Daughter of Ancients Page 5

  “. . . and so in five months more I am to yield D’Arnath’s throne.”

  D’Arnath’s daughter . . . enchanted for a thousand years. How can so many believe such a fantastic tale? Karon’s comments sounded clear and sharp in my head.

  “She makes no attempt to explain the mystery herself,” said Je’Reint. “We subjected her to every test we could devise. The Archivists quizzed her on everything known of D’Arnath’s time, but her only ‘errors’ were to correct perceptions that had never made sense. Our picture of D’Arnath’s reign has been clarified immeasurably.”

  Ven’Dar sighed and settled his chin on his folded hands, far less excited than his heir—his former heir, now. “Ce’Aret gave her the most stringent tests of truth-saying and was entirely satisfied. As Je’Reint, her own grandson, stood to be set aside, one cannot say she was too easy on the woman. We even drew old Ustele from his moldy hermitage long enough to examine her, believing that if anyone could unravel her story, the old skeptic would do it. By the end of it, he was weeping and kneeling at her feet. When the Preceptors voted to vest her, placing her in the direct line of succession, not one dissented. I begged them to delay the anointing a while longer, but in truth, the people would not have stood for it. They are so hungry to put the last thousand years behind them. D’Arnath’s name works a magic in the spirit that my best efforts cannot match.”

  What was written of D’Arnath’s children? I recall only sons.

  Je’Reint jumped in again. “Very few histories survive from D’Arnath’s day—books were a particular casualty of the early years of the war. The most reliable source mentions a single daughter, lost in the war when she was seventeen. We’ve no record of her name. But D’Sanya led us to a ruined house long buried in the Vale of Maroth—her mother’s house, indisputably. She showed us the mark of Garafiel, the most famous swordmaker in Dar’Nethi history, on D’Arnath’s sword and claimed that Garafiel was in love with her mother long before she was betrothed to D’Arnath, but they were forbidden to marry because they were cousins. We had never noticed the—”

  “By Vasrin Shaper’s hand, she showed us how the vines engraved on the sword’s hilt hid the letters of her mother’s name!” Ven’Dar’s outburst silenced Je’Reint. “The Archivists traced Garafiel’s lineage and Maroth’s, and the kinship was true as D’Sanya had said, though we’d never known it.”

  Ven’Dar’s emotion hung in the air for a few moments, until our silence allowed it to disperse and vanish like smoke in a breeze.

  Gerick, did you ever hear of—?

  “No.” Gerick jerked his head in sharp denial before Karon could finish his thought.

  Well then, what of her power?

  Ven’Dar sighed and rubbed his brow. “We’ve seen nothing like it in living memory. She has healed hundreds of Zhid prisoners with her touch. In less than half a year, she has reforested the Vale of Grithna, dead since the early years of the war. The caress of her hand on its soil gave the land such vigor that in a single day the grass was knee-high, the flowers abloom, and saplings two fingers thick stood taller than a man. She lends her power to Builders and Gardeners and Healers, unraveling enchantments and spell traps laid by the Zhid, soothing nightmares and diseases of war victims.”

  And still Karon continued probing. Yet you do not believe.

  “I cannot”—Ven’Dar shook his head, tightening his lips and squeezing his tired eyes—“and yet I cannot explain precisely why. Everywhere I hear whispers saying, ‘Ven’Dar was a fine shepherd, but we have anointed the true Heir of D’Arnath. She should take her father’s place.’ Ah, my good friend, after her first visit to the Bridge she walked into a palace courtyard weeping, and her tears revived a spring that had been dry since D’Arnath’s death. What could it be but my own selfish pride that prevents my belief?” He threw his hands in the air, jumped up from his stool, and paced the length of the chamber three times, like a clock spring unwinding. “My own doubts betray me. The Bridge—To cross these past two days—my first crossings since they anointed her—has been extraordinarily difficult, as if I were a minnow swimming against a torrent, as if my heart knows I don’t belong there any more.”

  There must be something. You have never been driven by pride or greed. Think. Then tell me one thing that makes you doubt.

  Ven’Dar folded his arms, closed his eyes, and held still for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was calmer, uncertainty banished. “She has built herself a great house in Grithna Vale, and in the last two months she has begun to take in people the Healers have judged too ill to benefit from their gift.”

  Those like me.

  “Yes.” The prince stepped to the bedside. “A hospice she calls it. Lady D’Sanya uses her power to ease their suffering—suspend their death, as it were. Those who were bound to their beds are no longer; those whose eyes or heart or limbs were failing now have use of them. As long as they do not leave the confines of the hospice, they are as they were before they were stricken . . . except for their talents. They cannot pursue sorcery of any kind. But they feel no pain and do not die. Even after so short a time, public opinion considers those who suggest this result is not a blessing to be, at the least, foolish and self-deceiving. I don’t know what’s come over them all.”

  A seductive . . . most seductive outcome . . .

  Ven’Dar wandered across the room to the wide windows and back again. “Je’Reint and I have gone over this a hundred times. Dar’Nethi have viewed death as a passage to be accomplished in peace and care when the Way leads us to it, not some fearful event to be avoided at the cost of our innermost being. I have spent my life teaching that the source of our power is accepting whatever joys and sorrows life grants us and viewing them in the larger perspective of the universe. To admit that this woman is D’Arnath’s daughter and this hospice a reflection of his philosophy that we have called our Way is to give up my foundation. I cannot do it. Not until I’m sure.”

  Though he spoke to all of us, Ven’Dar’s gaze settled on Gerick, who sat with his chin propped on his clenched fists and his eyes on the floor. “And she has come out of Zhev’Na. How can I trust her? I came to you yesterday to ask if you would meet with her . . . read her . . . and tell me where I’m wrong.”

  I hear more urgency in you than these events can explain. You’ve five months before a final decision must be made. You say the woman herself does not push for you to yield, and even the people see how she needs time to be ready for such responsibility. Why the hurry?

  Ven’Dar sighed and looked down at Karon with sorrow and affection. “You leave me no choice but to burden you with everything?”

  You may have service of all the resources I can muster at present—the paltry few.

  Ven’Dar’s rueful smile unfolded like a moth’s wings, and he returned to the bed, perching on the stool once again. “Despite all, I’m happy you’re here, my friend. It is a considerable relief to share all this with you. Can you forgive me?”

  Tell me.

  “We never knew how many Zhid the Lords controlled. We captured or killed a great number in the year following the Lords’ death. Though leaderless and directionless, they couldn’t stop fighting. Over the next two years, Zhid renegades drifted in one by one from the Wastes, often starving, weak from lack of power. Still vicious, though. Some of them claimed that thousands more were holed up in the northern mountains. But our Finders could locate no such colonies, so we dismissed their claims.

  “In the fourth year, the trickle stopped. Not one more Zhid in the months after. We’ve kept searching with no result. But half a league from the place the Lady walked out of the desert, we found two dead men—armed and accoutered as Zhid. The evidence of her weapon and the blood on her tunic indicate she was in a fight, though she claims to remember nothing of her desert madness. Then, a few months ago, traders made a regular run to a Tree Delvers’ village in the north, a former Drudge work camp that had grown and prospered. It appeared that every resident of the village had got
up in the middle of the evening meal and vanished. Some signs of a fight, but no people, either alive or dead. We’ve seen at least three similar incidents in the past months. In short, I’m afraid we find ourselves facing a new enemy or the revival of an old one.”

  This news tainted the air like milk gone sour. For a thousand years the Lords had hungered to feed their power by reiving the mundane world and exploiting the chaos of the Breach. Using plots and schemes, mind-twisting sorcery, and war, they had battled to bring down Avonar and with it the Bridge that constrained their power and enabled Dar’Nethi sorcery, for only the Dar’-Nethi stood in their way. We had thought the struggle ended with the Lords’ death—Karon’s and Gerick’s great victory.

  Ven’Dar’s fine-lined face looked old as I had never seen it. “Factions are developing in Avonar over this succession business. Some think I should serve until nature supplants me. Others—many others—believe D’Sanya should rule tomorrow. We cannot risk division. We are still too fragile. The person who bears the banner of D’Arnath must have the complete trust and loyalty of all Dar’Nethi. If the Lady D’Sanya is what she seems, she should take her place as soon as possible. But if she is somehow . . . corrupt . . . then the danger . . .”

  Karon did not hesitate. His words appeared in our minds with all his belief in Ven’Dar’s instincts and his honor. Then the woman must be tested yet again. But I am not the right one to put her to the question.

  “Who then?” said Ven’Dar, wrinkling his forehead.

  Gerick.

  Gerick, standing now, had retreated to the shadowed corner of the bedchamber as if to physically distance himself from Karon and Ven’Dar. “Ah, no. Don’t ask it,” he said softly, shaking his head and folding his arms across his breast. “Please, Father. Anything else.”

  Karon must have spoken privately to Gerick then, for no words appeared in my mind, and Ven’Dar’s expression did not change from a thoughtful surprise. Je’Reint snapped his head from Ven’Dar to Karon to Gerick and back to the prince, his back as straight and rigid as the door frame behind him.

  My son closed his eyes for a time, and then, with an unsteady breath, he moved to the bed and laid his hand on his father’s shoulder. After a moment, his expression as sere as a winter heath, he looked up at Ven’Dar. “My father asks that you summon T’Laven to undo what he has done. Tomorrow we will seek the aid of the Lady D’Sanya and take my father to her hospice if she permits it. Together we’ll see what we can learn of her.”

  Je’Reint strode to the middle of the chamber, his hands spread and raised as if to contain emotions threatening to escape his control. “My lord prince, my lord Karon, the Lady D’Sanya has been forthcoming and modest in all ways. To deceive our princess . . . even if we disagree with her philosophy . . . to set a spy on a young woman . . .” He did not need to voice his feelings about the choice of Gerick as the principal in the deception. The set of his dark brow, the direction of his glare said it all. “Surely we can find some other way to discern Zhev’Na’s influence on her ideas, to persuade her to study the wisdom passed down through so many generations.”

  Ven’Dar shook his head, troubled. “I am not easy with deception, Je’Reint. And to take advantage of my friend’s pain and to keep Gerick from work that shapes a new world are actions my conscience will not view lightly. But somehow in the months since the Lady’s arrival, Gondai itself has felt different to me, as if the very rock and soil beneath us are no longer stable. I’ve dismissed it as an old man’s foolishness, but after my experience on the Bridge yesterday and this morning, I cannot shake the sense that we are racing headlong toward the verge of some great precipice.”

  “My lord, no one else describes this uncertainty you feel. Rather the opposite. All who work with the Lady feel their own talent enhanced and their power magnified, as if the world is returning to the way it was before the Catastrophe. Yesterday, while working with her to unlock a Zhid spell trap on Ger’Shon’s horses, I discovered that I was able to detect the breeding marks buried deep in the bone and tissues of his mares. For centuries every Horsemaster has worked toward such a skill, as it gives us our first hope of breeding out the weak hearts that have plagued our stock. What can that be but the Lady’s influence? And how could such service of life be corruption?”

  Je’Reint, every line and sinew of his body echoing his words, could have persuaded a cat to rescue a drowning dog. But I was astonished to hear him challenge Ven’Dar so directly, especially with this hint of self-righteousness so uncharacteristic of him—and so ill-suited to a Perceiver.

  Even Ven’Dar stepped backward . . . but only one step and no farther. “If the danger I feel is not the woman herself, then we may need her exceptional power to withstand whatever is happening. In any case, we must be sure of her in every way possible before we give her the Bridge. I say this plan goes forward.”

  In any matter pertaining to the Bridge, the authority of the Heir of D’Arnath was absolute. But I had never heard it asserted so forcefully. Je’Reint inhaled deeply, reining in the further arguments so clearly on his lips. He extended his palms and bowed. “My lord. I respectfully request that you release me from any active participation in this plan. My conscience—”

  “Unless the safety of the realm demands it.” No doubts softened Ven’Dar’s assent. “And you will discuss this with no one outside this room. If my requirement of silence gives you difficulty, I will devise a memory block.”

  “My lord, your command binds me as always. Again, it is not your purpose, but only the means that gives me pause. If you will excuse me . . .” He bowed again, and Ven’Dar’s gesture gave him permission to go. After a bow to me and a minimal nod in the direction of Gerick and Paulo, he took attentive leave of Aimee. She escorted him out of the room. I squirmed a little, feeling as if I had just barged in on a household of strangers and been presented with their unwashed linen.

  Seri . . .

  As Ven’Dar spoke with Gerick and Paulo about a story to use—something about old friends of Gar’Dena, come to the city to find better care than that in their town—Karon spoke to me privately, trusting that I understood the reasons why he had to help Ven’Dar, and why I could not go with him on what was likely to be his last journey. He did not reveal what he had said to Gerick to persuade him to the task. A portion of their relationship remained so intimate that I could not be a part of it. I had never grudged that. But in my own secret heart I raged once more at villainous fate, wishing fervently that my prayers had never been answered, that Gerick had stayed with his Singlars in the Bounded, and that Karon could have died as we sat in Martin’s awakening garden, believing all his wars had been won.

  CHAPTER 4

  Gerick

  It was a letter from Roxanne that first got me thinking about taking a wife. Not her, of course. Though I’d known her since childhood and we’d shared an adventure or two, the Queen of Leire was not available. She had taken herself a consort less than two years after succeeding to her father’s throne, an Isker prince who brought legitimacy to her sovereignty over his conquered land. He also brought no complications of romance or affection to muddle her first difficult years consolidating her authority, so she said. He was only thirteen years old. Her own mother’s marriage had been such a political move, and Roxanne conceded to me—and most likely to no one else—that she held out a hope that by the time he was old enough, and she was ready to consider bearing a child, the union might turn out as successfully as her parents’ had. But if not, she would find her pleasures where she could. Roxanne was a person of considerable determination.

  But it wasn’t so much that her letter painted such an attractive picture of matrimony that my current lack of interest in the subject was reversed, but rather that it pointed out that I was doing a terrible injustice to one of the last people I could ever wish to hurt. She wrote that she was looking for a new Master of the Royal Horse, and that it was too bad Paulo wasn’t available to take the position, as it would be a perfect situation
for him: two thousand of the finest horses in any world to do with as he pleased. Let me know if ever you decide to set him free of you, she wrote, but if I had a captive friend who would do anything in the world for me, from loaning me his body, to saving my life, to polishing my boots, I wouldn’t let him go either.

  I didn’t like what she’d said. Paulo stayed in the Bounded by his own choice. I’d never asked him . . . never told him he couldn’t leave if he wanted. We were friends. He knew how important he was to me.

  But Roxanne made me think back to the first time I had joined with Paulo, when I had possessed his body to keep him from being killed by the corrupt Guardian of the Bounded. Amid all his other thoughts and confusions, I had experienced his feelings for a Dar’Nethi girl he admired, and I’d realized that someday he’d have to do something about those feelings. Now five more years had passed, Paulo was almost twenty-four, and I’d not given it the slightest consideration. We’d had so much to do.

  While I made laws for the Bounded, heard disputes, set up the Watch, and trained it to protect the people from the wild creatures at the Edge, Paulo taught the Singlars how to make a harness and use it to control a mule, and how to use the mule to help them haul stone and water and to break ground to grow something other than tappa roots. While I worked to convince them of the value of reading and writing and sharing their knowledge with each other, Paulo taught them how to barter for the things one person could do better than another. And it was well known throughout the Bounded that if the king was too busy to hear your petition, or if he’d made up his mind too quickly, then the surest way to see justice done or needs addressed was to find the king’s friend where he worked in the fields or the town. If there was merit in your words, the king’s friend would recognize it, and the king would hear of it. I didn’t see how I could possibly manage without him, but it had been too long since I’d asked him if that life was what he wanted.