Kirith Kirin (The City Behind the Stars) (36 page)

His voice trailed off. But I was very curious, having heard few stories of the time before the Venladrii crossed the mountains. He sent me to bed. Before we parted I said, “I’ll pray for peace to come to you, Prince Imral.”

“Pray for peace to find us all,” he answered, “especially Kirith Kirin, who’ll soon begin to blame himself for every death, for every wound he sees.”

“YY won’t let his heart be so hard.”

“If I know him, he’ll shut out YY before he’ll give up his grief.” He turned as if to go, and then added, not as an afterthought but weighing each word. “You’ve been a good friend to me tonight, Jessex. I won’t forget it.”

Before I could think of any answer he was gone. I returned to bed, where sleep was a long time coming.

5

On the following morning Kirith Kirin and his soldiers headed westward to battle. This time Mordwen was with them.

When I think of all that followed from that first morning’s march, it seems the enormity of the occasion escaped us. The morning was overcast, clouds laden with rain, the first hint of chill. We sang “Light in the Darkness,” and with no fanfare the column of soldiers marched away, the supply wagons following behind.

Despite my talk with Imral I could not help but be cheered by the martial spectacle, the brave and beautiful soldiers marching gallantly, broad-shouldered women binding up their hair, swords slung at their sides; slim-hipped men with their many blades polished to perfection, colorful feathers in pomaded hair, polished bows slung over embroidered tunics. They marched off singing and vanished into the trees.

The whole world knows what happened when Nemort marched his four thousand troops out of Angoroe beyond the last embracing arm of Arthen Forest. Lady Karsten led mounted archers and cavalry down on him from a hillside while Pel Pelathayn blocked his escape, leading infantry to drive him back against the cavalry. Half the Blue Cloaks died before Nemort led two well-formed, disciplined detachments down a rocky stream and overland to Fort Gnemorra ahead of our army, which pursued the southerners to the walls of the fortress. Nemort had to fight his way through Cordyssans already encamped there in order to enter the fort at all. Had Kirith Kirin but a thousand more soldiers, or else had he been able to leave Arthen to join the battle himself, Nemort would never have reached Gnemorra, or so I have always heard.

I was not part of this conflict in any way, nor did I see it. We who were left behind in Nevyssan waited for news, which was slow in coming. The battle was joined on the third day following Kirith Kirin’s march and ended five days later when Nemort and his thousand-odd survivors beat through the Cordyssans to reach the safety of the fort.

The first post-riders returned to Nevyssan a day later, bringing the tale of the battle, the whole camp gathering round a bonfire to hear the words of the messengers. The officer bore a letter to camp from Kirith Kirin, and he read it to us. One could hear the Prince’s voice behind the words. “Today we have won control of the north from Arthen to the country of the Smiths, until more troops come from Ivyssa or the Queen sends other aid. We are celebrating in westernmost Arthen as you must in Nevyssan. YY keep us safe in the time that is coming.”

This was a cold note for a victory day. But the message was understood. As one of the clerks told me, later when the camp Steward was passing round ale and wine, “Drink now while you can, forget your cloaking day. The next army to come north won’t be so easy to beat.”

“But we’ll have some time to train the Cordyssans, won’t we?”

The clerk smiled, fingering the hem of his own cloak of adulthood. “Nemort came without one of Drudaen’s witches. The next general may not be so particular.”

A shock spread through me slowly. Because as he spoke, I realized that such a one might already be on the way.

Next morning at Illyn Water I learned Julassa Kyminax was riding north on wind and storm.

Commyna gave me the news, standing by the lakeshore, autumn breezes lifting her hair. Though at Illyn I could see for myself. Our lessons these days were brief, my meditations long in their wake; but today no meditation would be possible, she said, for the curled spaces were disturbed by the magic Julassa was making, and by the powerful vigilance Drudaen kept. I must be more careful than ever to conceal myself.

I felt my stomach tighten. “What will happen? Do you know?”

“There’s likely to be slaughter.” She spoke coldly, without feeling, as she was apt to do when she was most disturbed.

“Where’s Yron?”

“If I knew how to call him I would.”

“Then we have to fight her from here.”

She turned on me, speaking sharply. “Don’t tempt me to do what would be my ruin, boy. Yes, we could, and we could break her like a strumpet. But I’ve told you what the consequences would be. I won’t tell you again. If Yron doesn’t come, there’ll be no help.”

We returned to the great-leafed tree where Vella and Vissyn were busily shaping the cloth into a long, full cloak. The fabric swam with color and hints of images, constellations, cold blue fires, the faces of strange people. I asked, “When does Julassa reach the fortress?”

“Sometime today, we think,” Vella answered, sparing Commyna, who scowled and set about the business of making tea. “She’s not riding as fast as she might. I suppose she’s conserving her strength. There’s no hurry from her point of view.”

“No, I guess there isn’t,” I said. “There’s no one to fight her.”

“One wishes Kentha were still alive.” Vella’s voice was oddly high-pitched. “Or that Kirith Kirin had the ruby ring Drudaen gave her.”

“Never mind dreaming, sister,” Commyna said in her severest tone.

When I had drunk the tea I took leave of them, Vissyn walking me to the spot of shade where Nixva grazed. She said nothing, except that I must try not to dwell on what I knew and must certainly keep the news to myself, hard as that would be. “Pray for the soldiers. Pray for Kirith Kirin.”

“It will be hard simply to pray when I see Julassa in my mind, riding northward to begin her work.”

Vissyn took my face in her hands. “I have no answer for that. Many of your friends will die by her hand, I think, and I’m afraid for Kirith Kirin. If he loses heart —”

We embraced, and I leapt onto Nixva’s back. “I’ll pray.” I kept a careful balance of expression. “I’ll pray for guidance.”

Bending to kiss her brow, I turned Nixva and we rode away.

1

Once Nixva had carried me safely beyond Illyn’s border, we consulted with one another.

The morning was bright and clear, not a cloud in the sky, perfect azure. The air was tinged with a slight chill. We had emerged from the wards round Illyn onto a sheer hillside east of camp in a grove of linvern where sunlight fell as if through lace onto Nixva’s mane. From the height rolled the hillsides and deep vales in which we had set camp; beyond, swimming in haze and gold, the fertile land of West Fenax.

I could not feel the Kyminax sorceress any longer, though when I was in Illyn’s domain I had eyes that could reach her wherever she might be. On Illyn’s shore I had felt her like weight on my mind, but now I was deaf to her singing, blind to her riding.

She would reach Gnemorra today, perhaps soon. So far she had not stirred weather to her call, traveling like a low shadow. Maybe she had set wards so she would know if her riding were being spied on, or maybe she feared no opposition, maybe her singing was as clear as the wind in the leaves above my head. I could not tell. My eyes, my ears, my learned-power was at Illyn. Or rather, was locked within me by a vow. Within the space the mind makes, the kei.

When Julassa reached the fortress, many hundreds would die and our soldiers would be driven from the field.

I breathed deeply, holding my face against Nixva’s neck. “What do you say, friend? Do we go home and pray?”

He tossed his head impatiently. I ran my fingers through his mane. “I can pray here. But what good is praying going to do? I can only tell YY what she knows already. There’s no help unless Yron comes. But what if Yron doesn’t come?”

Nixva pranced from side to side, neighing sharply. I laughed, feeling my stomach lurch at the same time. “I am a power of this world,” I whispered. “Forgive me, Sisters. But how can I obey you when all I can see from obedience is ruin? Forgive me, YY-Mother, if you think what I’m doing is wrong. If Yron won’t come, I’ll go myself.”

I mounted the black horse and turned him toward the Fenax. Swallowing, I began the controlled breathing and insinging that released into my mind the kei of Wyyvisar, Words of Power, the use of which I had always denied myself outside the province of Illyn Water. It was easy, and I was there.

2

I rode through valley and over hill swiftly, skirting camp to the north by a wide margin. Nixva galloped joyously, riding the wave of my silent singing, aware that we were not headed home to the familiar horse-line, snorting his impatience to run even faster.

Once we reached the hinterland of Arthen he headed due west along Wood’s End. Since Arthen was a veil Julassa could not penetrate, I figured to keep hidden that way till I had got my bearings and knew where to find her.

I cleared my mind of every thought, as I had been taught to do, and listened for the sound of distant singing.

Soon I found her. She was riding partly hidden, servants in her company under partial wards, closer than I had guessed from what the lake women had told me, moving partly with aid of the ithikan, a chant that increases motion. She was confident of her strength to bring servants with her, riding at speed in her train; the effort would weaken her in ways I might exploit. Many thoughts could be discerned even from that distance, particularly her baleful hatred of the countryside and her sense of foreboding that came from the nearness of Arthen.

Her servants were not men. I could get no sense of what creatures they were but I guessed them to be Verm.

My heart sank at the realization of her preparedness for what was to come. She had been laying the foundations of power in herself for more years than I could number. I was a babe compared to that.

Grimly I turned to my own preparations. I prayed, YY grant me guidance and teach me to sing.

Soon Nixva and I could no longer remain under the protective cover of Arthen, and from there we would ride in danger unless I could hide us. This I had been preparing for, and from the moment we trod the Fenax the rhythm of my song was subtle, masked to seem like wind or running water, so that even the Sisters would have trouble finding me. To hide me from Julassa, who anticipated no enemy, I deemed this sufficient.

I no more knew the road to Gnemorra than I knew the way back to my father’s farm without a guide, but I did not need to know it. I was behind Julassa, whose presence was already moving steadily northward, and I had only to follow her. Her speed was great but mine was greater, I saw to that. I could make the ithikan, too. Hugging Nixva, my body under various controls, I hovered in the dual trance, my spirit flung out above my body so that I had long vision, like that of a bird flying high above; my spirit in the small space inside the body, singing. I traveled like a shadow. Twice I flashed through farmyards unseen, leaving no more trace than strong wind leaves, bending the wheat to the ground and howling on. Nixva galloped savagely, mane whipping like black fire, fearless of the magic that immersed him.

We were long past noon by now. Time moved too quickly for me, who had much to prepare.

Ahead of us, in my elongated vision, the sky was changing before my eyes.

One who has not seen power move can hardly imagine the sight, the sudden boiling of clouds out of nothing, the spreading of a shadow over the land sudden as the sweeping of a hand across the sun. Julassa Kyminax increased her song suddenly, her power swelled, engulfed earth and sky, so that in the space of moments darkness spread from horizon to horizon. She was drinking the light into herself, for strength.

Her shadow fell as far north as Umilaven and as far south as Nevyssan and the Prince’s encampment. Kirith Kirin, emerging from his field tent to receive messengers, saw the shadow and knew his enemy had come.

I hid from this, letting shadow mingle with my own singing, though this was taxing. I had thus less space in the kei for my other preparations. Meanwhile she was beginning to lay out her own applications, staking claim over a good deal of ground and beginning a song to move power at a deep level. She was still unaware of me; what she was preparing was for our army.