Warcry (12 page)

Heath looked at her. “But your people have perfect memories, Atira.”

“Not perfect.” She frowned, trying to figure out how to explain it. “Even with exact memories, each remembers his own truth, as each understands it to be.” She lifted her head to look at him. “Still, on the Plains, one can see an enemy coming for miles.”

“Unless he is hiding in the grass,” Heath pointed out.

Atira shrugged as she spread cheese on her bread. “That is a truth,” she replied. “But somehow it feels different here. Is this what it feels like for you when you try to play chess in your head? You can’t really play without seeing all the pieces. You lose track, or forget that—” she cut herself off at the odd look on Heath’s face. “What?”

“You’re right,” Heath said slowly. “There’s a piece missing.”

CHAPTER 17

ATIRA WAS STARING AT HIM WITH WIDE BROWN eyes, but she stayed silent, letting him think.

“We can’t see all the pieces, can we?” Heath said slowly.

“Well,” Atira said softly, “we can see Lanfer now.” She paused, focused on him. “We can see the threat he represents. And you and your father know the lords and their loyalties—”

“No,” Heath said. “There’s a piece missing from the board.” He let his gaze fall on the kavage in his hand, thinking.

He felt Atira move slightly, scanning the courtyard. The sounds of the guard’s practice, the kitchen maids, gossiping as they plucked feathers—they all faded as he ran through the events of the last few days.

“The Archbishop hasn’t made an appearance, has he? He isn’t on the board.” Heath kept his voice low. “He sent word through Browdus that he was ill, but not so ill that a healer was needed.”

“Is that unusual?” Atira asked, her voice just as low. “Isn’t it normal for Xyians to get sick?”

“That man loves his own importance,” Heath said. “The entire city and all of the nobility knew when Lara would enter Water’s Fall. So sick that he couldn’t attend a moment of such great importance?”

“Like a warrior-priest, more concerned about status than anything,” Atira said. “Is the Archbishop a clever man?”

“No,” Heath shook his head. “He’s pompous and always looking out for himself. Easily swayed to a position. Lara ran right over him in her haste to be crowned and follow Keir. She talked to him privately for a short time just before she convinced the Council to let her have her way.” Heath looked at Atira and gave her a grin. “I wonder what she said.”

Atira rolled her eyes. “When the Warprize wants something, she is like the wind.”

Heath laughed. “I once overheard Xyron, Lara’s father, tell my father that the pennants and the Archbishop move with the breeze.”

“Maybe he doesn’t wish to be seen as unable to decide?” Atira offered.

“Or maybe someone is afraid that he will waver if he sees Lara,” Heath smiled. “I—oh hells.” The truth flashed before him like lightning.

“What?” Atira demanded.

Heath put his mug down on the bench. “I know why Durst wanted that language change. I didn’t see it before, and Father hasn’t seen it, or he’d have said something. We are all idiots.”

He stood, adjusting his sword-belt.

“What?” Atira reached out, her hand on his arm. “What is it?”

“When is a child not an heir?” Heath asked her.

“How would I know?” Atira stood as well, giving him a scowl.

“Come on,” Heath said. “Let’s go see my father.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her with him.

She pulled her hand away, but she stayed at his side as he trotted toward the castle. Detros hailed them as they passed the practice circle.

“Atira,” Detros’s voice boomed out. He was grinning from ear to ear. “I hear you knocked Lanfer on his backside. Good for you!”

“How did you know?” Heath asked as they moved past him.

“It’s all over the castle, lad!” Detros turned back to his charges. “Ack, Ward, you hit like a girl! Put some muscle into it!”

Atira frowned and slowed, but Heath laughed and pulled her on.

ATIRA KEPT PACE AS HEATH TROTTED THROUGH the castle halls. He asked a quick question of one of the guards, who told him that his father was in his office. Heath headed off in that direction and Atira followed, curious as she could be.

There were two guards posted at the doors, and one reached over and opened the door for them so that they sailed right through. Othur looked up with a smile that faded to a look of concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Father.” Heath came to a stop in front of his table covered in papers. “Father, when is a child not an heir?”

“When it’s not legitimate,” Othur replied.

“Eh?” Atira stood next to Heath.

“Oh.” Heath sounded disappointed. “You knew.”

Othur nodded. “Shortly after we left the Council chambers with the signed document.” The older man sighed. “I should have seen it earlier. It was a mistake to agree to the change of the wording.” But then he gave his son a sharp glance. “I’m impressed that you saw it. You are starting to think like a—”

“Have you talked to Lara? She and Keir need to—”

“How can a babe be less than a babe?” Atira asked, puzzled. “Unless it is crippled or born dead.”

“I’ve spoken with Lara,” Othur said. “She will not discuss it with Keir. She believes that she can convince enough of the lords—”

“Discuss what?” Atira asked.

“What?” Heath said. “That is crazy. It’s too late after the birth. The matter must be dealt with before—”

“She commanded me to remain silent,” Othur said.

Atira glanced at Heath, and they both looked back at Othur.

“The Warprize does not silence truths,” Atira said.

“She did this one,” Othur said. “Flat-out commanded me to be silent. She was trembling and teary, and given her condition, I closed my mouth and obeyed.”

“That doesn’t sound like the Lara I know,” Heath said.

“She is bearing life,” Atira said. “Of course she is not herself.”

“When was this?” Heath demanded. He started to pace before the desk.

“As we walked back from the council chamber to her quarters. Keir was waiting for her, and she was exhausted.” Othur ran his hand over his head. “I thought I’d try again later.”

“Why won’t she talk to him?” Heath asked.

Atira leaned against Othur’s desk and watched Heath walk back and forth. “Please explain
legitimate
.”

Heath drew a deep breath. “Lara and Keir are bonded under your ways, not ours. If they are not married in the church, the child is illegitimate.” He continued his movement back and forth.

“Worse,” Othur said. “Tradition demands that only the Archbishop can wed the royal couple.”

“How can the actions of the life-bearer make a child any less of a baby?” Atira asked patiently.

“Not less of a baby,” Heath started, but Othur interrupted.

“Oh, yes it is. An illegitimate child has less rights in its—”

Heath held up a hand. “Let’s keep this simple.” He looked at Atira. “On the Plains, the children go through a rite of ascension, yes? In order to be adults?”

“Yes,” Atira said.

“In Xy, the life-bearer and the father must go through certain religious rites so that the child has a certain status when it’s born.”

“And if they do not?” Atira asked.

“The child is forever barred from that status,” Othur said.

Atira looked at both of them, then folded her arms over her chest. “I would ask for both your tokens.”

“You can tell us how stupid it is later.” Heath gave her a wry smile. “For now,” he turned to his father, “why won’t Lara talk to Keir?”

“Something to do with the reactions of the Plains people to our beliefs.” Othur shook his head. “Lara is like a daughter to me, but the Sun God knows she’s stubborn.”

Heath looked at Atira, and she gave him a shrug. “You worship people,” she explained. “It is . . . odd.”

“No odder than some of your customs seem to us,” Heath pointed out.

“So if they do not perform this rite, the babe can’t take the throne?” Atira asked. “So?”

“No, you don’t see all the pieces,” Heath said. “Without a legitimate heir, Durst will be able to start trying to undermine Lara. And the only heirs would be her cousins.” Heath rolled his eyes. “No one wants the cousins.”

“Why not?” Atira asked.

“They are fanatics,” Heath grimaced. “They take sun worship to its extremes.”

“Many of our people have accepted Keir because of the pregnancy and the continuation of the House of Xy. But it’s not a fatal problem.” Othur shrugged. “There will be other babes, no doubt, and one of them might be an heir.”

“What if something happens to Lara in the meantime?” Heath demanded.

“We must make sure that doesn’t happen,” Othur said, then sighed heavily. “But Lara seemed so adamant. I don’t know if—”

“Has anyone explained this to the Warlord?” Atira asked.

Othur spread his hands. “I can’t.”

“I can,” Atira said. She pushed herself away from the desk. “Is there anything in this rite—this marriage pledge—that would dishonor the Warlord? Or the elements?”

“Er . . .” Heath started to flush up. “I really don’t—”

Atira looked at Othur, who shook his head with a smile. “The day I married Anna, I was so nervous I could barely talk. I can’t think of anything that would be a problem, but Cleric Iain has duty in the Chapel of the Goddess. He’ll be able to answer any questions.”

“Well enough,” Atira said. “Let us go and find the Warlord.” She headed for the door.

“I did take one step though,” Othur added. “The Archbishop will be at the High Court feast tonight. If the Queen would not address the issue, I thought the Archbishop’s presence might bring this all to a boil.”

“He’s avoided the Court so far,” Heath said. “What makes you think he will appear tonight?”

Othur smiled. “Oh, he’ll be there.”

THE TABLE IN THE ARCHBISHOP’S PRIVATE QUARTERS was spread with his favorites. Pork roasted in milk and garlic. Crusty white bread. Vegetable pie with eggs, cheese, and greens.

Archbishop Drizin spread his napkin over his lap and picked up his knife, licking his lips. The cooks had outdone themselves, and he blessed them for it. His stomach rumbled in happy anticipation.

There was a pounding at the outer chamber door. He ignored it as he cut into the pie, breaking the golden crust so that the savory steam rose. He breathed in the scent with great pleasure.

There were voices now, in the outer chamber. Protests. He scowled at the door as it opened and his servant slid within. “Beg pardon, Devoted One. But there’s a messenger from the Seneschal, Lord Othur.”

“Have Browdus see to it.” Drizin waved him off. “I am dining.”

“Devoted One,” the servant pleaded. “Deacon Browdus is not here. And the messengers are—”

“Well, then tell them that I am at prayer and cannot be interrupt—”

“Uff,” the servant grunted as he was pushed aside and the door opened the rest of the way. Master Healer Eln walked in, with guards following behind.

Drizin stiffened. “Master Healer Eln, what brings you here?”

“The news of your ill health, Devoted One,” Eln said dryly. “Lord Othur was concerned that you had not yet appeared at the castle. He asked me to convey that your presence and wisdom have been sorely missed.”

“Well,” Drizin smoothed down the front of his robes. “Those are very kind words, but . . .” he frowned, suddenly remembering the position he was in. “My illness is not of a fatal nature. More a difficulty than anything else.”

Master Healer Eln’s eyes flickered over the groaning table.

“I was just going to try to force down a bite to eat,” Drizin added hastily. “To see if it would settle.”

“So I see,” Eln said. “But if your bowels are in an ill humor, adding heavy foods is not the answer.”

“Indeed,” Drizin said with regret, looking at the pork.

“I have a new remedy that seems to work wonders, Devoted One,” Eln said. “An herbal mixture.”

“A drink?” Drizin said, his nose wrinkling in anticipation of the taste.

“Oh no, Devoted One,” Eln assured him. “I will use it to flush out your bowels.”

The Archbishop stared at him with dawning horror.

“There may be some mild cramping,” Eln continued. “But you should be feeling much better almost immediately. In time to attend the Queen’s High Court feast this evening. I understand that Lady Anna is trying a new way of preparing chicken.”

“I—” Drizin started, for the first time taking in the Master Healer’s guards. They were Plains warriors, all of which had very grim looks.

Drizin swallowed hard. “Actually, Master Eln, I am feeling somewhat better.” He arose as fast as dignity would allow. “Perhaps if I tried again in the closet, I would feel more my old self.”

“As you wish,” Eln said. “We can wait here, to see how things go. So to speak.”

“Of course,” Drizin said. “Perhaps your guard could wait out in the—”

“No,” said one of them. “We stay.”

“Of course, Master Healer, you need not stay.” Drizin backed toward his sleeping quarters. “I am sure you wish to attend to the Queen. Due any day, I understand.”

“True enough,” Eln said. “Only one thing could take me from her side.” The man focused his sharp grey eyes on Drizin.

“Really?”

“Concern for your health, Devoted One.” Eln pulled out one of the heavy chairs and settled into it. “In fact, we will wait and escort you.”

“I am indeed blessed,” Archbishop Drizin said, fleeing the room.

CHAPTER 18

OTHUR SMILED AS IAIN, THE YOUNG PRIEST ASSIGNED to the castle chapel, stood his ground before the hardened Plains warriors. Keir sat before the hearth, and the other warriors clustered around, their faces intent and questioning.

“No,” Iain said firmly. “We do not worship people.”

Othur had to give the lad credit. Although learned, Iain was barely out of his initiate, and he was a thin rail of a lad compared to the Plains warriors. He was pale, with a shock of curly, red-brown hair that seemed to rise straight up off his head. Othur had thought Iain would pass out when he’d entered the room and the Warlord had asked for his token. But Iain had stood straight and firm under the eyes of the Warlord and his people and told them they were wrong.

Of course, only Othur could see that his hands were clenched white and trembling behind his back.

“But there are people in the chapel,” Atira said. “I have seen the statue of the woman there and—”

“No,” Iain replied, shaking his head. He took a breath and tucked his hands up into the sleeve of his white-and-gold robes. “We worship the Sun God, who is the god of purity and strength, and the Goddess, the Lady of the Moon and Stars, who is the goddess of healing and mercy.” He held up a thin, pale hand. “Yes, we personify them in pictures, glass, and statuary, but in truth, that is more to offer reassurance than the powers that control our lives . . .” Iain blinked. “Well, that’s probably more than you need at the moment.”

“We do not turn the elements into people,” Prest said.

“Nor do we.” Iain paused, staring at the floor for a moment. “Perhaps a better way to understand it is . . .” His voice trailed off for a moment.

To Othur’s surprise, the Plains warriors waited quietly, respectfully, even.

Iain nodded to himself and looked up at Keir. “When a child starts to learn, we give the child lessons about our faith. We teach them about the Sun God and the Goddess, the Lady of the Moon and Stars. We start simply, with simple images. You understand?”

“The wind makes the grass dance,” Prest said suddenly.

The other Plains warriors started to nod.

“A child’s song,” Keir explained. “One of the first they are taught about the elements.”

“So,” Iain said. “As we grow and learn, our understanding grows as well. And as our understanding grows larger and deeper, so does the Sun God. Grows beyond the pictures, the images.” Iain stopped and flushed a bit. “Perhaps I am not explaining this well, but—”

“No,” Keir said slowly. “I think I understand better.”

“Still, it is . . . unsettling,” Atira said.

Iain nodded. “Each has his own way. Who is to say which one is right?”

“The Archbishop,” Othur said.

Iain glanced his way. “True,” he said. “The church establishes our doctrines, and every faith has its rituals. I’ve been reading some older texts in the chapel archives, and I’m learning fascinating things about—”

“The ceremony,” Keir interrupted with an apologetic smile. “Can you tell me of the marriage ceremony?”

The lad drew a deep breath and went through the marriage ceremony word for word, with Keir listening intently.

Finally, Keir leaned back in his chair. “Those pledges seem little different to me than any promise between a bonded couple.”

“What words are spoken in your ceremony?” Iain asked.

There was some stiffening at that question. But Keir raised a hand at the silent protest. “The words of a bonded couple are private. Not to be shared easily with others.”

“I understand your desire for privacy,” Iain said. “But if you wish to be certain that there is no conflict, I’d ask to hear that pledge before making a final decision.” He hesitated for a moment. “I would treat those words as if I heard them while bells were ringing,” Iain said slowly, in the language of the Plains.

That brought muffled laughter and an outright smile from the Warlord. “Under the bells,” Keir corrected the young man.

“Ah,” Iain nodded, then continued in Xyian. “For now, let us assume that the promises are the same.”

“Except that they are said in a stone tent and witnessed by people,” Atira pointed out, the laughter gone from her face. “What matter the ceremony? The pledge is between two. Their words are enough between them.”

“There are reasons, good reasons, for a marriage to be sanctified by the church, beyond the binding of two souls,” Iain asserted. “Among our people, it establishes the rights of the offspring and aids in the determination of property and inheritance. Further, we track our bloodlines through the male line, with the distaff a secondary consideration.” Iain continued, “To some, the emotional considerations of marriage are outweighed by the legal considerations. In this time, it seems almost more of a contractual method of doing business than the bringing together of two souls. This has not always been the case.”

Othur watched as a few pairs of eyes got a glazed look.

“The role of the church in our world is an important one. The church is a source of learning and education,” Iain continued. “We clerics have the time to seek out and preserve knowledge. Not to mention that the church deals with many of the problems of the poor, the sick, and the aged.” Iain was warming to his theme. “We foster a sense of charity to those less fortunate. And we encourage a sense of community by our—”

“Do all clerics feel as you do?” Keir’s eyes narrowed. “Or are there those that abuse their positions?”

Iain drew himself up and stared right at the Warlord. “Do all of the Plains think with one mind and heart?”

“No,” Keir said ruefully.

“We are no more and no less than you,” Iain answered plainly, his face solemn and very earnest.

Good for you, lad,
Othur thought, as Keir slowly smiled.

“If one who is not of our faith wishes to marry one of the faithful, this can be done,” Iain said. “There is no bar, and no need to convert. Not in the church proper, mind.” Iain shrugged. “But traditionally, royal marriages have taken place in the throne room, so that is not an issue.”

“Unless the Archbishop makes it one,” Heath spoke from the far corner where he’d planted himself.

Iain sighed. “I would like to believe that the Devoted One would not be swayed by others in this matter.”

“But,” Keir said.

“But,” Iain sighed, “although he is the representative of the Sun God, he is also human.”

“So if a marriage is not performed, the child suffers? Is punished for something over which it had no control?” Atira asked. “We do not do that.”

“Yes, we do.” Amyu’s voice was soft and bitter.

“If the Archbishop forbids the marriage, would you perform the ceremony?” Heath asked bluntly.

Othur caught his breath.

“I have made my own oaths,” Iain said simply, tucking his hands back into his sleeves. “And one of them is obedience.”

Keir nodded and stood. “I thank you for your truths, Cleric.” He held out the leather book that Iain had used as a token. Keir looked at Othur. “I just wish that Lara had spoken to me of this sooner.”

“Spoken of what?” Lara stood in the bedroom doorway, rumpled from her nap and looking about in confusion.

ATIRA WATCHED AS LARA LOOKED AT THEM WITH growing confusion and concern, and Atira’s heart went out to her. The Warprize had dealt with much in the time since she had met Keir. Going to his bed without an initiator, dealing with the Council of Elders, and now life-bearing without a thea to aid and advise her.

Some took life-bearing in their stride, popping out their babes with ease. But Atira remembered all too well the emotional side, like riding an unwilling horse. One moment weepy, the next furious. Oh, the Warprize was a healer, that was true, and Lara thought she knew the ways of bearing. But experience is a hard teacher, and Atira remembered all too well that until a babe was pressing on your bladder, or your belly extended so far that you moved like an ehat, you didn’t really know how your body or mind would respond.

And the males were no help, that was certain.

Keir moved toward Lara, reaching to turn her slightly so that he could pull her into his arms. “We were discussing the fact that Durst wishes to use our lack of a Xyian bonding against us and the child you bear.”

Lara shot Othur an angry glare, but the older man shook his head and raised his hands in defense.

Atira moved then, to kneel before the Warlord and Warprize. “Warprize, I was the one that told the Warlord of this. Heath explained it to me, and I decided that the Warlord must know.”

The anger drained from Lara’s face, and she started to cry. She pressed her face into Keir’s chest.

“Why not speak of this to me, beloved?” Keir’s voice was the barest whisper.

Lara lifted her face to look at him, with eyes filled with tears and fear. “I was afraid, beloved. Your pledge to me as my bonded is all I ever need. But our faith . . . and yours . . . I—”

She hiccupped and sagged in his arms.

The love in Keir’s face was so powerful that Atira had to look away. She dropped her gaze to the floor and stayed, unmoving, unwilling to interrupt the moment between them.

“Flame of my heart.” The words were a soft rumble in Keir’s chest. “The words we pledged between us were enough for us. But you marked yourself for my people—can I do any less for yours?” He ran a soft finger over the wires woven into Lara’s ear.

Lara wrapped her arms around Keir’s neck and kissed him through her tears.

Iain coughed. Atira glanced back to see the young man blushing, his own gaze on the floor.

“Your Majesty,” Iain said. “The Warlord has inquired about the nature of our ceremonies. If you are willing, I am the cleric responsible for the castle chapel and charged with the spiritual needs of those who live within these walls. If you wish, I would offer you and your intended counsel.”

Lara gave him a wobbly smile and nodded.

“Well then,” Marcus huffed. “Go within and talk. We will know that you speak under the bells and will not interrupt.”

Keir turned Lara toward the sleeping chamber. Lara resisted for a moment, pausing to lay a hand on Atira’s shoulder. “Thank you,” Lara whispered.

“Warprize,” Atira gave her a smile, feeling her own eyes go misty. “It is nothing to what I owe you.”

Lara shook her head as if to deny Atira’s words, but she let Keir pull her away without protest. Iain followed them, and Atira rose and pulled the door shut.

She caught a quick glimpse of Keir and Lara as the door closed. They were standing together, their arms around each other, their heads together.

A pain lanced through Atira’s heart. A shaft of pure envy . . . or perhaps longing was a better word. To have that certainty in another . . . to love and trust and bond. As much as she wished to deny it, she longed for that with every bone in her body.

And to leave the Plains? What else was there for one such as she? Or was that what she really feared?

Atira pulled the door shut with a click and turned to see Heath staring at her.

She looked away, confused, then angry at herself. What had she to fear? He was a city-dweller, born and bred, and she was of the Plains. There was no way—

She heard his step then, and looked up to see him rise and stalk toward her, a look of pure stubbornness on his face. As if—

The door opened and Anna walked in, balancing a bundle of clothing and two pitchers of kavage in her arms. Amyu went to take the kavage from her.

“What’s this?” Anna looked about the room. “The feast is about ready, and you stand about like ninnys. Where’s Lara? Othur, you haven’t dressed yet? Heath, you need to comb your hair.” She stopped in the middle of the room and glared at them all. “Where is Lara? Still abed?”

Marcus had taken the kavage from Amyu. “You made this?” he asked of Anna.

Anna nodded. “I ground the beans and drew the water. No one would dare try to poison food in my kitchen,” Anna said. “There’s no need to taste everything.”

“Mayhap,” Marcus said. “But if I am seen tasting, there will also be no temptation to try. We take no chances, as we agreed.”

“Come sit with me, ladywife.” Othur patted the bench next to him. “Lara and Keir are talking to Iain.”

Anna’s eyes went wide. “Really? About—”

“Yes, yes,” Othur said. “Come sit and wait with us.”

Anna sighed and sat next to him. “Not for long, I trust. I’d not have that chicken overcooked.”

Yveni nudged Ander with a grin. “What’s this I hear, Amyu? About you and those cackling women?”

Amyu flushed but lifted her chin. “They waylaid me in the hall, taunting me about my hair. They seemed to think it was not suitable, for reasons I could not understand. I tried to take no offense, but they were . . . annoying.”

“I heard you put them to flight.” Yveni laughed.

“I pulled out a dagger and offered to trim their hair like mine. They scattered like gurtles, screaming, in all directions.” Amyu darted a glance at Anna. “I might have done wrong in this, but I do not apologize.”

Anna shook her head. “No need to explain it to me, girl. Those flighty feathers have never been my favorites. All flounce and giggles when their hearts are as hard as diamonds. They hunt in their own way, trust me, and they use clothing and hair as weapons.”

“Really?” Atira asked.

“No, no,” Heath laughed. “Not really.”

“Hunting for what?” Amyu asked.

“Husbands,” Othur said.

“Othur,” Anna scolded, but then she turned to Amyu. “They do little more each day than needlework and sewing, so their lives are measured in how they look and present themselves. And yes, their goal is a marriage. They mock you out of fear, and maybe out of jealousy.” She shook her head, setting her chins shaking. “It will cause a problem for the Queen, with the lords, that a Firelander threatened their daughters.”

“We’ll manage,” Othur took up Anna’s hand and kissed it. “You’ll sit with me in the hall, ladywife? Protect me from the likes of lords and ladies wishing to talk my ear off? The staff can see to the serving, just this once?”

“Pah, I’ll be needed in the kitchens,” Anna said. Then she laughed at the pleading expression on his face. “Maybe once the meal starts. Now, off with you to wash and dress. You need to be within the hall soon enough, and there’s no time for this nonsense.”