Daughter of Ancients (6 page)

“And then?” I said, knowing what I would hear, and yet required to ask it in case the universe had taken a left turn and changed its villainous workings.

“He will die, my lady. Not in an hour or a day, but neither will it be so long as a week. Though I will offer what remedies I can, his death will not be easy, but it will be the way of his choosing.”

T'Laven started to add something else, but seemed to think better of it. “If another alternative is available,” he said, “Prince Ven'Dar must inform you of it. I will return tomorrow morning unless you summon me sooner.” He bowed and left the room.

I told myself that I had expected nothing else, but, of course, I had. Gondai was a world of sorcerers. Avonar was a city of power and magic. Anything was possible.

Well, no more of that.

We ate Aimee's supper of cold roast duck, herb-buttered bread, and sugared oranges at Karon's bedside, I in the chair, Gerick and Paulo on floor cushions, and Aimee sitting on the footstool when she was not serving us with her own hands. Our attempts at whispered conversation flagged early on. No one wanted to risk disturbing Karon's sleep, and yet to leave his side was unthinkable. As Paulo followed Aimee out of the room, carrying our still half-filled plates, Ven'Dar returned.

“What news?” asked the prince, beckoning me from the doorway of an adjoining room.

I stood up and then hesitated. “Gerick, perhaps you should come—”

“I'll stay here,” said Gerick, who had not spoken a word since T'Laven's verdict. “He oughtn't be alone when he wakes.”

I followed the prince into the tidy, efficient study adjacent to the bedchamber.

“So what did T'Laven find?” asked Ven'Dar.

“Nothing more than we expected . . .” I told him all the Healer had said, including his enigmatic conclusion.

“Perdition!” Ven'Dar slammed his hand against the window frame and pressed his forehead to the glass. I had never seen him in such a temper.

“What is it, Ven'Dar? What remedy could you or T'Laven know that Karon himself would not? If you can make it any easier for him, we can ask no more.”

“You could ask if I have done everything remotely possible. You so blithely assume such to be true. You think that because he is my friend, I would not allow him to suffer without offering every remedy.”

“And would not my assumption be true?”

“No.”

Ven'Dar turned his back to the window. In the dark glass gleamed the reflection of two tulip-shaped lamps of amber glass that hung from the high ceiling. They looked like the eyes of a great cat peering around the prince's back. I felt suddenly uneasy, my past experience of the conspiratorial Dar'Nethi undermining my trust.

“Then there must be some good reason for your withholding.”

“I cannot see the Way.”

“I don't believe that. If anyone among the Dar'Nethi can—”

“I've failed to mention certain alternatives for the same reason I came early to Windham. I need Karon's advice as to whether I should give up the throne of Avonar.”

“Her name is D'Sanya, and though she appears no older than Mistress Aimee, there are not five Dar'Nethi in all of Avonar who fail to believe she has lived more than a thousand years. And in five months' time, on the day appointed by the Preceptorate, I must yield the—”

“He's awake.” Gerick appeared in the doorway from the other room.

“Go to him,” said Ven'Dar, offering me a hand up from the couch where I had just settled. “The world will wait.”

I hurried into the softly lit bedchamber, a thousand words of comfort ready. Yet once I'd knelt beside his bed, I couldn't think where to begin.

It's all right, love.
He lay so pale and still, his eyes closed, a trace of a smile on his lips. One might think him already dead but for his words that shimmered in my mind and body, bearing everything of him. Comforting me.
You know it's all right. I've been ready a long time.

Unable to answer, I lifted his cold hand, so limp and lifeless, kissed it, and pressed it to my brow. His chest rose and fell almost imperceptibly.

“I know.”

“Your imagination has always been excellent,” I said, smiling through my tears. Paulo came in and joined Gerick, who stood on the opposite side of the bed. “We'll just have to keep your mind occupied . . . until you're ready.”

“As a matter of fact, Ven'Dar came to Windham to ask your advice.” I grasped at anything to stay the future. “Perhaps . . . He was just beginning to tell me about something astonishing. Would you like to hear?”

I laughed at hearing Paulo's favorite phrase so dryly echoed. Karon had clearly directed his reply to the other two as well, for a trace of a smile lightened Gerick's somber expression, and Paulo ducked his head and grinned, his cheeks blazing.

“I'll fetch Ven'Dar, and we'll make him restart his story.”

When I stepped into the study, I discovered that Je'-Reint had returned. Though I urged them to come in, the prince hung back. “Ah, no. To burden him in these last days . . .”

“He told me not two days ago that life was not done with him yet,” I said. “Perhaps it is for exactly this. Let him help you if he can. He'll tell us when he can do no more.”

And so we gathered at Karon's bedside—I in the chair, Gerick and Paulo close beside us on cushions, Ven'Dar on a backless stool, Aimee on a settle beside the door with Je'Reint standing beside her—and listened as Ven'Dar outlined his dilemma.

Gerick's face grew stony as the prince described D'Sanya's claim that she had been kidnapped as a girl and held in a prison of enchantment by the Lords of Zhev'Na, the three sorcerers who had rebelled against King D'Arnath and laid waste to nine-tenths of the lands of Gondai.

“. . . and so in five months more I am to yield D'Arnath's throne.”

D'Arnath's daughter . . . enchanted for a thousand years. How can so many believe such a fantastic tale?
Karon's comments sounded clear and sharp in my head.

“She makes no attempt to explain the mystery herself,” said Je'Reint. “We subjected her to every test we could devise. The Archivists quizzed her on everything known of D'Arnath's time, but her only ‘errors' were to correct perceptions that had never made sense. Our picture of D'Arnath's reign has been clarified immeasurably.”

Ven'Dar sighed and settled his chin on his folded hands, far less excited than his heir—his former heir, now. “Ce'Aret gave her the most stringent tests of truth-saying and was entirely satisfied. As Je'Reint, her own grandson, stood to be set aside, one cannot say she was too easy on the woman. We even drew old Ustele from his moldy hermitage long enough to examine her, believing that if anyone could unravel her story, the old skeptic would do it. By the end of it, he was weeping and kneeling at her feet. When the Preceptors voted to vest her, placing her in the direct line of succession, not one dissented. I begged them to delay the anointing a while longer, but in truth, the people would not have stood for it. They are so hungry to put the last thousand years behind them. D'Arnath's name works a magic in the spirit that my best efforts cannot match.”

Je'Reint jumped in again. “Very few histories survive from D'Arnath's day—books were a particular casualty of the early years of the war. The most reliable source mentions a single daughter, lost in the war when she was seventeen. We've no record of her name. But D'Sanya led us to a ruined house long buried in the Vale of Maroth—her mother's house, indisputably. She showed us the mark of Garafiel, the most famous swordmaker in Dar'Nethi history, on D'Arnath's sword and claimed that Garafiel was in love with her mother long before she was betrothed to D'Arnath, but they were forbidden to marry because they were cousins. We had never noticed the—”

“By Vasrin Shaper's hand, she showed us how the vines engraved on the sword's hilt hid the letters of her mother's name!” Ven'Dar's outburst silenced Je'Reint. “The Archivists traced Garafiel's lineage and Maroth's, and the kinship was true as D'Sanya had said, though we'd never known it.”

Ven'Dar's emotion hung in the air for a few moments, until our silence allowed it to disperse and vanish like smoke in a breeze.

“No.” Gerick jerked his head in sharp denial before Karon could finish his thought.

Ven'Dar sighed and rubbed his brow. “We've seen nothing like it in living memory. She has healed hundreds of Zhid prisoners with her touch. In less than half a year, she has reforested the Vale of Grithna, dead since the early years of the war. The caress of her hand on its soil gave the land such vigor that in a single day the grass was knee-high, the flowers abloom, and saplings two fingers thick stood taller than a man. She lends her power to Builders and Gardeners and Healers, unraveling enchantments and spell traps laid by the Zhid, soothing nightmares and diseases of war victims.”

And still Karon continued probing.
Yet you do not believe.

“I
cannot
”—Ven'Dar shook his head, tightening his lips and squeezing his tired eyes—“and yet I cannot explain precisely why. Everywhere I hear whispers saying, ‘Ven'Dar was a fine shepherd, but we have anointed the true Heir of D'Arnath. She should take her father's place.' Ah, my good friend, after her first visit to the Bridge she walked into a palace courtyard weeping, and her tears revived a spring that had been dry since D'Arnath's death. What could it be but my own selfish pride that prevents my belief?” He threw his hands in the air, jumped up from his stool, and paced the length of the chamber three times, like a clock spring unwinding. “My own doubts betray me. The Bridge—To cross these past two days—my first crossings since they anointed her—has been extraordinarily difficult, as if I were a minnow swimming against a torrent, as if my heart knows I don't belong there any more.”

Ven'Dar folded his arms, closed his eyes, and held still for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was calmer, uncertainty banished. “She has built herself a great house in Grithna Vale, and in the last two months she has begun to take in people the Healers have judged too ill to benefit from their gift.”

“Yes.” The prince stepped to the bedside. “A hospice she calls it. Lady D'Sanya uses her power to ease their suffering—suspend their death, as it were. Those who were bound to their beds are no longer; those whose eyes or heart or limbs were failing now have use of them. As long as they do not leave the confines of the hospice, they are as they were before they were stricken . . . except for their talents. They cannot pursue sorcery of any kind. But they feel no pain and do not die. Even after so short a time, public opinion considers those who suggest this result is not a blessing to be, at the least, foolish and self-deceiving. I don't know what's come over them all.”

Ven'Dar wandered across the room to the wide windows and back again. “Je'Reint and I have gone over this a hundred times. Dar'Nethi have viewed death as a passage to be accomplished in peace and care when the Way leads us to it, not some fearful event to be avoided at the cost of our innermost being. I have spent my life teaching that the source of our power is accepting whatever joys and sorrows life grants us and viewing them in the larger perspective of the universe. To admit that this woman is D'Arnath's daughter and this hospice a reflection of his philosophy that we have called our Way is to give up my foundation. I cannot do it. Not until I'm sure.”

Though he spoke to all of us, Ven'Dar's gaze settled on Gerick, who sat with his chin propped on his clenched fists and his eyes on the floor. “And she has come out of Zhev'Na. How can I trust her? I came to you yesterday to ask if you would meet with her . . . read her . . . and tell me where I'm wrong.”

Ven'Dar sighed and looked down at Karon with sorrow and affection. “You leave me no choice but to burden you with everything?”

Ven'Dar's rueful smile unfolded like a moth's wings, and he returned to the bed, perching on the stool once again. “Despite all, I'm happy you're here, my friend. It is a considerable relief to share all this with you. Can you forgive me?”

“We never knew how many Zhid the Lords controlled. We captured or killed a great number in the year following the Lords' death. Though leaderless and directionless, they couldn't stop fighting. Over the next two years, Zhid renegades drifted in one by one from the Wastes, often starving, weak from lack of power. Still vicious, though. Some of them claimed that thousands more were holed up in the northern mountains. But our Finders could locate no such colonies, so we dismissed their claims.