you are not allowed outside Sarikali except to accompany the Skalan delegation. You will lodge with them, and
carry no weapons. Violate any of these and teth'sag will be declared against you."
"Is that all? No public flogging?"
Thero leaned forward with a look of genuine concern. "Come now, what did you expect?"
Seregil shook his head. "Nothing. I expect nothing. What does Idrilain think of all this?"
"I'm not certain. These details arrived after I'd left her in Mycena."
"Then you have seen her since she was wounded?" Seregil pressed.
Thero wove a spell in the air before continuing. The change was so subtle that at first Alec couldn't figure out what had happened. An instant later, he realized he could no longer hear sounds from outside the room.
"Between us as Watchers, I can tell you that we need to accomplish the queen's purpose as quickly as possible."
"Idrilain is dying, isn't she?" asked Seregil.
Thero nodded grimly. "It's only a matter of time. Tell me, what's your impression of Phoria?"
"You've seen more of her than I have this past year."
"She's opposed to our course of action."
"How could she be?" asked Alec. "If Klia's right, Skala isn't strong enough to defeat Plenimar."
"Phoria refuses to accept that. Prince Korathan and a number of generals support her view, refusing to admit that magic is as important a weapon as bows or swords. No doubt you've heard about the Plenimaran necromancers?" The wizard's mouth set in a hard line. "I've faced them in the field. The queen is quite correct, but Magyana's convinced that Phoria will abandon the plan as soon as her mother dies. That's why she sent Klia rather than Korathan. He's an honorable man, but loyal to his sister."
"Phoria's been in the middle of things from the start," mused Seregil. "How could she not understand what she's up against?"
"At first the necromancers didn't seem much of a threat. Their numbers have grown, along with their power."
"Just imagine if they had the Helm," Alec said.
A chill seemed to pass over the room as the three men recalled the glimpse they'd had of the power embodied by the Helm of Seriamaius.
"Nysander didn't die in vain," Thero said softly. "But even without the Helm, the necromancers are strong and without mercy. Phoria and her supporters simply haven't seen enough of them to believe yet. I fear it may take a tragedy to sway her."
"Stubbornness can be a dangerous trait in a general."
Thero sighed. "Or a queen."
5
VlRESSE
So, they are coming, and not by way of your city, Khirnari," said Raghar Ashnazai, turning his wine cup idly on the polished surface of the balcony table.
The gaunt Plenimaran's nails were smooth and clean, Ulan i Sathil noted, watching his guest from his place by the balustrade; this was a Tirfaie whose tools were words. Three centuries of trade with such men had taught Ulan to be wary.
"Yes, Lord Torsin left to meet them yesterday," he replied, turning his attention to the harbor spread out below the balcony. Silently he counted the foreign vessels moored there—more than two dozen today in spite of the war. How empty the harbor would be without them.
"If the Bokthersa and their allies have their way, your great marketplace will not be so full of northern traders," the Plenimaran envoy went on, as if reading his thoughts.
He wasn't, of course; Ulan would have sensed any magic and countered it with his own. No, this man's power lay in astuteness and patience, not magic.
"It's true, Lord Raghar," he replied. His old knees ached badly today, but standing allowed him to look down at the Plenimaran, a position worth the discomfort. "It would be a great blow to my clan and our allies if
the present routes of trade were changed. Just as it might be a serious blow to your country if Aurenen joined forces with the Skalans."
"Then our concerns are similar, if not our interests."
Ulan acknowledged the truth of this, glad that he had not underestimated whom he was dealing with; as khirnari of Viresse, he'd dealt with five Tirfaie generations from the Three Lands and beyond. The Ashnazai were one of the oldest and most influential families in Plenimar.
"And yet I am curious," he countered, keeping his voice neutral. "There are rumors suggesting that Plenimar needs no assistance from anyone in their war against the Skalans—something to do with necromancy, I believe?"
"You surprise me, Khirnari. The practice of necromancy was outlawed centuries ago."
Ulan shrugged graciously. "Here in Viresse we take a more pragmatic view of such things. Magic is magic, no? I'm sure your cousin, Vargul Ashnazai, would say the same. Or would have, had he not already given his life in the service of your Overlord's half-brother, the late Duke Mardus."
This time Raghar's surprise was genuine. "You are well informed, Khirnari."
"I think you will find most of the eastern clans are." Ulan smiled, his silver-grey eyes narrowing like an eagle's. "Your country has very long arms; we know better than to underestimate such a neighbor."
"And the Skalans?"
"As allies, they would pose a different sort of threat."
"Far beyond a threat to Viresse's port monopoly, I think. Bokthersa clan's blood ties to the Skalan throne, for instance?"
Ah, yes, very astute indeed. "You have a better grasp of Aurenfaie politics than most, Raghar Ashnazai. Most outsiders think of us as a single, united land ruled by the Iia'sidra in place of a queen or overlord."
"Overlord Estmar understands that the eastern and western clans have different concerns. And that clans such as Bokthersa and Bry'kha are looked on by many as troublemakers, too ready to mix with foreigners."
"The same has been said of the Viresse. But there is a difference. The Bokthersans are fond of foreigners, while we in Viresse..." He paused and looked directly at the Plenimaran for the first time, letting a hint of his power travel along the thread of their gaze. "We merely consider you—useful."
"Then we are of similar minds, Khirnari." Ashnazai smiled coldly through his beard as he pulled a sealed document tube from his sleeve and laid it on the table. "According to my sources, Queen Idrilain is dying, though few outside the royal circle know of it. I do not think she will live long enough for Klia to complete her mission."
Ulan eyed the tube. "I understand Phoria is a worthy successor."
The envoy tapped the tube meaningfully with a ringed finger and smiled again. "So one might think, Khirnari, and yet there are certain rumors suggesting a rift between her and the queen. Rumors that even now my people in Skala are allowing to seep out into certain well-placed ears. Even without this information, there are some Skalans who do not welcome the idea of a barren queen. There are few enough rightful heirs as it is. Just the second sister, Aralain, and her da
ughter. And Klia, of course."
"That would seem sufficient," remarked Ulan.
"In time of peace, perhaps, but in war? So much death and uncertainty. Let us hope for Skala's sake that their four gods guard these women lovingly, eh?"
"I pray Aura may watch over their lives," Ulan retorted, turning away to hide his revulsion; how easily these Tir turned to the expediency of assassination and outright murder. The brevity of their lives seemed to engender a brutal impatience abhorrent to the Aurenfaie mind.
"I am grateful as always for your information and support," he went on, still gazing out over the harbor. His harbor.
"You honor me with your trust, Khirnari."
Ulan heard the scrape of the chair and the rustle of a cloak. When he turned at last, Ashnazai was gone, but the sealed tube still lay on the table.
Avoiding the chair the Plenimaran had occupied, Ulan eased painfully into the one opposite and stretched his aching legs. At last he opened the tube and shook out its contents: three parchments. One was a Plenimaran affidavit of sorts signed by someone named Urvay. The other two were Skalan court documents apparently having to do with the treasury. Each bore the signatures of Princess Phoria and the late Skalan Vicegerent, Lord Barien. One of these also carried the Queen's Seal.
Ulan read them all carefully, then again. When he'd finished he set them down with a sigh, wishing not for the first time that it was Skala or Mycena lying so close across the Strait of Bal, rather than Plenimar.
That night Ulan sat again on the balcony, this time entertaining three other members of the Iia'sidra. The meal had been cleared away and the wine poured. As was the custom, they sat in silence for a while, watching the waning moon climb the canopy of stars. Two of Ulan's guests were there at his invitation. The third had surprised them all with her unexpected arrival.
A fragrant breeze fluttered the ends of their sen'gai against their faces and lifted Lhaar a Iriel's thin silver hair, revealing the tracery of Khatme clan marks on her wizened neck behind her heavy jeweled earrings.
Her arrival that afternoon was a mixed blessing. Because of her, Raghar Ashnazai's scrolls remained tucked away out of sight in Ulan's study. The fact that the Khatme khirnari would travel so far to meet with him might be interpreted by some as a sign of support, yet who could guess what any of that strange clan was thinking behind their painted eyes and elaborate tattoos?
The others were a different matter. Elos i Orian, khirnari of nearby Golinil, was husband to Ulan's daughter. Malleable, and transparent as water, Elos understood how intertwined the interests of the Golinil were with those of Viresse.
Old Galmyn i Nemius, who'd come east from Lhapnos bearing messages of support from his own clan and the Haman, was another matter. The interests of those two clans were more complex, and more obscure, yet they had both voted against the impending delegation from Skala. What would have happened, Ulan wondered, if the Skalans had not insisted on bringing the Bokthersan exile, Seregil i Korit, with them? No matter, really. It would work to his favor at Sarikali.
"We meet under a propitious moon," Elos i Orian observed cheerfully.
Lhaar a Iriel spared him a cold glance. "The same moon shines on all. As I recall, it was under Aura's Bow that the vote went against you at the Iia'sidra."
"Only that the delegation could come, nothing more," Galmyn i Nemius reminded her tersely. No doubt his thoughts echoed Ulan's: "Went against you," she'd said, not "us." What is the woman doing here?
"Just fifty years ago the Skalans would have been given a flat refusal," Elos observed. "Now we agree to parley with them—and at Sarikali! That most certainly means something."
"Perhaps that the western clans are gaining influence," Ulan said. "Their interests are not necessarily compatible with our own."
"One might say the same of Lhapnos and Viresse," Galmyn i Nemius put in dryly. "Yet here I am."
"Lhapnos stands with the Haman, and the Haman stand against Bokthersa and the other border clans. There's no mystery there," Lhaar a Iriel stated bluntly.
Ulan smiled. "I enjoy plain speech among friends. Perhaps you would explain where Khatme stands?"
"In the mind of Aura, as always. The Khatme have no love for Tirfaie of any sort, but the Skalans honor Aura, under the name of Illior. Although they blaspheme by placing the Lightbearer with other gods, their wizards are descendants of our own Oreska and continue to thrive. It presents us with a great quandary, one which neither the Lightbearer nor the dragons have yet clarified to our priests."
Galmyn i Nemius arched one greying brow. "In other words, you still have a leg on either side of the stile."
The clan marks on Lhaar a Iriel's face seemed to subtly rearrange themselves as she turned to him. "That is not at all what I said, Khirnari."
The Lhapnosan's self-important smile died on his lips. For a long moment the others found it more comfortable to return their attention to the moon.
"Who can we be sure of, then?" asked Elos.
"Besides ourselves and Haman, with due respect to you, Lhaar, I think we may also depend on the Ra'basi," replied Ulan. "The Akhendi remain uncertain, but have more to gain from supporting open borders. A few others must be swayed."
"Indeed," the Lhapnosan murmured. "And who better than you to sway them?"
6
Leaving Home, Going Home
The following day was filled with final preparations for Klia's voyage. A steady stream of baggage carts and dispatch riders raised clouds of dust along the vineyard road all morning.
Alec went with Seregil and Klia down to the shipyard to inspect the three vessels anchored there. Dressed in plain riding clothes and mounted on scrub horses, they passed unnoticed through the waterfront crowds and onto a long quay where a high-prowed carrack was moored. Sailors swarmed over her like ants on a sweetmeat, wielding ropes and tools.
"This is the Zyria. She's a beauty, isn't she?" Klia said, leading them aboard. "And those two out there are our escorts, the Wolf and the Courser?'
"They're huge!" Alec exclaimed.
Over a hundred feet long, each ship was easily twice as large as any he'd been on. Their aft castles rose like houses in the stern. The rudders behind were as high as an inn. Square-rigged with two masts and a bowsprit to carry the red sails, their bulwarks were lined with shields bearing the flame and crescent moon crest of Skala. These shields were bright with new paint and gilt work that did not quite hide the scars of recent battles.
The captain, a tall, white-haired man
named Farren, met them on deck wearing a naval tunic stained with pitch and salt.
"How goes the loading?" Klia asked, looking around with approval.
"Right on schedule, Commander," he replied, consulting a tally board at his belt. "The hold ramp for the horses needs a bit of work, but we'll have her ready for you by midnight."
"Each ship will carry a decuria of cavalry and their horses," Klia explained to Alec. "The soldiers will double as ship's archers if the need arises."
"Looks like you're prepared for the worst," Seregil remarked, peering into a large crate.
"What are those?" asked Alec. Inside were what looked like large pickle crocks sealed with wax.
"Benshal Fire," the captain told him. "As the name implies, it was the Plenimarans who discovered how to make it years ago. It's a nasty mix: black oil, pitch, sulfur, nitre, and the like. Launched from a ballista, it ignites on impact and sticks to whatever it hits. It burns even in water."
"I've seen it," Seregil said. "You have to use sand or vinegar to douse it."
"Or piss," added Farren. "Which is what those barrels under the aft platform are for. Nothing goes to waste in the Skalan navy. But we won't be looking for battle this time out, will we, Commander?"
Klia grinned. "We won't, but I can't vouch for the Plenimarans."
Excitement left a hollow void in Alec's belly as he and Seregil joined the others for a final supper in Skala that night. They were dressed once more as Skalan nobility and Kli
a arched an appreciative eyebrow. "You two look better than I do."
Seregil made her a courtly bow and sat down beside Thero. "Runcer's shown his usual foresight."
Opening their trunks the night before, they'd found the best of the garments they'd worn in Rhiminee: fine wool and velvet coats, soft linen, gleaming boots, doeskin breeches smooth as a maid's throat. Alec's coats were a bit tight through the shoulders now, but there was no time for tailoring.
"Will you be meeting the 'faie as Princess Klia or Commander Klia when we arrive in Gedre?" asked Alec, seeing that Klia was still in uniform.
"It's gowns and gloves for me once we get there, I'm afraid."
"Any news from Lord Torsin?" asked Beka, noting a stack of dispatches at Klia's elbow.
"Nothing new. Khatme and Lhapnos are as insular as ever, although he thinks he senses a hint of interest among the Haman. Silmai support is still strong. Datsia seems to be turning in our favor."
"What about the Viresse?" asked Thero.
Klia spread her hands. "Ulan i Sathil continues to hint that they and their allies in the east would just as soon trade with Plenimar as Skala."
"With the Plenimaran Overlord openly supporting the resurgence of necromancy?" Seregil shook his head. "They suffered more at the hands of the Plenimarans during the Great War than any other clan."
"The Viresse are pragmatists at heart, I fear." Klia turned to Alec. "How does it feel, knowing we set sail at dawn for the land of your ancestors?"
Alec toyed with a bit of bread. "It's hard to describe, my lady. Growing up, I didn't know I had any 'faie in me at all. It's still hard to comprehend. Besides, my mother was Hazadrielfaie. Any Aurenfaie I meet in the south will be distant relatives at best. I don't even know what clans my people came from."
"Perhaps the rhui'auros could divine something of your lineage," suggested Thero. "Couldn't they, Seregil?"
"It's worth looking into," Seregil replied with no great enthusiasm.
"Who are they?" asked Alec.
Thero shot Seregil a look of pure disbelief. "You never told him of, the rhui'auros?"
"Apparently not. I was only a child when I left, so I hadn't had much to do with them."