Warrior (The Key to Magic) (27 page)

"This estate in Pamplyea is yours, I take it?"

"That of my family."

She surprised herself by managing a laugh.  She raised her hands together, chains dangling with a jolting sound across his breastplate, and made as if to caress his face, but did not quite touch him, leaving her fingertips to float just a breath from his hard countenance.

"So I am to be your kept woman?"

The prince betrayed no reaction.  "You are to be nothing to me or to anyone else."

Rhavaelei turned from his harsh expression to look back into the cold, mildew, and damp of the cell for a brief moment and then swung her gaze by Ghorn to the dim corridor.  Though she could not see them, she took it for granted that armsmen waited just out of sight to drag her away in the same shameful manner that they had dragged her here.  Her future looked indeed bleak, but at least she now knew that she would have one.

Her once boundless ambition was dead; the shackles that wrapped her wrists and ankles had killed it.  She knew that the king would never permit her rise to her proper station again.  All the influence and power that she had gained across the Principate through years of labor was gone and would never return.  When he had condemned her, she had seen an uncompromising certitude in his eyes.  This was a man who could seize upon a grievance and preserve it for all time.  He would not bend.  He would not falter.  Rather than allow her to escape his retribution in death, he had chosen to make sure that her punishment lasted for the rest of her life.

But there might be a way that she could eventually be allowed to return from her exile.  It might take years to achieve, but she belonged in Mhajhkaei, not some rural hovel.

"I wish that you take me to wife," she told Ghorn matter-of-factly.

He laughed.  "Ridiculous."

"Not at all.  I do not wish to spend the rest of my existence alone in some abandoned backwater.  Children will provide me useful purpose to occupy my time and give me the comfort of family."

This was the truth.  She had, at least in a theoretical way, always wanted and expected children, but had subordinated that natural desire to the pursuit of her ambitions.

The humor drained from Ghorn's weather-beaten face.  "Coming to my bed will not earn an end to your exile."

"I do not come to your bed to earn a pardon," she stated.  For some odd reason, this did not exactly feel like a lie.  "As a high born woman of Mhajhkaei, I have always accepted that my marriage would be by arrangement.  Now that Trajhen has disowned me, I am free to manage my own affairs.  As political and financial considerations are now of no consequence to my situation, the qualities that I require in a husband -- and sire of my children  -- are proven health and intelligence, established financial wherewithal, and unquestionable fidelity.  The bloodlines in your family are good, your wealth is settled in clear deed to productive lands, and I know that you love me and always have."

With some surprise, she realized that this last was the absolute truth.

He did not say anything for a moment, then disparaged gruffly, "That is and always has been irrelevant."

"Perhaps, but I know that you will remain true to the marriage vow and bring no shame upon me while we will live separate.  Though my station in life may be diminished, I have no desire to be the butt of crude humor."

 Ghorn's face betrayed nothing as he contemplated her in silent thought for a moment.

"The war against the monks will begin in earnest within days," he said at last.  "I will go east tomorrow or the day after.  Last night I dreamed that I will not return."

"Then you must register our marriage immediately and give me a son before I am taken to Pamplyea.  You cannot let your lineage die with you."

Then, for just the merest of heartbeats, she saw that he was tempted.  Realizing that she must do something to make him believe her, commit some grand gesture that would convince him of her honesty, she took a step back, sank with slow deliberation to her knees, and showed him the open palm of her right hand.

"Cut me."

At first, she thought that he would refuse, but after a tense moment he drew his sword with slow determination and held the blade vertical, a fingerlength from her skin.  Without hesitation, she let her palm fall against the nicked but recently sharpened edge.

The pain was severe enough to make her gasp and the blood profuse enough to trickle in warm tendrils down her wrist and forearm.

As he sheathed his sword, she breathed the words in a rush of abandoned aspirations.  "With steel and blood, bound into the earth, I pledge my life to Mar, magician and emperor, and name him my king!"

She felt no different with this deed done, experienced no twinge or discomfort to show that the magic had been cast, but Ghorn reacted immediately, pressing his own palm against the cut to staunch the blood and raising her back to her feet with a smooth, strong pull of his arms.

"You will have your marriage," he told her, "and your child."

FORTY-ONE

Last Awakening

(Sixthday, Waning, 3rd Springmoon, 1645 After the Founding of the Empire)

On the Imperial road leading to the West High Gate of Khalar

Fatigue compelled Llylquaendt to stop to rest on the edge of a multi-acre apple orchard within sight of the gates of Khalar.  The mid-morning sun seemed awfully hot for this early in the year.

"The
climate
here -- your word would be
skould'shg
I think -- is much warmer than on the other side of the mountains," he told the five women as he sank to sit on a large stone that had tumbled from the roadside wall.  The shade of the upper limbs of the nearest tree covered the stone and provided some relief from a sun that seemed to burn with the heat of summer.  Unaccountably, he soon found himself shivering.  "It might have something to do with the altitude difference."

"You are pushing yourself too hard, husband," Myleu scolded as she filled a cup from her canteen and offered it to him.

"I have walked all the way around this world more than once," he grumbled, breathing hoarsely.  "I can walk another thousand paces."

"You will have a sit by a fire and something to eat," she ruled, making a sign with her hand at the other women.

Beasl and Kylii immediately began gathering deadwood for the fire while Mryeen and Plri dropped their packs and took out supplies and pots for a full meal.

Llylquaendt sighed.  The five pregnant women could out-walk, out-work, and no doubt out-fight him. 

"I guess I could take a bit of tea," he allowed.

He wound up eating a large bowl of stew and some of the bread that he had bought at a farm the day before.  After that, wrapped in Beasl's and Kylii's warm embrace, he fell into a doze for a bit.  When he roused, he felt somewhat revived and bade the two women let him stand.

"We should go on, now," he told the five.  "In the city, we'll get rooms at a tavern or inn.  It will be good to get out of the weather and to sleep in a proper bed."

 "Very well, husband," Myleu allowed.  "But you will tell me right away if you feel tired again."

They encountered a few travelers as they neared the gates, most of whom gave them a wide berth.  Llylquaendt and the women were dressed in traditional Gheddessii costume, including
jhuhngt'n
, and he had noticed hostile glances from some of the field workers that they had passed since reaching the Ice River valley.  A few of the Gheddessii traders that he had done business with had made mention of the fact that the Imperials were not fond of the tribal people, but Llylquaendt had passed that off as simply the animosity generated by hard trading.

Within a hundred paces of the city gate, a horse-mounted party of a merchant factor and his two guards overtook them on the highway.  The party broke into a trot to pass and as they went by, Llylquaendt saw a look of outright contempt on the face the factor and one of unconcealed lascivious interest directed at Myleu on that of one of the guards.  After the horsemen had moved on, he began to grow anxious that an old man and five women might be deemed weak, and thus would be vulnerable to harassment or outright attack.

All of the women had several knives, both the openly displayed armlength long curved blades that the tribes called
bhyah'ts
or
for killing
, and hidden smaller ones for throwing and daily chores.

"Myleu," he said after some thought. "We will take no chances in the city.  I want everyone to stay on their guard, just as if we were still in the mountains."

The statuesque woman gave him a curious look and pointedly drew her
bhyah'ts
half way out of its scabbard.  "How else would it be, husband?"

"Oh, yes.  I see what you mean.  Silly of me to think that you would have any reason to believe that civilization meant, well,
civilized
people."

Myleu nodded as she normally did when was being the faithful Gheddessii wife and the things that he said made no sense.

A squat, red brick gatehouse pierced the city's earthen rampart.  The tall, steel reinforced wooden gates stood open, but there were eight armsmen standing guard who openly examined each and every person entering or exiting.   The factor and his guards were stopped and briefly questioned before being waved through.

Llylquaendt immediately noticed that these guards showed a greater variety in complexion and hair color that the Khalarii that he had seen thus far.  When he got close enough to hear them speak, it was obvious that some spoke in the same cosmopolitan accents as had Eishtren, Aelwyrd, Ulor, and the ubermen.

For the sake of caution, he stopped when he came abreast of the guards.

"Good day to you, sir," he said to the one that seemed to be in charge.

Before he could continue, the armsman pointed to a badge on the cuff of his mail shirt.  "Not a 'sir.'  I'm just a ceannaire.  Abaegwyrd's the name."

Llylquaendt was not sure that he understood the rank, but took it to be something like a sergeant.  "It's a pleasure to meet you.  I'm Llylquaendt.  Is it necessary to obtain permission to enter the city?"

The Mhajhkaeirii, tall and dark of hair and skin, shook his head.  "Now that the rebellion's been put down and the riots are done, the city's open.  We've orders to watch for any of the Korhthenr mercenaries that try to get out into the countryside in disguise, but everyone else is free to come and go."

Llylquaendt raised his eyebrows.  "Rebellion?"

"I guess you wouldn't know, coming from the Waste.  It was Patriarch Hwraldek, if the name means anything to you."  Abaegwyrd grinned savagely.  "It lasted just a day before the King put an end to it.  Hwraldek's hanging from the obelisk in the Plaza of the Empire."

Llylquaendt replied with a non-committal, "Ah." 

He did not know who this Patriarch Hwraldek was, but it was clear that he had made a fatal mistake in challenging the power of the King of the Mhajhkaeirii.  In any event, this executed unfortunate had inadvertently done Llylquaendt a favor by causing Mar to come to Khalar, thus saving the medic a long journey to the southern shore.

"You know, you've a funny accent, but you speak the best Imperial Standard of any Gheddessii that I've ever heard.  You're from the tribes on the other side of the Mheckels?" 

For the sake of simplicity, Llylquaendt just nodded his head.

Abaegwyrd looked around at the Gheddessii females.  "These your daughters?"

Frowning heavily, Llylquaendt corrected, "Wives."

Looking openly impressed, the ceannaire chuckled.  "You're a better man than me, Llylquaendt.  I just hope that I've got enough vigor to keep up with
one
wife when I'm your age."

Llylquaendt tiled his head and shrugged slightly as if to say that his situation was not great accomplishment.

"I suppose that I had better ask your business in Khalar, just in case something comes up," Abaegwyrd mentioned.

"I have to speak to a man about trading for some horses," Llylquaendt said. 

He had already decided that to say that he had come to speak to the king would simply raise suspicion and its attendant difficulties.  With Mar currently in the city, it should only be necessary to get near enough so that the king would recognize him.  If that were not possible, then he would have to try to communicate a message through the Mhajhkaeirii bureaucracy, if there was such a thing.

 "Well, good luck in your trading."

Llylquaendt thanked the man and then he and the five women forged on into the small plaza beyond.  There were a number of Khalarii about, most standing in nervous clumps and talking earnestly, but none gave the six of them more than a passing glance.

At the opposite end of the plaza, a wide, winding street led off in a general easterly direction.  Llylquaendt stopped here, suddenly realizing that he absolutely nothing about the layout of Khalar.

"I doubt that it would be wise to ask directions to the King's residence, considering the current state of affairs," he said in Gheddessii, mostly just speaking his thoughts aloud.

"We should find some of the traders of the people," Myleu said.  "They will know where we should go."

As Llylquaendt was about to give his ascent to this plan, the man that he had come to see stepped abruptly in front of Myleu, appearing apparently from nowhere.  Instantly, all the women drew their
bhyah'ts
and closed tightly about Llylquaendt.

"Do not attack him," he warned his wives in Gheddessii.  "This is Mar.  He is
magenfolk
and very powerful."

None of the women relaxed and he had to chivy Myleu and Beasl aside to allow him to step forward to greet Mar.  Oddly, the magician looked more worn and perhaps some older than when Llylquaendt had seen him last.  Also, he had not had this brooding look that now seemed to have sculpted permanent lines into his face.

Something else struck Llylquaendt as
different
about Mar, but the thought wandered away before he could latch onto it.

"Forgive them," he told the magician in Imperial Standard.  "They dote upon me."