The Rift War (27 page)

"Listening, sir?" Shalara asked. She very carefully didn't look Athrar in the eyes, and
Emrillian choked, trying not to laugh.

"The interference in the Threads is partially from the communications equipment of all
those ships, trying to jam each other," Mrillis said. He sounded just amused enough for Emrillian
to feel a flash of irritation. "If they aren't sending out distress calls, they're threatening each
other, blaming everyone around them for your little...temper tantrum last night."

"Grandfather, you hush," Ynfara scolded, slipping an arm around Emrillian's shoulders.
"She was brilliant. I can't think of any better way she could have dealt with Edrout, or awakened
her father, or crippled our enemies with one blow."

"What matters is that they're busy repairing damage and dealing with each other," Athrar
said. He beckoned for them to follow him to a large tent set up only a dozen steps away from the
edge of the bluff.

Emrillian looked around and realized an army had taken over the bluff while her team
had been busy facing down the Directorate. She saw Carious directing a group of men in
Warhawk livery, raising a long pavilion that made hers look like a child's play tent by
comparison. Obviously, his party had met up with her parents, and he had brought hundreds of
Valors and servants and nobles from Quenlaque. Tents were being erected, dozens of horses
picketed in lines, and men in armor moved about everywhere. On the surface it looked like a
massive gathering of Archaics, but there was a serious intensity that hummed in the very ground
under her feet.

Athrar led their party into the tent, which was only partly set up with a long trestle table
and many folding camp chairs. Baedrix, Karstis, Grego, and Eleanora climbed the path and
joined them as they gathered around the table. Emrillian hurried to introduce everyone to her
parents. She introduced Baedrix last, and that peculiar clutching in her chest occurred again
when he went down on one knee, head bowed before Athrar.

"Oh, well done, Regent. My thanks to you and your father and his fathers before him,"
Athrar said, bending down to grasp Baedrix's shoulders and raise him to his feet. "You have my
undying gratitude. Never kneel before me. Your grandsire was my beloved brother, and we are
family." He gave the younger man a single shake to emphasize his words as he released
him.

"I hope he listens to you more readily on that account than he has listened to me,"
Meghianna said, appearing in the doorway of the tent.

"After all these years of boys refusing to listen to your common sense and wisdom, why
are you still surprised by it?" he retorted, and hurried around the table to meet her. They were
both laughing, with tears in their eyes as they embraced. "Now," he continued, dropping into the
chair at the head of the table. "Our enemies will be busy at least for two days, if I interpret their
communications properly. The Estall has given us that much breathing room. What shall we do
with it?"

"Forgive me, Majesty," Baedrix said slowly. He hesitated to take the seat Athrar
gestured him into, next to Ynfara and Emrillian, who sat at the Warhawk's right hand at the
table.

Mrillis, Meghianna and Graddon sat at his left hand, and Emrillian was fascinated by the
way her aunt and her grandfather stared at each other, moving slowly as they took their places.
She knew they had been in communication through the Threads since the moment she entered
the Stronghold's tunnel and the guarding spell had awakened Meghianna. So why did it seem that
they were meeting each other for the first time in years, and were afraid to speak?

"How can you understand the modern talk and technology of our enemies?" Baedrix
continued, gesturing at Shalara's equipment, which had been set up on the table before
Athrar.

"We can thank Lord Grego, ambassador for the Warhawk," Athrar said. He nodded to
Grego, who colored and nodded stiffly back. He was grinning so wide Emrillian thought the
corners of his mouth might touch his ears. "All his knowledge, all his understanding, has been
transferred to my mind. It was like awakening from a fever dream, my head jammed tight to
bursting with a head cold, but that knowledge is invaluable. I thank the Estall for you, Grego
Cavvon, that you are a friend to my daughter."

"It is my honor, Majesty," Grego managed to say.

"That saves us invaluable time," Mrillis said. "No need to teach you. Now, to decide
how best to put to use the time we do have."

* * * *

"Help me, quick!" Emrillian begged, gesturing for Eleanora and Shalara to follow. She
raced into the tent that had been assigned to her.

"What's wrong?" Shalara said, stepping into the tent after Eleanora, and pulling the door
flap closed.

"I need to wash and change and look like a princess. Help me out of my armor, please?"
She tugged off her helmet and tossed it to Eleanora, and dropped into a folding camp chair to
bend and start untying her boots. "Do I even have a dress? I suppose I need jewelry." Her fingers
tangled. "If only I could go to Court dinner wearing my armor!"

"Your parents didn't seem to care how you were dressed." She exchanged a glance with
Eleanora and went to her knees to work on the boots.

"We have to face the
Court nobles
tonight. They're worse than that contingent
among the Archaics who insisted that women never went into battle, never even rode horses.
Remember them, at that tournament three years ago?" Emrillian grunted as she leaned forward in
the chair and pulled her mail shirt up over her head. The links caught on her hair. She wished she
had cut it short long ago. And wouldn't that scandalize the Court, showing up to dinner with her
hair shorter than a boy's?

"Oh, ugh." Shalara grimaced. "I don't envy you at all, then. They actually determined
rank by how many jewels a woman wore, how many dances she mastered, if she commanded the
language of the flowers, the colors of her clothes, and how fancy her hair was. As if that would
have any impact on the fate of the world."

"Unfortunately, there are too many people with that sort of mindset in Court," Ynfara
said, stepping into the tent to join them. "From what I have seen, the Court has become insular,
so petty things are even more important to their sense of power and worth than in my day."

"Mama." Emrillian leaped from her chair and ran to Ynfara. Her arms ached to hold her
mother and not let go. She relived that moment when her mother had chosen to stay behind in the
Vale of Lanteer, to be the conduit of knowledge to Athrar.

"My darling." She laughed and kissed Emrillian's forehead and cheeks, and held her face
between her hands, gazing long into her eyes. "You have quite broken your father's heart."

"How?"

"You grew up. Your aunt used to tell Athrar how their father, Efrin, would scold her for
growing up. He thought it was silly, until he stood looking down on you in your amazing armor,
shredding your enemies with mere words. Now he understands. He didn't believe me, when I
told him you were all grown up, tall and beautiful and strong." She choked on a bit of teary
laughter as she guided Emrillian down into a chair and took the bench facing her. "He quite
looked forward to telling you bedtime stories and tucking you into bed."

"We've all been robbed." Vaguely, she was aware of her two friends leaving the
tent.

"We are of royal blood, and of those who have been entrusted with much, whether it is
skill or wisdom or talent or power, the Estall demands much in return." Ynfara looked around the
tent. "Now, we must armor ourselves for a different kind of war."

"Court."

"You say it as if the very concept is a curse." She patted Emrillian on the shoulder as she
crossed the tent to a pile of leather travel trunks. "Grandfather's training, I'll wager."

"I almost would rather face Edrout again, than paint and decorate myself to please a
crowd of fancy-dressed schemers."

"Not please them." Ynfara untied the closures for the first trunk and flung back the lid,
revealing gowns in bright shades of blue and green and yellow. "Confound them. Confuse them.
Deceive them. If you appear before them as they believe a princess should be, glittering with
jewels, fluttering with delicate clothes, projecting an image of deceptive weakness, they will
mis-read everything you say and do. Too many women of the nobility allow themselves to be nothing
but decorations and pliant tools in the hands of their menfolk. They raise their daughters to be
witless and completely loyal to them, even after they give them into the households and beds of
their political enemies. They will expect you to be witless as well."

"Eleanora isn't like that. She says there are many women in Court like her."

"Ah, now you understand." She brought the vivid, deep green gown over, gestured for
Emrillian to stand, and held the dress up to her shoulders.

"Understand what?"

"How men believe the world is, and what they tell each other. Compared to how women
know
the world really is." Ynfara met her gaze, expression neutral.

"Mama..." Emrillian hated the little shudder that worked through her. Then she caught
the twitch of Ynfara's lips and realized at least some of what she said was in jest. "You..." A
sputter of laughter escaped her.

"Oh, my little bird." She dropped the dress and wrapped her arms around her daughter.
"So many things I needed to teach you, over your growing years, and I must cram it all into an
hour as we dress for dinner. Grandfather taught you many wonderful, essential things, but he
couldn't teach you to be a woman of royal blood."

"Teach me, Mama," she whispered, and clung to her mother, wishing, just for a few
moments, that she could be small and curl up in Ynfara's lap.

* * * *

Grego had seen Emrillian dressed up for the pageantry of the Archaics tournaments, but
none of the glitter and glamour could compare to the stern elegance and gleaming power that
spilled over Athrar, Ynfara, and their daughter as they strode down the narrow aisle between the
gathered nobles, and into the three-sided pavilion that night. The king and queen wore rich black,
embroidered with gold thread. Their crowns were thick gold studded with emeralds and
sapphires. Emrillian wore white heavily embroidered with silver threads, with royal blue lining
her sleeves and high collar, and showing through slits in her long skirt. The gleaming contrast of
her dress highlighted the red and gold streaks in her pale hair. Her crown at first glance looked
like a simple wreath of white roses. Then the torchlight glinted off those roses, and Grego
realized they were diamonds, and the stems and leaves were likely emeralds.

Carious had mentioned Baedrix had entrusted him with the key to the treasury of
Quenlaque, and he had brought the crown jewels. Grego had never imagined so much wealth.
Then again, he admitted, he had always cared more about the weapons and battle skills and
minstrel lore during Archaics tournaments, and not the pageantry that so many enjoyed.

Most of the nobles of Quenlaque had followed Carious here to the shore. Grego had
been relieved when Athrar had ordered the Archaics as well as the Directorate people
sequestered, so no one could interrogate them or threaten them before the feast. They had been
provided fresh clothes and baths and an opportunity to rest and regroup. The men in his tent had
kept him busy talking, explaining what had happened from the moment their groups split up. The
Directorate's people were in their tents under guard during the feast. The Archaics, however,
were honored guests, seated near the high table. Whatever happened tonight, Grego was sure of a
good view and being able to hear most of what was said.

Even more important to him, Brysta had been given festival clothes and was allowed to
sit with him. Whatever she had done or said during her short time in the Stronghold, Meghianna
trusted her. She was quiet, still somewhat pale when she came into the tent with the Archaics
women, but she smiled at him and blushed when he bowed and kissed her hand. There was too
much Grego needed to say to her, and no privacy or time for it. He hoped she would understand
and not hold it against him later.

Athrar stayed standing after Emrillian and Ynfara took their seats. The whispers and
mutters that had rippled over the crowd at their entrance dropped to echoing silence, so the
crackling of the torches sounded loud. Meghianna walked down the aisle, dazzling in pure white,
in rich contrast to the midnight blue robes of Mrillis and Graddon on either side of her. Baedrix
followed them, a few steps behind, austere by contrast in his usual black and silver. Eleanora and
Ectrix walked with him, each holding his arm, dressed all in blue. The adults were all seated at
the high table, and Ectrix proudly took his place before the table to serve them.

Before the food was brought to the tables, Carious and Baedrix brought Athrar's chair
from behind the high table and set it before the table, facing down the long aisle between the
other tables. Again, the murmurs faded to watchful silence, and this time Grego felt the tension
thick in the air.

"This is worse than the psych readers they strap you into, when you're applying for a
high security job," Shalara said. She sat on the end of the table with an even better view of the
activity in front of the high table.

"What are they doing?" Brysta whispered.

"It's the oath of fealty," Grego guessed, and Shalara nodded, her expression grim.
"Athrar isn't taking any chances. Every noble here, especially the ones Baedrix told Emrillian
were suspect, will have to swear on Braenlicach." He shuddered, imagining what the sword
could do to anyone who swore falsely, with plans of treachery in his heart.

He shuddered harder when it occurred to him that if the sword reacted, he might feel the
reverberations as the Zygradon responded.

"You have come to welcome the Warhawk back to Quenlaque," Athrar said. His voice
wasn't raised, yet it rang and echoed, likely enhanced by
imbrose
. "My family and I
thank you. It is heartening to see in some features faint reflections of faces we remember so
clearly, because to us it has only been days since we fought beside your ancestors.