Heirs of the Blade Part 21

'The girl has changed since she was last here,' Isendter observed, as the echoes of Lisan's footsteps faded.

'In what way?'

The Mantis was silent for a long moment before he spoke. 'It is hard to tell. She may seem a Spider, but there was always something of my people about her, perhaps granted to her by the badge she bears. Now that part has become greater. I look on her now and my mind says Mantis, whatever my eyes tell me.'

'She has thoughts still for Alain, however she's changed, I am sure,' Ela.s.s decided. 'Will she join the fight?'

'Yes,' came the immediate and firm response. 'You may have no fear of that.'

Tynisa had expected a change of weather heralding the spring, but instead the skies had opened up with fresh snow, which lay in foot-thick drifts as far as the horizon. Lowre Cean had told her this was perfectly normal.

'I understand it is different in your Lowlands,' he had mused, 'but here the winter does not let go without a fight.'

And something had twitched with approval inside of her, and she had smiled without meaning to.

'I must practise now,' she had told him, and departed for the courtyard where, before an audience of Roach-kinden travellers and a gang of Bee-kinden Auxillian deserters, she had thrown herself through all the paces that her father had ever taught her, every trick of footwork and bladework, as the snow filtered down around her.

She did not recall coming back here after the hunt. Her mind had been so seared by that impossible image of her father standing there before the Mantis icon, gleaming and translucent, holding one spined hand out to her. She remembered nothing else. They told her that she had collapsed.

When she had awoken, the n.o.bles were long gone, but one of their party had remained by her bedside. She had opened her eyes to see the severe features of Isendter Whitehand.

'It has been two days, almost,' he had informed her, before she could ask him.

She had stared into his face. I saw . . . but what would it mean to him? Instead, what had emerged from her lips was, 'Alain . . .'

'Is in Leose by now.'

'But he asked you to stay with me,' she had pressed, hoping.

'I would have stayed of my own will, unless ordered away,' he had told her but, after a pause in which she felt sour disappointment creeping in, added, 'You are correct though. Prince Alain wishes to know when you are well again.'

She had swung her legs out of bed, staring at the floor just to hide her smile from him. 'And now?'

'I shall return to his side and report.' Yet he had made no move, and she glanced up at him. His expression had been measuring, almost wary. 'You have been . . . touched by something. I am no magician, but I sensed it there, at the shrine.'

'Yes,' she had confirmed, giving him no other details.

'Be wary of such contact, Maker Tynise. The world of the living does not easily walk hand in hand with the world of either spirits or the dead.'

'I have no fear of it. What else can I trust, if not this?' she had replied blithely. His troubled expression had remained as he bowed and left her.

While dressing, she had looked about for some sign of her father, but he was not to be seen. Instead she heard an echo within her head, words remembered from long ago. You must practise. How else will you honour your gifts?

It was true that, since Tisamon's death, she had not kept to the rigorous training he had prescribed for her. In the depth of her loss that had not seemed important, but now she suddenly felt that she had betrayed his memory by her laxness. She had a duty to the badge she wore, to a thousand years of heritage.

With the thought, she felt a distant surge of approval.

She did not believe in ghosts, but suddenly there was something new for her, a hand on her tiller to steer her course true. She could not have seen her father, of course, but even so, she felt him near her.

You must face the world without fear. Life is struggle.

Of course it is, she told herself. That was the Mantis way, after all: meet the world with a drawn blade, to either conquer or die.

What do you want? had come the question, the one she asked inside her own head, couched in that cold, far-off voice.

'Salme Alain,' she murmured in response, savouring his name.

Then you must stalk him and win him, she told herself, in that same voice. And I shall show you how.

Some days later she had left Lowre's compound, in thick snow, and headed for Leose. The Commonweal weather, which had previously seemed something almost supernatural, was put in its place as just one more way for a Weaponsmaster to test herself.

She did not stop at Gaved and Sef's hut. A Wasp and a Spider, what were they to her?

On waking up after the hunt, the world had seemed more simple, its colours brighter, the divisions between light and dark that much more clear. The endless round that her mind had kept treading all those paths of guilt and worry had fallen away from her. That her father and Salma were dead did not sting: they had died as warriors after all. That Achaeos was dead . . . She explored the thought like touching a rotten tooth. Regret is for the weak, came her inner voice. Do not hide from what your blade has done. If you slew him, then surely he was your enemy.

She had not yet let go of regret, but her grip was loosening. How attractive it would be to rewrite her personal history so that her stabbing of Achaeos became not a crime but a justified exercise of her superiority.

Her trek to Leose was almost completely solitary, with the vast expanse of the frozen Commonweal like a canvas about her: a world picked out in white and grey and dark shadow. She might have been the last living thing in the world.

Each day she would travel until noon, then pause to eat and to train, finding once again her perfect balance with the blade, all the old moves and pa.s.ses that she had allowed to rust while she indulged her sense of guilt. Each session of bladework cleansed her of another layer of useless distractions, honing her to a point.

She had a purpose now, or rather, the purpose that she had been standing on the brink of for some time had now coalesced.

I want Salme Alain. And the answer came, And you shall have him, but you must perfect yourself until he cannot deny you.

So it was that she found herself at the gates of Castle Leose, under the wary eyes of the guards in s.h.i.+mmering armour.

They sent for Lisan Dea, of course, and the Gra.s.shopper seneschal came out, eventually, to regard Tynisa wearily.

'You have some message from Lowre Cean?' she asked grimly.

'You know why I am here,' Tynisa told her evenly. Do not make me prove myself to you. A part of her weighed up the woman and found her wanting. She was nothing but a grand clerk, after all.

The Gra.s.shopper stared at her, stepping close enough for Tynisa to impale her just by drawing her rapier from its scabbard, one fluid motion so swift that the guards would barely see it before it was done. The thought played itself out in her mind, and she had to fight against simply letting her body follow suit.

'Go home,' said Lisan Dea softly, giving her another of those hidden looks. 'Lowlander, go home.'

Tynisa smiled keenly. 'I have no home in the Lowlands. That is why I've come here.'

The seneschal opened her mouth to utter some further dismissal, but then a s.h.i.+fting amongst the guards heralded a new arrival. Without fanfare, the princess herself was with them.

'I thought I recognized the Lowlander girl from my window,' she remarked. 'Tell me, why have you taken it upon yourself to turn away our guests?'

Lisan Dea stood very straight, looking ahead and not daring to glance at her mistress. She made no reply.

'You are a capable enough servant for peacetime, Lisan, but perhaps not fit to act as my seneschal in war. Return inside and contemplate that,' the princess ordered. Tynisa expected a glare from the Gra.s.shopper as she obeyed, but instead caught an unguarded expression: she read sadness on the face of Lisan Dea, and not as a response to her mistress's anger.

'You seek my son, no doubt,' the lady of the Salmae observed. 'I have heard about your actions during the hunt, and the Salmae recognize our debts. Come with me.' She turned and strode inside.

Ela.s.s led the girl to her throne room, never once glancing back but confident that mere curiosity would draw the Lowlander after her. She should appreciate that I am doing her a great honour. But these foreigners seemed to have little grasp of propriety, and who could blame them, being bereft of proper rulers, no great familes, no royal blood. They should be congratulated for not declining into utter savagery.

Taking her accustomed seat between the two statues, she saw Tynisa hovering uncertainly in the doorway.

'Sit,' she said, the word sounding somewhere between an invitation and an order. Tynisa entered cautiously and Ela.s.s saw her eyes flick towards the friezes adorning the walls, all the life-size figures carved in high relief. n.o.blemen and women of the Commonweal led horses or drew back bowstrings, waged war in elegant mail or played musical instruments. The girl obviously possessed some latent courtesy, Ela.s.s decided, for although distracted, she proceeded to the correct position where a pet.i.tioner should kneel, and sank to the floor.

For a moment, Ela.s.s adopted a stern face, studying this Spider-kinden waif before her. Whitehand is right: something has changed within her. There was now an edge to her that had not been evident before, a purpose. Even sitting, the girl exuded a sense of being kept still only under restraint, and that if her leash were slipped she would explode into violence. And how may I channel that? Ela.s.s let her expression lighten, like storm-clouds dissipating from the sky.

'I learn that you performed admirably on the hunt,' she stated. 'Most importantly, my champion speaks well of you, and his faintest praise is worth the applause of many.'

She saw no flush of pleasure at the words. The girl accepted the praise as Isendter himself would have, impa.s.sively.

'Alain is not here, or doubtless he would have met you at our gates himself,' Ela.s.s began. Just then, and as she saw Alain's name spark life from the girl's expression, a servant entered with a pair of scrolls for his mistress. She laid one down and scanned the contents of the other, apparently forgetting Tynisa's presence. Another servant was suddenly at her elbow, placing bowls for kadith.

'I understand that you are Maker Tynise of Collegium,' the princess continued absently.

Tynisa merely nodded.

'Alain will not have given you my personal name. The boy never was one for proper introductions. I am Salme Ela.s.s although, of course, you should address me as "my Princess" or "my lady."' As she mummed reading the scroll she was watching the girl obliquely.

Of course, revealing one's name was a privileged concession, but Ela.s.s was not sure whether the Lowlander knew that. She saw an understanding somewhere in Tynisa's eyes, though, that names represented power to the Inapt, and so she would think she was being given some great gift.

Ela.s.s followed this indulgence with a smile, transforming her face from stone to flesh. 'My son will need you, in the near future,' she said.

Again Ela.s.s read that curious reaction: the eagerness of the young woman that became the eagerness of the Weaponsmaster to prove her skill. For a moment, Ela.s.s found herself disconcerted by the latter, sensing almost a personal danger here. She is so young, and of such an unusual kinden, that I had forgotten that she must have earned that badge. For a moment she wondered whether using this tool would be wise, but then she dismissed the doubts. So, she is a sharper blade than I had thought. No matter, though, as long as I hold the hilt.

'We are at war,' Salme Ela.s.s declared flatly.

'War?' Tynisa was startled into speech, and that same eagerness for combat waxed like a flame behind her eyes.

'Ah, you have a tongue, then?' Salme Ela.s.s permitted herself another smile. 'You will not have heard of this, while in Prince Lowre's care, for he always seeks to isolate himself, but this province is under attack, and even now Alain has flown off to scout the enemy. This coming spring we will be obliged to fight.'

'Is it the Empire?' Tynisa enquired, even though she must surely know how far they were from the Wasps. Unconsciously, her hand curled towards her rapier hilt, and Ela.s.s found herself delighted. How I shall use her against Lowre Cean!

'Not the Wasps, but a considerable danger nonetheless. There is a brigand army a.s.sembling at our southern border, challenging our rightful authority. The winter has seen them coming to seek easy prey amongst my people, and for that they must be destroyed. Alain shall be in the vanguard of the a.s.sault, and I hope, Tynise, that you shall be alongside him.'

'Of course.' The words came without the need for further thought.

Salme Ela.s.s nodded, looking down at the scroll again. 'There is one matter in particular that you can aid us with.' She paused to ensure Tynisa was listening. 'I have few swords that I can call upon here at Leose. My people are diminished since the war, and these brigands are many. Therefore I need to call upon my allies, but I fear they may not answer me. There is one, in particular, whose skills would hasten our victory and so save many lives. His mere presence would hearten those loyal to the Monarch, and strike fear into our enemies. He is old, however, and he suffers from a curious condition whereby he seeks to hide from what he was, by losing himself in mundane pursuits unworthy of him.' She looked up again, and saw that the girl understood.

'Lowre Cean,' Tynisa offered, thoughtfully.

'I will ride to visit him shortly,' Ela.s.s explained, 'but I am unsure of the welcome I will receive there. However, if there was one of his own household who spoke on my behalf, and had already softened his resolve, then my task would be that much the easier. We need him.'

There was a brief moment's pause in which Tynisa surely weighed up all that she had experienced of Lowre Cean: an old man b.u.mbling aimlessly from one pointless pastime to the next. But Ela.s.s knew that Lowre had acquitted himself admirably on the hunt, at the last moment, when no other would step in, and Tynisa had surely seen that, too.

'I shall do it,' the girl confirmed, and Ela.s.s carefully restrained her smile from growing any wider.

A tenday later, Salme Ela.s.s herself arrived at Lowre's enclave, a nearly unprecedented occurrence. The old man met her in his main hall that was, for once, cleared of most of his other transient guests. He sat at one end of it and, though wearing only a darned robe, his posture and bearing had transformed him again into Prince-Major Lowre Cean rather than the semi-recluse normally to be seen pottering about the compound.

A little late to try and recapture all that authority, she reflected. Ela.s.s sat across the room from him arrayed in her full and formal robes of silk ornamented with gold trim and silver threads. Isendter knelt at her right hand, his head bowed in deference.

'My lord,' she said, instilling available humility into her tone, for all that this whole enclave of his was but guesting on her land, 'you have heard now how the people of Elas Mar are oppressed, how villains are come north from the unclaimed provinces to burn and rob, and prey on the honest folk who live under my protection. I cannot stand idly by at such a time and, my lord prince, I am sure that you cannot either. You fought with my husband against the Empire, and your victories are famed throughout the Commonweal, so I am sure you will take up arms to defend what was his. Having dwelt here in Elas Mar all the years since your own estates were lost, I am sure that you would defend your newfound home. You have been a Mercer in your time, and surely you cannot stand by and see evil done. Therefore I ask you now to attend my war muster at Leose and give us the benefit of your wise counsel, strengthening my few followers with your own. What do you say, my lord prince?'

Lowre Cean looked away from her and pinched at the bridge of his nose. Ela.s.s let her eyes flick across to Tynisa, sitting on the sidelines, and found the girl's attention was fixed firmly on the old man. She has already done her part, the n.o.blewoman decided. Tynisa had obviously hurried back to Lowre's compound full of righteous purpose, and how could the old man say no to all that? How could he have lessened and lowered himself in the eyes of his new ward, by refusing to go to battle? Ela.s.s particularly enjoyed the slightly baffled expression she saw on the girl's face. There was a war on, and Tynisa plainly could not understand why Lowre Cean would not gladly cast aside the mundane in order to don his armour once again.

The Prince-Major sighed. 'I am an old man and I have long put aside warlike pursuits. Your husband was a comrade to me, before the war took him away. He was a comrade to my son, before the Wasp-kinden killed him also.' He was speaking so softly that Ela.s.s had to lean in to catch the words. 'I am no necromancer to know the wishes of the dead, however.'

He paused then, as one of his servants produced kadith, Isendter pouring for his mistress and Lowre's young messenger performing the same duty for his master.

'Nor can I allow the happenstance of residence to move me, for all I was invited here in your husband's fond memory,' Lowre continued, at last. 'The Commonweal is wide, even that part of it left to us by the Wasps, and there are no longer so many of us to people it as before. There are other places for a man such as me, if need be.'

Another pause, age-old conversational paths meandering between them.

'As for evil, that is a dangerous word that can turn like a centipede and bite its holder. I will make no judgements regarding evil,' Lowre added. 'These arguments cannot move me.'

Ela.s.s nodded, nothing daunted. 'And if I extend the invitation to all your folk here, so that they may join me in this venture, be we however few, be the enemy so many? I am sure that there are some here who will do what must be done, even without your leaders.h.i.+p to guide them. Or perhaps there is some other reason whereby you might agree to lend us your skills.' She pointedly did not look to Tynisa, but Lowre knew exactly what she meant. Join me or not, the girl is mine now. She would stand in a fire if I told her my son would applaud it. So, Cean, what does she mean to you? Is she a mere distraction that you will let go easily? If she does mean something, will you let her go off to war while you remain behind? Another name to add to your list of the fallen, Cean?

The Prince-Major gave a long sigh, looking older than he had ever done before: just a frail old man, now. The messenger beside him put a concerned hand on his arm. 'Oh, I'll come,' the old man agreed at last. 'My counsel you shall have, even though you may not like it. I shall bring my few followers to join your new grand army. I shall not plan your battles for you, though, Princess Salme Ela.s.s. I have enough blood on my account already.'

It was the smallest of defeats, now that he had agreed to lend his name to her offensive, but for a moment Ela.s.s found even this thwarting response hard to bear. So the great tactician, the hero of Masaka, would just watch idly, would he? Did he fear that his skills might have rusted from disuse? Or was he looking forward to laughing at the mistakes of others? Anger rose inside her, but she fought it down and was all calm once more. 'We will be honoured by your presence, my Prince,' she told him. 'I shall hold a muster of all those who will lend their strength to mine within a tenday I shall hold it. I shall look out for you there.'

Twenty-Five.

The barge brought them to within sight of Suon Ren and offloaded them two Wasps and an unconscious Beetle girl without comment. The vessel's crew had spoken barely a word to them throughout the long journey, but had just as obviously been glad to have them aboard. They had treated the two renegade Imperials as though they were guard animals of proven ferocity. The horror of the Twelve-year War would resound in Commonweal minds for decades yet to come.

Che had not been comatose the whole way. She woke sporadically, clawing at the air, talking feverishly, staring about her. Thalric then made it his business to get some water into her, and sometimes even food. She would wander about the barge, b.u.mping into things, flinching from objects invisible. She spoke to him, too, but it was seldom him she actually saw. Often she would explain something at great speed, something mystical that the two Wasps could not follow. Sometimes she was trying to flee from something, and had to be restrained from simply flying off the barge. Once . . .

Once she was being tortured, or under threat of it, and Thalric knew with a sick feeling that, this time of all of them, she saw him for who he was.

He wondered at what point he had changed, that he no longer considered just abandoning her.

Some nights, as Varmen slept, Thalric would sit and gaze down at her, as she trembled and twitched in the grip of whatever affliction had befallen her. His feelings of despair, during those lonely hours past midnight, were nothing he would ever admit to in the light of day.

The journey from the Commonweal's borders to Suon Ren had proved steady and untroubled, and in Thalric's mind was a simple thought, What now? They had come here at Che's behest, for reasons to do with her foster-sister, yet it seemed unlikely to him that Tynisa was now within a thousand miles of them. Che seemed to have picked Suon Ren randomly from a map of all the places she had ever heard about and, now they were here, she was in no state to capitalize on it. Thalric himself did not know the plan. I don't mind making my own way, I don't mind receiving orders, but this in-between business is no use at all.

'They have a prince at Suon Ren, don't they?' he asked, casting his mind back to the war. Isn't this where Stenwold Maker was heading in search of Commonwealer allies?

'A big one, I think,' Varmen agreed. 'Going to seek an audience, are you?'

'I need help.' Thalric glanced down at Che. 'I need a doctor, or at least what pa.s.ses for one in this place. Problem is, I can't see how two war veterans like us will carry much weight when it comes to exacting favours from princes . . .' A flicker of movement caught his eye, and now he saw a handful of Dragonflies approaching. Two of them were armoured in a way that was depressingly familiar, provoking a momentary recollection of men and women like that seen on the battlefield, glittering and graceful, and doomed.