The Merchant Emperor (41 page)

Her voice choked slightly. “I do not fear the dragon, beloved—it is part of you, and a bit of a pain on occasion but—”

You are not
hearing
me!
The roar shook the walls of the study, causing paintings to fall to the floor, their frames shattering, and the curtains of the window to flap like flags in a high wind.

Rhapsody watched her husband in silence for a moment. He was right in that he was almost unrecognizable, his body thickening with the rise of the dragon, the angles of his face sharpening, looking almost serpentine in his aspect.

She closed her eyes and pictured the boy she had fallen in love with on a windy night in the old world, the man who had married her, once in secret, once in glorious ceremony, trying to hold on to the memory of him as he had once been in the face of the transformation of ancient lore and blood that he was contending with now. She summoned her Naming ability and spoke Truly to him, her eyes still closed, her tone as sensible and free from emotion as she could manage.

“I
am
hearing you, Ashe. It is you that is not hearing me. You will not hurt me when we are reunited, because, if all else fails, I will not let you hurt me.” She opened her eyes and looked directly at him. “I am not made of glass—and you know my resources, my weapons, my strengths. We sorted this out years ago on the banks of the Tar’afel River, if you recall. Do not fear ravaging me. One of us will die before that ever happens—but it won’t. I know it won’t.” Her eyes lost the lock with his as he dropped his head. “Remember, I have a better right cross than you do—you have said so, and tasted it, yourself. And my sword is older and more powerful than yours.”

Ashe looked up again, exhausted.

Are you saying—that you will kill me if I lose control and try to ravage or harm you? Or Meridion? Even if I am only trying to express love for you both?

“In a heartbeat.” The tones of True-Speaking were in her reply.

Do you promise?

“Yes.” She swallowed and added a reference for emphasis. “Remember Jo.”

Ashe exhaled deeply.
Thank the One-God,
he said.
And thank you, Aria—thank you for understanding. I pray that you really do comprehend the danger.

“You’re welcome. I believe I do. Will you listen to me now?”

As well as I can.

“Good enough.” Her face became somber. “All right—I am advising you now; I cannot tell you what to do, but I beg you to consider my suggestions.” The Lord Cymrian nodded with effort.

“You cannot successfully conduct the war from Roland anymore,” she said flatly, softly. “If, as you say, the western seacoast is blockaded, in Talquist’s control, to the point where you cannot reach either Gaematria or your naval resources in Manosse, you and your army—our army—are eventually going to be ringed, trapped and slaughtered as the Hintervold, Sorbold and Golgarn advance—this is not my assessment, Ashe, it is Achmed and Grunthor’s as well.”

The Lord Cymrian’s eyes showed signs of the dragon’s resurgence.

You think I don’t know this, Aria?

“I am certain that you do—I am just not certain you know what I am going to suggest you do about it.” She averted her gaze quickly as the dragon attempted to lock eyes with her. “Look away,” she commanded, “I do not want to play games of will with your other nature. Hear me. Close your eyes and listen.” She waited until he did so, after some internal struggle. “I know the primary rule is that the king must stay and hold the land—”

Yes,
he interrupted bitterly. The draconic tones had fully returned to his voice.
This was why no one with any sense agreed to take the lordship.

“Nevertheless, you must leave. You alone have the ability to pass through the blockade, to reach the Isle of the Sea Mages, and eventually Manosse, without detection—you alone can walk through the sea. Working alone, as you did for so long, shielded by the element of water, of which you are the master, you can marshal your forces of the Second Fleet and Gaematria, and bring them back to the continent, breaking the blockade.”

I am well aware of this,
the dragon said haughtily; Rhapsody turned even further away from her husband and closed her eyes for fear of its entrapment.
But I cannot abandon the continent. Tristan Steward would be the only possible regent at this time, but you know we cannot trust him. Anborn is likewise engaged, behind enemy lines and unreachable. You could do it, take command, but it would put Meridion in the gravest of danger. And none of you except Anborn are Wyrmril, able to maintain the Shield. What would you have me do, Rhapsody?

She smiled. She had no idea if the dragon could sense it through the light.

“I would urge you to remember that you have a namesake. One that not only bears your name, but was named specifically for you, at a time when you were away and hidden from the sight of the world, and is your godson. He is fully vested, brave and wise—and, though young, he can hold your place until you return.”

She waited for a moment, but heard only silence.

“In addition, because of everything I just said, because you and he share a name, and the fact that you are well acquainted with a Lirin Namer, even if she is limited and self-trained, you have at your disposal the ability to share your lore, your Right of Command, with him, as no other sovereign really could.”

He is a child, Rhapsody.

“Nonsense,” she retorted. “He is barely younger than you were when you went to the House of Remembrance on Midsummer’s Night all those years ago to kill the demon in its vulnerability—”

Yes, and see how well
that
turned out.

“It only turned out badly because Oelendra abandoned you. That’s not the point—he will have Gerald Owen, and Gavin, and your trusted generals, and I will send a messenger bird to Rial in Tyrian asking for aid for him as well. He can do this, Ashe—in your concern for him, you insult him and all that he has endured, learned, and already proven. If you recall, it was Gwydion who put an arrow through the head of Michael’s assassin that would have killed Anborn where he sat in Haguefort’s Great Hall. He has suffered even more loss than you had at his age, and yet remains considered, brave, and wise. You said so yourself at his investiture.”

There was a long silence. Finally Ashe spoke quietly, his voice still draconic, but calmer.

I did.

“Trust that you, and Anborn, have taught him well. He has studied the sword with Anborn for years, he is very wise, he is an extraordinary archer, and you have included him in all the strategy sessions since the reformation of the Alliance. I wish that he might have had more time to learn the ways of Tysterisk, but if nothing else, it should give him an advantage in battle, should it come to that. Extend your protectorate to include Navarne, and have Highmeadow absorb Haguefort’s inhabitants except for the garrison to protect the province against an incursion from the North. Gwydion will do better if his chamberlain is with him, as well as the other staff he trusts. If you undertake the Naming ritual I am suggesting, he will have a good measure of your knowledge and experience to aid him.”

Ashe sighed.
What is this ritual?

Rhapsody looked above her. The sun had crested the peak, and the blue section of the spectrum had passed at least three-quarters of its time.

“Listen well—our time runs short. In the old world, history purports that Vandemere, the king who reigned when I was young, was kidnapped and held hostage for a time, long after Grunthor, Achmed, and I left Serendair through the root of Sagia. Do you know of these times?”

I do.

“Good—wait, of course you do, because you are of the line of MacQuieth on your mother’s side. One of MacQuieth’s titles, appellations, was the King’s Shadow, because, being related and sworn to King Vandemere, he could stand in the place of the king and hold on to his Right of Command, keeping charge of the land for him until he was returned.”

I am not a king,
Ashe said.
My office is elected, not inherited.

“It doesn’t matter,” Rhapsody said impatiently. “You can bestow upon Gwydion any part of your lore, your office, that you so choose—and he will be the repository of it until you reclaim it, because you and he share a name. Listen carefully, and I will teach you the ritual, but only if you want to learn it.”

Ashe thought for a moment.
I do,
he said finally.
I am not certain that I will ever wish to take the Right of Command back, however
.

“That’s your choice, my love,” Rhapsody said, smiling slightly. “If that’s the case, I will expect you to begin construction of the goat hut you have long promised to build me immediately thereafter. For now, just listen.”

She spoke the incantation for him, repeating the difficult parts several times, then had him echo the words. When she was finally satisfied with his rendering, she exhaled deeply.

The light is fading,
Ashe said sadly. The tones of the dragon were still within his voice, but it seemed quiet, brooding.
May—may I see Meridion again?

Without a word Rhapsody turned and signaled to Omet, then hurried to the far edge of the light. Gently she took the baby into her arms and brought him quickly across the light pool to Ashe. She turned him around and tickled him under the arm, eliciting a squeal of delight and a toothless smile, which was directed at his father.

She could almost see the dragon’s hold on Ashe shatter, at least for a moment, as he stared in wonder at his son.

“Nothing you can do, at least from where you are, can harm either of us, beloved,” she said. “Hold out your finger—he may try to grasp it—he’s been doing that for a while.”

Ashe obeyed, then looked back at her, new realization in his eyes as the baby’s tiny hand caught his fingertip and passed right through it, leaving behind the thrilling buzz he had experienced before.

You bring him here to restore me to sanity, don’t you, Rhapsody?

“I bring him here because he is your son, and you have a right and a need to see him, just as he has a right and a need to see you, whenever possible,” she replied. “I bring him here because I love and miss you beyond description, and want you to have a chance to share in our son’s upbringing, even though you have made the greatest living sacrifice I know of in sending us away for our safety. And yes, I bring him here to restore you, to remind you of what you are fighting for, what
we
are fighting for, all of us, Achmed, Anborn, Grunthor, Gwydion, all of us—a world which holds a future for him and children like him, a safe, peaceful future. Do not lose sight of this as the dragon rises, as the world grows dark. Hold on and endure, my love—we will be waiting for you.”

Ashe opened his mouth to answer her, words of love that he did not get a chance to pronounce.

The image of the tiny fingers trying to coil around his disappeared as the blue light vanished.

Taking with it his sanity again.

37

WINDSWERE

Titactyk’s regiment came to a halt behind the chariot of the stone titan, their horses dancing on the sandspit beach in the blasting sea wind. The silver light of the full moon above them danced merrily in the swirling froth of the tide, the light reflecting back at the sky.

They had ridden alongside the tower cliffwall to the east for some time, in between other spits reaching like fingers out into the cold ocean, the spring tide roaring in between the rockfaces.

Titactyk waited atop his mount until the immense stone soldier stepped forth from the chariot. It had been a terribly bruising ride, as the leader of their expedition had no physical needs to tend to, nor did he seem to give thought to those of the soldiers following him. As a result, very few breaks had been taken, and the men were suffering now, feeling the impact of the ride in their backs, bladders, and bowels. They dismounted and addressed their needs as Titactyk approached the chariot from as safe a distance as he could.

“Orders, sir?”

The monstrous statue, which had been standing with its arms at its sides and its head tilted toward the sky in the streaming light of the moon, turned slowly and regarded him thoughtfully, its milky blue eyes gleaming at Titactyk in the dark. It seemed to the commander of the regiment that the statue’s lip had curled into a slight smile of amusement, which made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Then the stone soldier spoke, its voice harsh and shrill.

As the tide advances, the tunnel in the moraine should be shown,
Faron said.
My task is but to open it for you; yours is to enter the abbey. I trust there should be no problem with a small hidden settlement of women and children, but if you are fearful, I could hold your hand, Titactyk.

The commander swallowed the insult and rode back to the place where his men were quartering their horses. He vaulted off his mount and summoned the soldiers.

“Who has lots on him?”