The Wandering Fire Part 22

"Has your s.h.i.+p a name?" he asked.

Coll flushed suddenly, as if conscious for the first time of where he was. "None that will mean anything," he stammered. "It is a name in no language I know, but my mother's father said it was a s.h.i.+p's name in his family far back. We called it Prydwen, my lord."

Arthur's face went very still. Slowly the Warrior nodded, then he turned from Coll to Aileron. "My lord High King," he said, "I have kept my peace for fear of intruding myself between you and your First Mage. I can tell you, though, that if your concern is only for finding Cader Sedat-we called it Caer Sidi once, and Caer Rigor, but it is the same place-I have been there and know where it is. This may be why I was brought to you."

"What is it, then?" asked Shalha.s.san of Cathal. "What is Cader Sedat?"

"A place of death," said Arthur. "But you knew that much already."

It was very quiet in the room.

"It will be guarded," Aileron said. "There will be death waiting at sea, as well."

Thought, Memory. Paul rose. "There will be," he said as they turned to look at him. "But I think I can deal with that."

It didn't take very long, after that. With a sense of grim purpose, the company followed Aileron and Shalha.s.san from the room when the council ended.

Paul waited by the doorway. Brendel walked past with a worried expression but did not stop. Dave, too, looked at him as he went out with Levon and Tore.

"We'll talk later," Paul said. Dave would be going north to the Dalrei, he knew. If there was war while Prydwen sailed, it would surely begin on the Plain.

Niavin of Seresh and Mabon of Rhoden went by, deep in talk, and then Jaelle walked out, head held very high, and would not meet his glance-all ice again, now that spring had returned. It wasn't for her that he was waiting, though. Eventually the room had emptied, save for one man.

He and Arthur looked at each other. "I have a question," said Paul. The Warrior lifted his head. "When you were there last, how many of you survived?"

"Seven," said Arthur softly. "Only seven."

Paul nodded. It was as if he remembered this. One of the ravens had spoken. Arthur came up to him.

"Between us?" he said, in the deep voice.

"Between us," said Paul. Together they walked from the Council Chamber and down the corridors. There were pages and soldiers running past them in all directions now-the palace was aflame with war fever. They were quiet, though, the two of them, as they walked in stride through the turmoil.

Outside Arthur's room they stopped. Paul said, very low so it would not be overheard, "You said this might be what you were summoned for. A while ago you said you never saw the end of things." He left it at that.

For a long moment Arthur was silent, then he nodded once. "It is a place of death," he said for the second time and, after a hesitation, added, "It would not displease me as events have gone."

Paul opened his mouth to say something, then thought better of it. He turned, instead, and walked down the corridor to where his own room was. His and Kevin's, until two days ago. Behind him, he heard Arthur opening his door.

Jennifer saw the door open, had time to draw a breath, and then he was in the room, bringing with him all the summer stars.

"Oh, my love," she said and her voice broke, after all. "I need you to forgive me for so much. I am afraid-"

She had s.p.a.ce for nothing more. A deep sound came from within his chest, and in three strides Arthur was across the room and on his knees, his head buried in the folds of the dress she wore, and over and over again he was saying her name.

Her hands were cradling him to her, running through his hair, the grey amid the brown. She tried to speak, could not. Could scarcely breathe. She lifted his face that she might look at him and saw the tears of bitter longing pouring down. "Oh, my love," she gasped and, lowering her head, she tried to kiss them all away. She found his mouth with her own, blindly, as if they were both blind and lost without the other. She was trembling as with fever. She could hardly stand. He rose and gathered her to him and, after so long, her head was on his chest again, and she could feel his arms around her and could hear the strong beat of his heart, which had been her home.

"Oh, Guinevere," she heard him say after a s.p.a.ce of time. "My need is great."

"And mine," she replied, feeling the last dark webs of Starkadh tear asunder so that she stood open to desire. "Oh, please," she said. "Oh, please, my love." And he took her to his bed, across which a slant of sunlight fell, and they rose above their doom for part of an afternoon.

After, he told her where it was he had to go and she felt all the griefs of the worlds return to rest in her. She was clear, though; she had spun free from Rakoth, and she was stronger for every single thing she had survived, as Matt had said. She rose up and stood in the sunlight of the room, clad only in her hair, and said, "You must come back to me. What I told you before is true: there is no Lancelot here. It has changed, Arthur. Only the two of us are here now, only us."

In the slant of sun she watched the stars sliding through his eyes. The summer stars, whence he had come. Slowly he shook his head, and she ached for his age and his weariness.

"It cannot be so," he said. "I killed the children, Guinevere."

She could find nothing at all to say. In the silence she could almost hear the patient, inexorable shuttling of the Loom.

Saddest story of all the long tales told.

CHAPTER 14.

In the morning came Arthur and Guinevere together out of Paras Derval to the great square before the palace gates. Two companies were gathered there, one to ride north, the other west to the sea, and there was not a heart among all those a.s.sembled that did not lift to see the two of them together.

Dave Martyniuk, waiting behind Levon for the signal to ride, looked past the five hundred men Aileron had given them to lead to the Plain, and he gazed at Jennifer with a memory flaring in his mind.

The very first evening: when Loren had told the five of them who he really was, and Dave, disbelieving and hostile, had stormed toward the door. To be stopped by Jennifer saying his name. And then, as he had turned, by a majesty he saw in her face. He could not have named it then, nor did he have words for it now, but he saw the same thing in her this morning and it was not transitory or ephemeral.

She left Arthur's side and walked, clad in a gown green as her eyes, green as the gra.s.s, to where he stood. Something of irresolution must have showed in his face, because as she came near he heard her laugh and say, "If you so much as start to bow or anything like that, Dave, I'll beat you up. I swear I will."

It was good to hear her laugh. He checked the bow he had, in fact, been about to offer and, instead, surprised them both by bending to kiss her cheek.

"Thank you," she said and took his hand in hers.

He smiled down on her and, for once, didn't feel awkward or uncouth.

Paul Schafer came up to join them, and with her other hand Jennifer claimed one of his. The three of them stood, linked so, for a moment.

"Well," said Dave.

Paul looked soberly at him. "You're going right into it, you know."

"I know," Dave replied. "But if I have a place in this, I think it's with the Dalrei. It... won't be any easier where you're heading." They were silent amid the bustle and clatter of the square. Then Dave turned to Jennifer. "I've been thinking about something," he said. "Way back, when Kim took you out of... that place, Kevin did something. You won't remember, you were unconscious then, but he swore vengeance for what had been done to you."

"I remember," said Paul.

"Well," Dave went on, "he must have wondered how he would ever do it, but... I'm thinking that he found a way."

There was suns.h.i.+ne pouring down from a sky laced with scattered billows of clouds. Men in s.h.i.+rt sleeves walked all around them.

"He did more," said Jennifer, her eyes bright. "He got me all the way out. He finished what Kim started."

"d.a.m.n," said Paul gently. "I thought it was my charm." Remembered words, not his own.

Tears, laughter, and they parted.

Sharra watched the Aven's handsome son lead five hundred men away to the north. Standing with her father near the chariots, she saw Jennifer and Paul walk back to join the company that would soon be riding west. Shalha.s.san was going with them as far as Seresh. With the snow melted, there was urgent need now for his additional troops and he wanted to give his own orders in Cynan.

Aileron was already up on his black horse, and she saw Loren the mage mount up as well. Her heart was beating very fast.

Diarmuid had come to her again last night by way of her window. He had brought her a flower. She had not thrown water at him, this time, and had been at pains to point that out. He professed grat.i.tude and later, in a different voice, a great deal more.

Then he had said, "I am going to a difficult place, my dear. To do a difficult thing. It may be wiser if I speak to your father if we... after we return. I would not have you bound to me while I am-"

She had covered his mouth with her hand and then, turning in bed as if to kiss him, moved the hand away and bit his lower lip instead.

"Coward!" she said. "I knew you were afraid. You promised me a formal wooing and I am holding you to it."

"Formal it is, then," he said. "You want an Intercedent, as well?"

"Of course!" she said. And then, because she was crying, and couldn't pretend any more, she said, "I was bound to you from Larai Rigal, Diar."

He kissed her, gently and then with pa.s.sion, and then his mouth began to travel her and eventually she lost track of time and place.

"Formally," he'd said again, afterward. In a certain tone.

And now, in the morning light, amid the busy square, a figure suddenly pushed through the gathered crowd and began a purposeful walk toward her father. Sharra felt herself going red. She closed her eyes for a moment, wis.h.i.+ng desperately that she had bit him harder, much, much harder. And in a different place. Then, in spite of herself, she began to giggle.

Formally, he had promised. Even to the Interceder who was to speak for him, after the old fas.h.i.+on. He had also warned her in Gwen Ystrat that he would never move to the measured gait, he would always have to play.

And so Tegid of Rhoden was his Intercedent.

The fat man-he was truly enormous-was blessedly sober. He had even trimmed his eccentric beard and donned a decent outfit in russet tones for his august mission. His round red face very serious, Tegid stopped directly in front of her father. His progress had been noted and marked by shouts and laughter. Now Tegid waited patiently for a modic.u.m of silence. He absentmindedly scratched his behind, then remembered where he was and crossed his arms quickly on his chest.

Shalha.s.san regarded him with a mild, expressionless curiosity. Which became a wince a moment later as Tegid boomed out his t.i.tle.

"Supreme Lord of Cathal," Tegid repeated, a little more softly, for his mighty lungs had shaped a silence all around with that first shout, "have I your attendant ear?"

"You have," her father said with grave courtesy.

"Then I am bid to tell you that I am sent here by a lord of infinite n.o.bility, whose virtues I could number until the moon rose and set and rose again. I am sent to say to you, in this place and among the people here gathered in concourse, that the sun rises in your daughter's eyes."

There was a roar of astonishment.

"And who," asked Shalha.s.san, still courteously, "is the lord of infinite n.o.bility?"

"A figure of speech, that," said Diarmuid, emerging from the crowd to their left. "And the moon business was his own idea. But he is my Intercedent and the heart of his message is true, and from my own heart. I would wed your daughter, Shalha.s.san."

The noise in the square was quite uncontrollable now. It was hard to hear anything. Sharra saw her father turn slowly to her, a question in his eyes, and something else that it took her a moment to recognize as tenderness.

She nodded once. And with her lips shaped a "Yes," for him to see.

The noise peaked and then slowly faded as Shalha.s.san waited beside his chariot, grave and unmoving. He looked at Diarmuid, whose own expression was sober now. He looked back at her.

He smiled. He smiled.

"Praise be to the Weaver and all the G.o.ds!" said Shalha.s.san of Cathal. "Finally she's done something adult!" And striding forward, he embraced Diarmuid is the manner of the ritual.

So it was amid laughter and joy that that company set forth to ride to Taerlindel, where a s.h.i.+p lay waiting to bear fifty men to a place of death.

Diarmuid's men, of course. It hadn't even been a subject of discussion. It had been a.s.sumed, automatic. If Coll was sailing the s.h.i.+p, then Diarmuid was commanding it and the men of South Keep were going to Cader Sedat.

Riding alone near the back of the party, Paul saw them, laughing and lighthearted, singing, even, at the promise of action. He looked at Coll and red Averren, the lieutenants; at Garde and greying Rothe and lean, agile Erron; at the other forty the Prince had named. He wondered if they knew what they were going to; he wondered if he knew, himself.

Up at the front, Diarmuid glanced back to check on the company, and Paul met his blue gaze for a moment. He didn't move forward, though, and Diarmuid didn't drop back. Kevin's absence was a hollow place within his chest. He felt quite alone. Thinking of Kim, far away and riding east, made it even worse.

Shalha.s.san left them in the afternoon at Seresh. He would be ferried across to Cynan, almost immediately. The mild, beneficent suns.h.i.+ne was a constant reminder of the need for haste.

They turned north on the highway to Rhoden. A number of people were coming to see them off: Aileron, of course, and Na-Brendel of Daniloth. Sharra was coming as well; she would return to Paras Derval with Aileron and wait for her father there. Teyrnon and Barak, he saw, were deep in conversation with Loren and Matt. Only the latter two were sailing; the younger mage would stay with the King. They were spreading themselves very thin, Paul thought.

They didn't really have much choice.

Not far ahead he saw Tegid bouncing along in one of the Cathalian war chariots, and for a moment he smiled at the sight. Shalha.s.san had proved human, after all, and he had a sense of humor. Beyond the fat man rode Jaelle, also alone. He thought briefly of catching up to her. He didn't, though-he had too much to think about without trying to apologize to the Priestess. He could guess how she'd respond. A bit of a surprise, her coming, though: the provinces of Dana came to an end at the sea.

Which led him to thoughts of whose provinces began and of his statement to the Council the morning before. "I think I can deal with that," he'd said, in the quiet tones of the Twiceborn. Quiet, yes, but very, very rash. And they would be counting on him now.

Reflecting this, his features carefully unrevealing, Paul saw that they were turning west again, off the highway onto a smaller road. They had had the rich grainlands of the Seresh hinterland on their right until now, but, as they turned, the land began to drop slowly down in unfolding ridges. He saw sheep and goats and another grazing animal he couldn't recognize and then, before he saw it, he heard the sea.

They came to Taerlindel late in the day and the sun had led them there. It was out over the sea. The breeze was salt and fresh and the tide was in, the white-capped waves rolling up to the line of sandy beaches stretching away to the south toward Seresh and the Saeren mouth.

In front of them lay the harbor of Taerlindel, northward facing, sheltered by a promontory from the wind and surf. There were small fis.h.i.+ng boats bobbing at anchor, a few larger ones, and one s.h.i.+p, painted gold and red, that would be Prydwen.

Once, Loren had told him, a fleet had anch.o.r.ed here. But the last war with Cathal had decimated the navies of both countries, and after the truce no s.h.i.+ps had been built to replace them. And with Andarien a wasteland for a thousand years there was no longer any need, the mage had explained, to sail to Linden Bay.

A number of houses ringed the harbor and a few more ran back away from the sea into the sloping hills. The town was very beautiful in the late afternoon light. He only gave it a brief glance, though, before he stopped his horse to let the last of the party pa.s.s him by. On the road above Taerlindel his gaze went out, as far as it might, over the grey-green sea.

They had let the light flare again from Atronel the past three nights, to celebrate and honor the spring returned. Now, toward evening of this fourth day, Leyse of the Swan Mark walked, in white for the white swan, Lauriel, beside the luminous figure of Ra-Tenniel, and they were alone by Celyn Lake gathering sylvain, red and silver.

Within the woven shadows of Daniloth, shadows that twisted time into channels unknown for all save the lios, it had never been winter. Lathen Mistweaver's mighty spell had been proof against the cold. For too long, though, had the lios gazed out from the s.h.i.+fting, blurred borders of the Shadowland to see snow sweeping across the Plain and the barren desolation of Andarien. A lonely, vulnerable island of muted color had they been, in a world of white malevolence.

No longer. Ever bold, Ra-Tenniel took the long, slim hand of Leyse-and, for once, she let him do so-and led her past the muting of Lathen's shadows, out into the open s.p.a.ces where the river ran into Celyn Lake.

In the sunset it was a place of enchantment and serenity. There were willows growing by the riverbank and aum trees in early leaf. In the young gra.s.s he spread his cloak, green as a vellin stone, and she sat down with him upon it, her arms full of sylvain. Her eyes were a soft gold like the setting sun, her hair burnished bronze by its rays.

He looked from her to the sun, to the aum tree overhead, and the gentle flow of the river below them. Never far from sadness, in the way of the lios, he lifted his voice in a lament, amid the evening drone of bees and the liquescent splash of water over stone, for the ravaging of Andarien a thousand years ago.

Gravely she listened, laden with flowers, as he sang the long ballad of long-ago grief. The sun went down. In the twilight a light breeze stirred the leaves over their heads when, at length, he ended. In the west, above the place where the sun had set, gleamed a single star, the one named long ago for Lauriel, slain by black Avaia at the Bael Rangat. For a long time they watched it; then they turned to go, back into the Shadowland from where the stars were dim.

One glance Ra-Tenniel threw back over his shoulder at Andarien. And then he stopped and turned, and he looked again with the long sight of the lios alfar.

Ever, from the beginning, had the impatience of his hate marked Rakoth's designs. The winter now past had been a departure, terrifying in its implications of purposed, unhurried destruction.