The tables were cleared, and warm tarts and cheese were set before them, with a sweet wine.
“Ralinus said you came to meet me,” Tamír said to Sylmai, who appeared to be the highest in rank among them. “Was it only curiosity that brought you all this way?”
The woman smiled knowingly, nibbling a bit of cheese, but it was Khair who answered. “It was foretold that you would set right what the usurper wrought against the faithful. This gives us hope that Skala might yet give up the blasphemies—”
“Our clan and Bôkthersa have some of the closest ties to Skala, so the khimaris decided to send representatives to meet with you and learn the whole truth,” Sylmai said, cutting him off rather abruptly.
“I took no offense,” Tamír assured them. “My uncle’s actions against followers of Illior were unforgivable. Do you wish to reestablish ties with my country?”
“Perhaps,” the Khatme replied. “Our first task was to ascertain the validity of your claim and discover whether you mean to properly honor the Lightbearer, as your ancestors always have.”
“I witnessed the acts of my uncle firsthand. I would never continue such policies. All the Four are honored in Skala, and Illior is our special patron.”
“Please forgive Khair’s bluntness,” Solun said, narrowing his eyes at the man. It seemed the others found their companion as abrasive as Tamír did.
To her surprise, the Khatme touched his brow. “I meant no disrespect. Your presence here speaks well of your intentions.”
“My clan would welcome reestablishing ties with Skala,” Solun said. “There are still those living among us who remember your Great War, the children of the wizards who joined the great queen Ghërilain against the necromancers of Plenimar. We have paintings of her at Bôkthersa. Arengil is right. You have her eyes, Tamír ä Ariani.”
“Thank you for saying so.” She felt herself blush again, mortified at the effect the man had on her. “Are you offering to ally with me against my cousin, Prince Korin?”
“Yours is the true claim to the throne,” said Khair.
“Will it really come to fighting?” asked Arengil. “Korin was not his father. We were good friends.”
“He’s changed since you left, and not for the better,” Ki told him. “He’s taken up with Lord Niryn. You remember Old Fox Beard, don’t you?”
“This Niryn is the wizard who gathered the Harriers, is he not?” asked Khair.
“Yes,” Tamír told him. “By all reports, he’s attached himself to Korin. I’ve tried to contact my cousin, but he refuses to parley. He claims I’m either mad or a liar.”
“Clearly you are neither,” said Solun. “We will tell the Iia’sidra so.”
Just then something flittered from the shadows overhead, just beyond the glow of the broad stone hearth.
“Master, look!” Wythnir exclaimed.
Una flinched back. “Bats?”
“I think not.” Ralinus held up his hand, as if calling a falcon. A tiny winged creature fluttered down and settled on his outstretched finger, clinging with delicate clawed feet and a long slender tail. “Look, Majesty. One of the Lightbearer’s dragons comes to greet you, after all.”
Tamír leaned closer, remembering the warning not to touch. The dragon was beautiful, a perfect miniature of the huge beasts she’d seen in manuscripts and pictured on tapestries and temple walls around Ero. Its wings were similar in form to a bat’s, but nearly translucent and faintly iridescent, like the inside of a mussel shell.
“I didn’t think there were any dragons left in Skala,” said Arengil.
“They are rare, but these little ones have been more common around Afra in recent years. The Lightbearer must have sent them to greet their new queen.” Ralinus held the little creature out to Tamír. “Would you like to hold it? I’m sure it will come to you if you’re very calm.”
Tamír held up a finger. The dragon crouched lower on the priest’s finger for a moment, baring tiny fangs and drawing its snaky neck back as if to strike. Its eyes were tiny golden beads, and spiky whiskers bristled out from its muzzle and head, fine as jeweler’s work. She noted every detail, already thinking how she could re-create it with wax and silver.
She’d worked with hawks enough to know that she must make no sudden moves and show no fear. Instead, she slowly brought her finger against the priest’s. The dragon flicked its wings nervously, then slowly climbed across to perch there, wrapping its tail around her fingertip. Its claws were sharp as thistle spikes. She’d expected its body to be smooth and cold, like a lizard’s, but instead felt an astonishing heat where its belly rested against her skin.
She slowly moved her hand so that Wythnir could get a better look. She’d never seen him look so happy.
“Can it breathe fire?” he asked.
“No, not until it’s much larger, assuming it survives. Most of the little ones don’t, even in Aurënen,” said Solun.
“These little fingerlings are hardly more than lizards,” Corruth added. “They change as they grow, and get quite dangerous in the process. One of our cousins was killed by an efir last year.”
“What’s an effer?” asked Ki, equally entranced by the little creature.
“A young dragon about the size of a pony. Their minds are still unformed, but they’re very fierce.”
“This one doesn’t look all that dangerous,” Ki chuckled, leaning in for a closer look. Perhaps he moved too quickly, for the fingerling suddenly lashed out and nipped him on the cheek just under his left eye.
Ki jerked back with a yelp, clapping a hand to his cheek. “Damnation, that stings like snakebite!”
Tamír sat very still but the dragon tensed, bit her, too, and fluttered away into the shadows where it had come from. “Ow!” she cried, shaking her finger. “You’re right, it does hurt.”
“Hold still, both of you,” laughed Corruth. The young Bôkthersan took a clay vial from his purse and quickly dabbed a bit of dark liquid on both bites.
The pain lessened at once, but when he wiped away the excess, Tamír saw that it had stained the tiny imprints left by the teeth. She had four dark blue spots on the side of her finger, just below the first knuckle. Ki had a matching mark on his cheek, and it was swelling.
“We match,” she noted wryly.
Arengil chided Corruth in their language and the other boy blushed. “Forgive me, I didn’t think,” he said, abashed. “It’s what we always do.”
“Corruth meant well, but I’m afraid the marks are permanent now,” Solun explained. “Lissik is meant to stain the bites and make them permanent.” He showed her a much larger mark between his thumb and forefinger. “They’re considered very lucky, signs of the Lightbearer’s favor. But perhaps you’d rather not have had them?”
“No, I don’t mind,” Tamír assured him.
“That’s quite the beauty mark for you, Ki.” Nikides laughed.
Ki polished the blade of his knife on his leg and held it up as a mirror to see the mark. “It’s not so bad. Makes for a good story if anyone asks about it.”
“Dragons are rare here, and so are the bites,” said Ralinus, inspecting the mark on Ki’s cheek more closely. “Would you teach me the recipe for that unguent, Solun í Meringil?”
“The plants we use don’t grow here, but perhaps I could send you some of our mixtures.”
Khair took Tamír’s hand gently between his own and looked closely at the mark. “It is the belief of our people that after it is grown to the size of intelligence, a dragon remembers the names of anyone it bites and has a bond with them.”
“How long does that take?” asked Ki.
“Several centuries.”
“Doesn’t do us much good, then.”
“Perhaps not, but you both will have a place in the dragon’s legends.”
“Should you ever come to Aurënen, a mark like that will gain you respect. There aren’t many Tírfaie who have them,” offered Corruth, still regretting his hasty act.
“Then it’s wort
h the bite. Your medicine’s already taken the worst of the sting out of it. Thanks.” Ki grinned and shook hands with him. “So the little ones can’t talk, either?”
“No, that comes only with great age.”
“Only the Aurënfaie have dragons that large living in their land,” said the priest. “No one knows why. They were in Skala long ago.”
“Perhaps because we are the most faithful,” Khair replied, reverting to his earlier bluntness. “You worship the Four, while we acknowledge only Aura, whom you call Illior.”
Ralinus said nothing, but Tamír caught a flash of dislike in his eyes.
“That’s an old argument, and one better left for another time,” Iya interjected quickly. “But surely even the Khatme cannot question the Lightbearer’s love for Skala now, as evidenced by Tamír herself.”
“She’s already been granted a true vision, a warning before the second Plenimaran assault,” Saruel told him. “With respect, Khair í Malin, you’ve not lived among the Tír as I have. They are devout and Aura has blessed them.”
“Forgive me, Tamír ä Ariani,” Khair said. “Once again I gave offense without meaning to.”
“I grew up among soldiers. They’re a plainspoken lot, too. I’d much rather you speak your mind openly to me than worry about etiquette and court manners. And you can expect the same from me.”
Solun chuckled—a warm, friendly sound—and Tamír found herself blushing again for no good reason.
Solun exchanged an amused look with his Gedre companions, then took a heavy golden bracelet set with a polished red stone from his wrist and rose to present it to her. “Bôkthersa would be the friend of Skala, Tamír ä Ariani.”
Tamír accepted the bracelet, and saw from the corner of her eye that Iya was motioning for her to put it on. She slipped it on her left wrist, trying to recall all his different names and failing. The gold was warm from his skin, a fact that did not help her composure. Still she managed not to stammer as she thanked him. “I am honored to accept, and hope you will always consider me to be your good friend.”
Sylmai presented her with a golden neck chain of tiny leaves set with some sparkling white stone. “May the ships of Gedre and Skala share ports once again.”
The Khatme was the last to come forward and his offering was different. He gave her a small leather pouch, and inside she found a pendant made of some dark, waxy green stone and set in a frame of plain silver. The stone was covered with tiny symbols or letters, surrounding the cloud eye of Illior.
“A talisman of Sarikali stone,” he explained. “That is our most sacred place, and these talismans bring true dreams and visions to those who honor Aura. May it serve you well, Tamír ä Ariani.”
Tamír guessed from the surprised expressions among the others that this was an uncommon gift for an outsider. “Thank you, Khair í Marnil. I will treasure it and the memory of your honesty. May all my allies be so forthright.”
“A noble hope, if a slim one,” he said with a smile. With that he rose and bade her good night. The others lingered behind.
Solun took her hand in his and examined the blue dragon bite mark again. His touch sent a pleasant tingle up her arm. “By this mark we will know you from now on, Aura’s Chosen One. I believe my father will be well disposed to your support. Send word to us if you are in need.”
“Gedre, as well,” said Sylmai. “We’ve missed trading with your land.” She turned to Iya and Arkoniel, who’d stayed close by, and spoke quietly with them.
“I’ll come and fight for you, too,” said Arengil, looking hopeful.
“And me!” Corruth said.
“You’ll always be welcome, war or not. If your khirnaris are willing, you’ll both have an honored place among my Companions,” Tamír replied.
A young acolyte came in from outside and whispered something in the head priest’s ear.
Ralinus nodded and turned to Tamír. “The moon is well up over the peaks now. This would be the best time for you to go to the Oracle, Majesty.”
Tamír fought down the nervous flutter his words sent through her chest and slipped the Khatme talisman into her purse. “All right, then. I’m ready.”
Chapter 32
The sky was a thin strip of brilliant stars between the towering cliffs, and the white-sliver moon hung overhead. Gazing up at it, Tamír felt a thrill of anticipation.
“Isn’t there some sort of ceremony?” Nikides asked as the other Companions and wizards gathered by the spring. Wythnir was clinging to Arkoniel’s hand again, as if he feared he’d be left behind.
Ralinus smiled. “No, my lord. There is no need, as you will see if you choose to descend.”
A linkboy hoisted his lantern pole and led the way from the square up to a well-worn path that continued into the deeper darkness of the narrow cleft beyond.
The way grew steeper almost at once, and the path soon dwindled to a faint track winding up between boulders. Ahead of them, the lantern bobbed and swayed, making shadows dance in crazy patterns.
The way was surprisingly even underfoot, and slick in places, worn by the feet of thousands of pilgrims over the centuries.
The cliffs closed in around them, and the way ended in a small cul-de-sac where the shrine lay. A low stone well stood beside a small open-fronted shack, just as Arkoniel had described.
“Come, Majesty, and I will guide you,” Ralinus said softly. “You have nothing to fear.”
“I’m not afraid.” Going to the well, she peered into the black depths below, then nodded to the rope bearers. “I’m ready.”
The men passed the looped end of the rope over her head and down to settle behind her knees. It was a bit awkward in a skirt. She wished she’d kept to trousers. The priests secured the rope behind her thighs and showed her how to sit on the edge of the hole, gripping the slack against her chest.
Ki watched with poorly concealed alarm as she dangled her legs into the hole. “Hang on tight!”
She gave him a wink, gripped the rope with both hands, and pushed off into the darkness. The last thing she saw was Wythnir’s solemn little face.
She couldn’t help a gasp as the rope took her weight. She grasped it tightly, twirling slowly as the priests lowered her.
Utter darkness closed over her like water. She could see nothing at all, now, except a dwindling circle of stars overhead. Iya had said the cavern was very large, and Tamír began to understand what she’d meant.
It was uncommonly silent; no sounds of a breeze or water moving, not even the twitter of bats—or dragons, for that matter. There was no sign of walls or floor, just the dizzying sensation of an endless void. It was like being suspended in the night sky.
The air grew colder the lower she went. She stole another glance upward, using the shrinking circle of stars above the wellhead as a visual anchor. After what felt like quite a long time, her feet touched solid ground. She got her balance with some difficulty and stepped free of the rope. Looking up, she couldn’t find the wellhead anymore. She was in complete darkness.
She turned slowly, still unsure of her balance, and was glad to see a faint glimmer of light off to her left. The longer she looked at it, the brighter it became, until she could see just enough of the cavern floor to be certain of her way. Gathering her courage, she made her way toward it.
The light was coming from a crystal orb set on a tripod. At first that was all Tamír could see, but when she drew nearer she saw a dark-haired young woman sitting beside it on a low stool. Her skin was deathly pale in the cold light, and her hair fell over her shoulders and pooled on the floor on either side of her. Despite the chill, she wore nothing but a plain linen shift that left her arms and feet bare. She sat with her palms on her knees, her gaze fixed on the ground before her. All the oracles were mad, or so Tamír had been taught, but the woman only seemed pensive—at least until she slowly raised her eyes.
Tamír froze where she was. She’d never seen eyes so empty. It was like looking at a living corpse. The shadows closed in c
loser, even though the glow of the orb remained steady.
Her voice was equally devoid of emotion as she whispered, “Welcome, second Tamír. Your ancestors told me of your coming.”
A silvery nimbus brightened around the woman’s head and shoulders and her eyes found Tamír’s again. They were no longer empty, but filled with light and a frightening intensity.
“Hail, Queen Tamír!” Her voice was deep and resonant now. It filled the darkness. “Black makes white. Foul makes pure. Evil creates greatness. You are a seed watered with blood, Tamír of Skala. Remember your promise to my chosen ones. Have you cared for the spirit of your brother?”
It was too much to take in at once. Tamír’s legs felt like they’d turned to water. She sank to her knees before the fearful presence of the Lightbearer. “I—I have tried.”
“He stands behind you now, weeping tears of blood. Blood surrounds you. Blood and death. Where is your mother, Tamír, Queen of Ghosts and Shades?”
“In the tower where she died,” she whispered. “I want to help her, and my brother. In a vision, he told me to come here. Please, tell me what to do!”
Silence fell around them, so complete it made her ears ring. She couldn’t be certain if the Oracle was breathing or not. She waited, knees aching on the cold stone. Surely she hadn’t come all this way just for this?
“Blood,” the Oracle whispered again, sounding sad. “Before you and behind you, a river of blood bears you to the west.”
Tamír suddenly felt a tickling sensation on her chest, where the old scar lay hidden. Pulling open the neck of her gown, she gasped at the sight that greeted her there.
The wound she’d inflicted on herself that day in Atyion, cutting out the shard of bone and Lhel’s careful stitching, had healed itself during the transformation, leaving only a thin pale line where it had been. But it had come open again now, so deep she could see bone, and blood was flowing down between her breasts. It welled over her hands and ran down the front of her gown, spattering on the floor at her knees. Oddly enough, there was no pain, and she felt strangely detached as the blood spread into a round pool before her.